The Hooks

The money was gone. The husband’s business had dried up.

Elena had long black hair. She was small. Her hands were soft. She had never used them for work.

She went to the village and to the butcher.

Bruno was a big man with thick arms. His hands were red and split at the knuckles.

“You cut?” Bruno said.

“No.”

“You will,” he said.

“I will learn.”

“Apron.”

The shop smelled of sawdust and meat.

“Not like that,” Bruno said.

She did not stop.

“Again.”

She did it again. Bruno took the parcel and pressed it flat with his palm.

“Too loose.”

She did not change it.

Bruno looked at it. “Again.”

She tightened the string.

“Better,” he said.

The next day, a man came in. Tall and thin.

“She doesn’t talk.”, he said.

“She works,” Bruno said.

The man looked past him. Bruno did not move. The man paid and left.

One day, rain fell hard against the glass. The shop was empty.

“Lock the door,” Bruno said.

She locked it.

Bruno finished the cut and set the knife down. He wiped his hands.

“Come,” he said.

He took her wrist.

They went into the cellar.

The hooks hung in their rows, pale and still.

After, Bruno set the knives in the sink.

“Wash.”

She washed them. The water ran pink, then clear.

At dinner Tomas watched her hands.

“You work late,” he said.

“Yes.”

He cut his food.

“You stay late.”

She did not answer.

He nodded.

The next day, the door of the shop was unlocked.

Tomas entered. He saw them go into the cellar. He did not move.

When they came out, he stepped forward.

“You forgot to close the door,” he said.

Bruno looked at him. “No.”

Tomas nodded.

Later, it was warm and they all sat on the terrace.

“The meat is good,” Tomas said.

“It is the best,” Bruno said.

Tomas poured the wine.

“You should come to the sea with us,” Tomas said.

Bruno looked at him.

Tomas waited.

Elena did not move.

Tomas saw her and did not look away.

“Yes,” Bruno said.

Inside the house, Tomas stood.

“Come,” he said.

They all went into the bedroom.

The door closed.

Later, in the shop, the air was cold. The hooks hung in their rows, clean and still.

Elena stood with the paper in her hands. Bruno was at the block. Tomas stood in the doorway.

She did not look away.

A hook moved once. Slow.