The blade glided downwards as his knuckles rested against it, preventing it from cutting the tips of his fingers. Clumps of sawdust and blood stuck to the bottom of my shoe. I leaned on the glass case with the palm of my hand and felt the chill. The butcher’s hands were swollen as he pinched the meat and slapped it down repeatedly on the counter. With each blow the meat stretched out and then retreated. The gold ring he wore was permanently wedged into his flesh with two thin mounds of skin protruding on each side. Wet hairs on his knuckles formed little dark patches that stood out against his rosy skin. His bloodstained apron was folded in half and tied around the flab of his waist under his white buttoned-down coat. He was wearing a tie, too tight around his fat neck. A Bic pen peeked out of his chest pocket and an unlit cigarette sat behind his right ear.

He looked more like a circus ringmaster to me, barking orders through the side of his mouth, as two of his helpers skinned, chopped and fileted meat behind the counter. One of them was his son, scrawny and thin and half the height of his father with eyes that popped out like a fish gasping for air. He was always one step behind his father, mumbling to himself like an uncooperative sidekick. The other was a chipper fellow with a Cheshire-cat smile that revealed a wide gap between his two stained front teeth. I put both my hands on the glass and then leaned in to take a closer look at the rows of the freshly butchered meat. So much death never looked so alive. And it had a price.

“Cosa vuoi oggi?” “What do you want today?” Silvano asked from behind the counter.

The rows of whole cow and pig carcasses, strings of sausages, joints, ribs, pigs’ feet and chickens, hung tier by tier from the rafters above him.

“Allora, mi rispondi? Macche’ ti sei addormentata?” “Are you going to answer me? Did you fall asleep?” he asked.

As I opened my mouth, his son popped out from behind him and held up a dead pig’s head in front of his face. Both men sneered. Their cries boomed throughout the shop all the while mimicking the sound of my voice, “Non lo so, non lo so.” “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

I stood there frozen. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the pig’s head. Two slits in the shape of an X were in place of the eyes. What did they do with the eyes, I wondered. His ears were perfectly erect and translucent and it was dead. What about his heart? What did they do with his heart?