The body

 X/X/1994

The office had its windows thrown wide open, the air conditioning blasting at full tilt,
but it barely helped.

The crystal drops of the chandelier reflected the infernal sun, blinding anyone who looked straight at it.

The ebony fan offered some relief to the panda slumped in his chair.

The office had its windows thrown wide open, the air conditioning blasting at full tilt,
but it barely helped.

The crystal drops of the chandelier reflected the infernal sun, blinding anyone who looked straight at it.

The ebony fan offered some relief to the panda slumped in his chair.

At the same time as always, she came in without asking.

“I see you’re suffering. Want some water with ice?” —Peonia.

In a purring mood despite the heat. She wore a white dress, long and light.

She went to get a glass for the man. After complaining about the heat for a while, she dared to ask:

“Would you let me go to karaoke tomorrow? My friends are going after school. I’ll need some cash—if there’s not a problem with me going, of course.”

Hung, who had seemed distressed, wiped the expression from his face. A small smile gave Peonia a bit of hope, until she understood the gesture.

“Are you serious? In this heat? I thought—”

“You thought someone else would do your job for you, Little Hatchet? Very wrong. Your mess, you clean it. Understand?”

She nodded reluctantly. Dragged her paws along the gravel path. Every now and then she glanced toward the office window. She could see the fan moving slowly, and the shadow holding it.

She reached the shed; as she crossed the threshold, the smell hit her. She rolled up her dress and covered it with a butcher’s apron. Then she opened a bag, and what was inside pushed her back.

The smell was worse than the larvae feasting on the flesh. The bag felt warm even from a distance, same as its contents.

The body was swollen. She wanted to throw up, but held it in. Tears pooled between her lashes, blurring her vision.

“I can do this,” she kept telling herself.

She held her breath as she dragged the bag. Then she went for a knife and an electric saw.

She opened the torso carefully. Shook her hands, flinging the maggots away from her arms. Exposed the watery organs. Took them gently and placed them in the bucket beside her.

It was when she grabbed the intestines that a sudden movement betrayed her.

With a slight pull, one burst, splashing her. The warm, acidic smell against her fur. The slimy texture. The larvae.

That was reason enough to run outside for air. She dropped to her knees by the spigot and soaked herself with the hose. The dress was a brown-and-reddish disaster. Every so often she jumped, dodging imaginary maggots.

She stayed hunched there until a shadow blocked the light.

“So?” asked the shadow, fanning itself.

“I’m going, I’m going. I’m catching my breath.”

“Do you want to go to karaoke? Yes or no?”

“I’m doing it right. Have some patience. It smells horrible.”

“I’ll keep you company,” he said, walking toward the entrance. “Come on. Go ahead.”

She followed him in short steps. Knelt again by the bucket.

She was making a huge effort to hold back the retching, trying not to flinch.

“If you vomit, it’ll be hard to stop,” he said, sitting down.

He rested his elbows on his knees as he watched, never stopping the fan.

Suddenly, the nausea was stronger than her will. Peonia vomited.

It took about fifteen minutes to stop. Until only saliva came out.

Gagging up little more than air, she kept going. Separated tissue, cut through joints, and poured gasoline into a container.

When everything was clean, Hung took a wrist and pressed the tendons. The nausea vanished.

“How much do you need for your karaoke?”

“Twenty.”

“Okay, Ni Ni. Take the card. And don’t forget to take the bags out before you leave.”