//------------------------------// // Blood, Sweat and More Blood // Story: It Ain't Gold that Dazzles // by Gyro Steambass //------------------------------// The inside of the butchery was just like every other butchery. White and clean, a place to display meat during the day, a counter and in the back were multiple tools. After Blackjack had given her a tour of the butchery, which included where he stored all the meat, where he cut up the carcasses and where he prepared the meat for sale, he led her to the living area, which was behind the butchery. He told her that she was going to be sleeping on the couch, “cuz I only got one bed.” Which was fine by her. He then led her to the bathroom upstairs, so she could “wash away the street stink.” He had never seen someone so happy to finally take a shower. When she was done her hair finally had some of it’s original volume again. She also noticed her clothes had been cleaned up. They hadn’t been washed, but they were definitely cleaner than before. She then proceeded downstairs to the living room. It wasn’t as spartan as she expected, but it could certainly use a bit more decoration besides the multiple plants spread around the room. There was a grandfather clock that didn’t work, a dark blue felt couch, a dark blue felt chair, a wooden coffee table and a television that wasn’t old, but certainly not new. On the coffee table there was a plate with two sandwiches. She just stood there, staring at the sandwiches, as if they would suddenly sprout wings and fly away. She touched them, afraid they weren’t real. But they were. She never had liked the taste of ham, but at that moment? They were the best sandwiches she had ever had. After she finished her meal, she noticed a note next to the plate. She picked it up. It said: Better eat up and go to sleep. You’ll be getting up early in the morning so I can teach you how things work around here. You didn’t faint when I showed you the split pigs, so I’m assuming you’re not too squeamish. We’re getting up at four in the morning. “Oh. Right.” She had almost forgotten about that. “Oh well.” She shrugged and put the note back on the coffee table. “I’ll deal with that tomorrow.” She lay down on the couch. She was out before her head hit the couch. In front of her was a dead cow. A skinned, dead cow. In two halves. And she was supposed to... what? “I’m supposed to do what?” She asked, still blinking the sleep out of her eyes, while putting on her hairnet. She couldn’t suppress a yawn. “I told ya, this is a butchery. We don’t just sell meat, we cut and prepare it too.” He was holding a pretty big knife, with a hole in the blade. “When it’s brought to us, it’s already been skinned, splitted and eviscerated.” She blinked once, staring blankly at Blackjack. He sighed. He got the message and rolled his eyes. “Skinning is obvious, removing the skin or pelt. Splitting means dividing a carcass into a right and a left half. Evisceration means removing the viscera, also known as organs.” “While those things certainly sound gross, they don’t sound like things butchers usually do,” she said, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms. “You’re both right and wrong. Those things are done by butchers who are specialized in those things. Now what I’m gonna teach ya, ain’t something the common butcher does either.” He walked over to the carcass. “The reason we do the next part ourselves is because it’s cheaper. Think of it like cake; when you buy cake it’s much more expensive than when you buy ingredients and bake one yourself. And honestly, I like money.” “What was it you were gonna teach me?” She looked up, thinking back. She had been a bit stunned at seeing a carcass that up close. Sure, she saw them the night before, but she had been delirious from hunger and a lack of sleep. Now that she finally had a good nights sleep and a few proper meals, seeing a dead cow felt a bit different. “Something about a primary cut?” “Making primary cuts, and then making secondary cuts.” He lifted up the knife. “This, is a butcher’s knife, also known as a cleaver. It’s used for removing larger chunks of meat from the bones and cutting large pieces of meat in smaller pieces. It’s also used to cut through bone. It’s not that precise, but it doesn’t have to be.” “Okay, but what’s the difference between primary and secondary cuts?” She got a bit closer, but not too close. The room was filled with the smell of blood and meat. “Primary cuts are the larger pieces meat,” he said, while he started cutting the meat from the bones. “when you’ve removed them from the carcass.” He takes a large piece from the carcass and places it on the cutting table, right in front of her. “Secondary cuts are when ya divide the primary cuts into smaller pieces that are suitable for sale.” He proceeds to cut more large chunks of meat of the carcass. “The cleaver is only used for this part.” He walked over to the wall with tools. “For the more delicate meat and the meat that needs precision, we use these.” He walked back with a long knife paired with a two-pronged fork and a very long knife that has a strange rounded tip and a serrated edge. “This,” He holds up the long knife and fork. “is a carving knife. The fork goes with it. It’s used for cutting very precise slices of meat. The other knife,” He holds up the long serrated knife. “Is a slicing knife. It’s used for separating meat properly.” “And I have to do... all that?” She asked disbelievingly, her face still slightly green. “No. I’ll be doing the secondary cuts, cuz I have more experience. You’ll be doing the primary cuts, since it needs less precision.” He held the cleaver towards her. “That, makes sense, I guess.” She really didn’t want to do this. She hated blood. Always had. “I can see ya don’t wanna do this.” He pulled the cleaver back as he crossed his huge arms in front of his even bigger chest. “But I don’t think I need to remind ya of the alternative.” He pointed one finger towards a window. No, towards the streets. “And ya don’t want that, do ya?” She knew it was a rhetorical question. She sighed, closed her eyes and held out her hand. She heard him chuckle, and felt the handle of the cleaver get pushed into her hand. She took the cleaver, opened her eyes and walked towards the carcass. “Good to know ya got you’re priorities straight, Dazzle.” “Don’t get me wrong, Blackjack. I hate blood. Can’t stand the smell or the sight of it.” She took a good look at the knife and then at the carcass. She narrowed her eyes, feeling more determined then she had in quite some time. She furrowed her brow. “But I hate living on the streets even more.” She started cutting the meat from the bones, a bit of leftover blood coming out, making her face go green again. “Also, don’t call me Dazzle.” “Sure thing, Dazz.” She could practically feel him grin. “Don’t lose your fingers though.” She couldn’t tell if that last one was a joke or not. After three hours of cutting meat, Adagio was exhausted. “Ya know, Dazz. Ya actually managed to impress me.” She knew he meant it, but there was a slightly mocking tone to how he said it. “Ya only threw up once, and not even on the meat!” There it was. “But what impressed me the most?” He chuckled. “How you managed to cut yourself, not with the cleaver, but on a cracked rib!” He chuckled some more, but louder. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up with the newbie.” She waved a bandaged hand at him, while he was putting away the meat. “Meathead. A butcher newbie is called a meathead.” He chuckled some more. “Sure, whatever.” She walked over to him, most of her initial fear of him gone. “But why exactly are you letting me do this job? Aren’t you supposed to have studied for this kind of work?” She raised an eyebrow at him and crossed her arms. “Well, yeah, but I’d be a hypocrite if I send ya away for that.” Her eyes went wide at that statement. “Wait, you’re not a certified butcher?” He frowned at how she said that. “Hey, I’m certified. I just didn’t get my license from some fancy schmancy school. I got it from the guy who taught me how to do this.” “And who was he?” “The owner of one of those schools.” That shut her up. “What.” For a moment. “How did that happen?!” His face went back to it’s usual blank state. He stared out the window. “He took pity on me.” He looked back at her. “He plucked me from the streets. Said that someone like me shouldn’t be sitting around homeless and jobless. And then he taught me.” He walked towards the front room, where he would receive his customers. “He taught me the basics of preparing pork, beef, poultry and fish. But only the basics. Apparently a butcher is supposed to know forty different ways to cut beef. He told me that ya don’t need that to be successful.” “Then, what DO you need?” She asked, a little bewildered. “Ya need taste.” He took out the sack from last night from under the counter. “The most important thing he taught me, was how to make it taste good.” He opened the bag. “It’s filled with... spices?” She started to understand. “Yep. The meat I sell might not be the best cut of the land, but I sure as heck know how to make em taste good.” He grinned. She was surprised. Looks like he had some brains underneath all those muscles after all. “You’re not a butcher, are you?” She asked, a grin appearing on her face as well. “Nope.” He started putting the spices away. “I’m just a good cook that knows how to cut and prepare meat. And how to give it a unique taste.” “And the customers keep coming back because of the unique taste, right?” “Got in one, Dazz.” Her grin disappeared. His widened. “Stop calling me that.” But his grin told her that she wasn’t going to be rid of that nickname for a long, long time.