Please slaughter me...

By Agus Noor

My face must have worn a foolish look when I heard his confession. "So you are in fact a dog?" - a confusing question like this was finally asked.

"Yes."

"Ho... honestly, I don't believe it."

"I myself don't," he said, with a stronger stress on the word 'I.' "Or, more exactly, I originally did not believe it. But then, I could no longer deny the fact that I was actually a dog."

The flat tone of his voice and the way he stared at me showed that he meant what he said. Besides, his expression reminded me of the face of a dog resigned to death. The face of a dying dog.

"I once did deny this fact. Yet, the more I denied it, the more strongly the truth asserted itself. This went on until one day I could no longer deceive myself: My soul is indeed that of a dog, as are my instincts, my taste and my sense of smell. They are all a dog's. I am not a dog turning itself into a human being. No, not at all! I am indeed a dog."

I was stupefied, getting all the more confused.

"If I take the shape of a human being, this is just because of the dress. The dress is what is visible. However, if you look at me closely, you will find that the one now talking to you is indeed a dog."

He sipped his hot tea. Calmly.

I gazed at him with some embarrassment. I did not know what to do. Should I take him as being a loudmouth, a mad man or simply someone cracking a joke? He had dropped in at my food stall three times and each time he talked about the same thing. Just like someone confessing his sins.

As he had a smart appearance and always wore a tie, we could gather that he was a respectable, well-off and educated person. He had pristine eyes - there was no sorrow there. So I presumed that he was only someone suffering from loneliness.

I had often heard of many successful and rich people complaining of an empty life. They lose their self-confidence and feel useless. Perhaps. And as was normally the case with lonely people, he would simply need someone to talk to. He would need someone willing to listen to all his frets and whines. And in order to be heard, he had chosen an unusual topic of discussion. This was nothing more than a ploy to make people pay attention to him, I thought.

"If you don't believe me, please slaughter me ..."

"You .... you .... mean it?"

"Yes, cut my throat, as you usually slaughter a dog. This will be the only way left to prove that I am indeed a dog. Wait, don't let your eyes bulge that way. This is all concerned with my peace of mind, sir. I earnestly beg you, then, to slit my throat. No, you will not commit a murder, rather, you will liberate me. I can bear it no longer, really. I will continue to be tortured as long as I am not treated as a dog. I'm tortured not because I am a dog, but because I have this human shape, sir. This is hypocrisy.

"I would be much happier if I had the true shape of a dog. There is nothing that makes you happier than to be honest to yourself. If I had the shape of a dog, I would able to freely roam the roads. I would howl all night long, roam the roads and mate with any bitch. I would urinate and defecate just anywhere I liked. I would not have to hide myself behind the so-called etiquette or norms of decency. I would not have to be civilized just like humans. This is really torturing me, sir. I would like to end all this. Please, please slaughter me, sir ..."

What did I have to say in reply? Luckily, he was not so insistent. Instead, he gazed at me, understandingly. He smiled and then took his leave of me. I saw him walk to his car, which was parked across the street. Strangely, it seemed to me that I was looking at a dog crossing the road, walking in a relaxed manner with his tail going down. Was he really a dog?.

I have sold sengsu, dog-meat curry, for over 20 years. Every day I slaughter one or two dogs. Yet I have never come across anything like this. Well, perhaps he was an animal lover. He deliberately came to see me to arouse my emotions: how uncivilized a person who slaughters a dog every day of his life!

He would like to show that the dogs were tortured. Anyway, even the ugliest dog has the right to live, hasn't it? Is that not so? If yes, what do I care? I'm only earning a living, am I not? This is the only way I know to earn money. My father also sold sengsu before me. As his child, I took over his business. If only I could drive, I would have opted to be a taxi or lorry driver. If I am free to choose, I won't be a sengsu seller like this!

All right, I don't have to keep thinking about this person. Forget it.

Nevertheless, a week later, the same man turned up again. Now he brought with him his wife and their three children.

"Sorry for disturbing you. We are here to accompany my husband, the father of these children. He must have told you about it. Yes, I beg you, please slaughter my husband," the pretty woman said.

"Yes, sir," his children chimed in.

I was really dumbfounded. What family was this?

"Don't think that we are not happy. We have decided to do this so that we'll become much happier. Well, my husband has been tortured for too long. So we have agreed to end this play. We have therefore come to you, sir. We love each other so now we want to be more transparent. The three children also respect their father."

The children nodded.

"We have no problems at all. Our money is safely deposited in the bank. We have scores of companies and all are running well. We are a happy family. We bet there are no other families as happy as ours. Our step is not one taken by a frustrated person to resolve his problem. By admitting who my husband is and who the father of these children are, we simply want to make our happiness more complete. It is not loathsome to me to know the truth about my husband. I loved him all the more the time he told me who he really was.

"I have never regretted getting married to a dog. Instead, my love for him is getting bigger and bigger. When we told our children this, they could understand us well. Instead they are prouder of their father now than ever, although their father is a dog, they don't have to kowtow to their friends. Out of this respect and love, we - my children and I - have decided to support my husband's wish to be slaughtered.

"Anyway he is a dog and we cannot hide this fact. We will be disappointed if he insists on considering himself a human being. Therefore, don't let my husband die as a human being. He must not die of old age or because of a disease. We want him, as a dog, to die honorably as a dog, that is to be slaughtered. Isn't there anything of greater worth to a dog than to die as a dog?"

"Grant the wish of our father, sir," the three children begged as one.

Only then did I realize that these three children would always do the same thing in unison. They shook, sniffed, talked and put out their tongues, all at the same time. I felt as if I had been bewitched. I was charmed by their cute faces - clean and white - just like three funny puppies. So I became convinced that they were all dogs. Because of this conviction I no longer had any reason not to believe them.

"Please, slaughter me ..."

His wife gave me a machete. The husband lay face up on the table. His three children stood in a row beside the table. I was speechless, seeing them prepare everything that would be needed to slaughter the man. I felt as if I had been taking part in a sacred and solemn rite of preparation, A sort of a small rite for the death of a most beloved dog. I heard the wife say a prayer. Then she asked her three children to shake hands with their father and kiss their father's brow for the last time.

"Happy are you, cute children, because you have a father who is honest about who he really is," the woman said as she stroked the heads of her children. "Later, if anybody should ask, 'Who is your father?', answer with great pride, "My father was a brave and noble dog - the most honest in the world.' Never feel insulted simply because you had a dog as a father. Look at the way he chooses his death. He is so calm and full of conviction. There is not even a morsel of intention in his mind to pretend to be a human being ...."

There was a buzzing sound in my ears; I did not know why. And I could no longer hear what the woman said further. I was cold, so cold and nervous when the woman put the machete into my hand. Indistinctly I heard the man beg, full of expectation, "Please, slaughter me, sir ...."

I held the machete in my trembling hand.

Yogyakarta, 1997-1998

Translated by Lie Hua

Glossary: Sengsu, a dog-meat curry. Even though Indonesia is a predominantly Moslem country, this cuisine is popular among some non-Moslems.

Agus Noor, born in Tegal June 26, 1968. His short stories have been published in Basis, Matra, Ulumul Qur'an, Kompas, Media Indonesia, Republika, Suara Pembaruan, Jawa Pos, etc. He has three collections of short stories to his credit: Musuh (The Enemy), Kelepak Sayap Jibril (The Flapping of Gabriel's Wings) and Kupu-kupu di Bawah Sepatu (Butterflies under the Shoes). Known as a short story writer with a penchant for wild ideas, expressions inclined towards sarcasm and schizophrenic characters. He calls this the aesthestics of violence as this short story reveals.