Out to Pasture

Man trudged across the field, rifle in one hand, a box of shells in the other, going to kill the white bull God had given him. The grass was sodden with dew, leaving dark stains on Man’s boots as he approached the bull, standing in a fairy circle of small mushrooms. The bovine snorted a discontented puff of steamy air into the cool afternoon, twisting its horned head to better watch Man and his rifle. The bull’s large brown eyes appraised him forlornly.

Stopping to load his gun, Man noted how skinny the beast had become. Its ribs pressed against its stark hide, begging to be hidden. It had been fatter when God had given it to Man, but Man hadn’t had enough grain to feed it, nor even cows to breed it. Still, the alabaster bull was the only source of protein left for his community, short as it may last.

Man’s hand shook as he loaded the rifle, he dropped several shells into the damp grass. It had been a long time since he had eaten anything. The last few scraps his family had squirreled away disappeared into the bloated bellies of his children. His partner and he had ingested only the brown ‘tea’ they’d brewed from bark and nettles. His neighbors had already buried their youngest. Man was terrified his little ones weren’t far behind.

“Sorry there, bull,” Man said, “but you’re of no use to me like this.” Man leveled his rifle at the bull’s head; at the same moment, a voice came from the air, freezing his finger on the trigger.

“Tis’ not the bull needing an apology, Man.”

Man looked around the open field, greeted by nothing but glistening dew and the crisp scent of pine drifting in on a wayward breeze. “Is that you, God?” he asked.

“Yes, my child. Tis’ your Lord and Savior.”

“Child?” muttered Man. He frowned and shouldered his rifle, exasperatedly peering around the empty, gray sky. “Why are you speaking to me, God? Why now?”

A great tremble surged through the dewy field as the voice boomed, “Because, my child, I can sense you are in a great moment of need and require guidance.”

Man spat a wad of phlegm onto the earth. “Yeah? Well, my family—the entire town—has been in great need for a while now. There’s a famine. No ones eaten in some time...Maybe you’ve heard or sensed something from your seat in the heavens?”

The omnipresent voice of God answered hesitantly. “Well, err, I work in mysterious—”

Man cut them off and demanded, “What I really meant, God, was why are you speaking to me now, as I come to butcher the white bull and feed my community, when you have been silent for so long?”

“My child,” God cooed, “the purpose of this magnificent creature is beyond your scope. For you to kill it now would be a short-sighted deprivation of a beautiful future for your children and your children’s children to come. It represents more than just a simple meal in the cosmic balance of Creation and Time.”

Man scratched his chin. “So, you’ve told me. But I am no god, I cannot plan for such a vast scope. I am merely human and already have withheld from butchering this bull for so long...I can go no longer. I cannot feed this creature, magnificent or not. I cannot feed my children or partner, nor lend aid to my friends and neighbors. Yet, with its flesh, this bull can feed us, can sustain my loved ones for a little longer, ‘til it rains and the forest animals return. What good is a beautiful future if we cannot survive the present?”

“But, my child—”

Man waved his free hand dismissively. “Do not patronize me. You may be God, but I am not your child and you are not my parent. A parent would not let their children starve when it is in their power to prevent it. That is why I am going to kill this bull, old and thin as it may have grown. Through this, you may take credit for providing our meek existence with some nourishment.”

The bull tossed its head and let out a long, low moo. God’s voice thundered with rage. “YOU DARE SPITE YOUR LORD AND SAVIOR’S DIRECT WILL?” A dark column of storm clouds began to gather in the distance, building its coiling mass moment by moment as it drifted closer on the wind. The damp, grassy field seemed to vibrate with energy.

Man sighed tiredly and leaned against his rifle, propped in the soft dirt. “I dare to feed my family. Any true ‘savior’ would willingly help in my efforts, not demand abstinence and starvation in return for vagaries.”

“You risk my most grave displeasure,” threatened God, “this creature is my familiar amongst you mortals and you seek to destroy it, that which was gifted with benevolence.”

“Yes,” Man confirmed patiently, “the bull may have been a gift but it was given without consent, without consideration of what our circumstances are like.” Man shifted his weight from foot to foot and, noticing that the cool, gray day was only getting chillier and darker, said with a weary finality, “You remain our God, regardless of our decisions. But, as the caretaker of the white bull, I have decided to butcher it and feed my family now, rather than wait and pray for tomorrow.”

The sky was silent for a long moment and Man fleetingly thought he was alone once more. Then, like the whisper of fire kindling to life, God murmured, “You are jeopardizing the hope for a better future that all your suffering has been building towards. Kill the white bull and your town will no longer feel my presence. You will no longer hear my voice.”

Man shrugged. “God, we have felt nothing but hunger pains for a long time. Though this white beast drew some curious eyes when it first appeared, I have never wanted the responsibility of being the representative of mortality for you. Unless you care to participate in helping us have more to life than just survival, your presence is not needed here. Hope for a better future cannot fill my children’s bellies.”

Man waited for a response, scanning the flat, cloudy sky, but none came. In the distance, the storm clouds slowly dissipated. After several minutes, Man shrugged and pulled a packet of salt from his pocket. He proceeded to let the old, skinny, white bull lick the crystals from his open palm. The animal’s rough tongue left an irritated raspberry on his skin. Then, Man took a step back and aimed his rifle. The shot cracked the still sky apart, echoing across the horizon like a peel of thunder.

The blood from the bull turned the green grass brown and stained its white fur in blotchy, Rorschach-like patterns. Man didn’t see any hidden meanings in the shapes; looking at the dead bovine on its side in the fairy circle of squat mushrooms, Man only saw sustenance for his children and resources for his community. It would be enough to survive on for a little longer; enough to fill his family’s stomachs and let him sleep knowing they’d be okay in the morning. Man hoped he could eventually live for something more than the day-to-day, when aid from above became more than symbolic or when the heavens began considering the needs of mortals in their almighty balance of Creation and Time. Wisely, Man had never taken to gambling on hope. He began to butcher the white bull.