Tape #113

A morsel of flesh-eating goodness.
  January 19, 2003

Click, whirr.

—So, you eat people?

—Yeah, from time to time.

Silence, the rustling of rolling tape.

—How do they taste?

—I was wondering if you’d ask.  Everybody wants to know but nobody ever asks.  Human meat is kind of sweet.  You have to be very careful with ingredients: adding pumpkin, for example, can take the taste over the top…  You are sweating.

—Do your habits frighten you?  Do you ever wonder what’s wrong with you?

—Heh.  You’re the curious type, aren’t you?  I used to wonder.  We live in a society where eating people is taboo; they drill that into your head from an early age.  It was very difficult for me to adjust.  Eventually I just decided that I had to be true to myself, or go insane.

—You are insane.

—Only according to your defense, counsel.  In any case, I’m talking about a different kind of insanity, the kind that comes from an unbridgeable gap between your natural proclivities and your ability to exercise them.  Have you ever observed caged bears aimlessly pacing on the spot for hours on end?  That kind of insanity.

—How did you even begin to conceive of it?  Did you look in the mirror one day and say “I think I’ll have someone’s liver for dinner tonight”?

—Oh no, nothing so sudden.  It was a gradual process.  It was in the back of my mind all the time, just like one’s sexual predispositions are, I suppose.  In the beginning, I wasn’t even conscious of it.  I had no idea that other people found my tastes, uh, unpalatable.

—That is abnormal!

—The doctors disgree.  They say I am in full possession of my faculties.  I don’t have a chemical imbalance in my brain.  I don’t hear voices or see visions.  I come from an exemplary family: my parents loved me but weren’t overly permissive, I got along well with my peers, was never an outsider…  I don’t get off on cannibalism, do you understand?  I like the taste but I can do perfectly well without it.

—Then why don’t you?

—I see no reason to limit my diet.

—How about the fact that it’s illegal?  Or the fact that it’s other people’s lives?

—You are far too emotional for a good lawyer.  There is no need to shout.

—I’m sorry.  That was very unprofessional.

—Yes, it was.  But you are on to something.  The illegality of cannibalism definitely matters.  I don’t care about the morality of breaking the law but there are unpleasant consequences to getting caught, as I am finding out.

—So why did you take the risk of being caught and punished if in the end, you don’t care whether you get human meat or not?

—Two reasons.  First, I liked the thrill of committing the crimes.  The culinary aspect was just a nice perquisite.  Mind you, I broke other laws for the thrill and didn’t eat anybody in the end.  Second, I began to think I’d never get caught.  The police were so bumbling, so helpless—I almost felt sorry for them.  I underestimated the risk.  I must now pay the price.

Prolonged silence.

—You look uncomfortanble, counsel.  Do I scare you?

—No!

—No…  I do find that people are uncomfortable around me because they cannot predict my actions.  For example, right now you must be wondering whether I’ll attack you and try to bite off a piece.

—You don’t know what I think!

—I can see it on your face, clear as day.  That is your problem, counsel, and the source of all your fears: you can’t predict me.  You understand the words I say but my reasons, my logic are a mystery.  Yet if you had listened carefully to what I told you before, you would know not to fear me.

—What you say makes no sense to me.

—Perhaps so; and yet it’s very simple!  People are much more complex than you and most others allow.  Complexity is scary because it introduces unknowable risks; but what most won’t admit is that it is also mundane.  We continually present different sides of ourselves to the world depending on what the world presents to us, and who knows how many dark urges we suppress.  I am merely an extreme case, a perfectly normal human being who happens to possess very little of what is popularly known as conscience.  You would act exactly as I do if you were stripped of certain inhibitions, which are ultimately mere cultural constructs.  For these reasons, my behavior is perfectly predictable.  I wouldn’t try to jump you and bite off your ears any more than you would do that to a grazing cow.  I’d slaughter you first, then probably sauté your flank with shallots in a frying pan over medium flame and serve you with red wine.  I abhor raw meat.  I abhor blood.

—Guard!

—Wait!  Don’t you understand?  You distance yourself from me and close off your mind because deep down you see that we’re alike.  You and all the others loathe me, but in reality you loathe just how close to the surface my murderous aspect lies in your own souls.  I am a mirror that shows your true face…  Go, then!  Go, and let them execute me; you would rather smash the mirror than admit to the accuracy of the reflection.

The squeak of a vacated chair, the fall of retreating footsteps, a sudden pause.

—You say you abhor blood, you son of a bitch?  Then tell me you didn’t like slicing all those people into cold cuts.

—What do you want me to say?  Cannibalism without carving is at best superficial.

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