The Lamb 1.1
Part 1 - Andreas
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The Lamb
I was ten, and my body still didn’t know how to handle the late-morning heat out on the land.
First, they tied its legs. The scrape of the rope on its skin was rough, like raw flesh rubbing against dry wood. The lamb panted, not from fear, but from the dry air trapped in its body, tightening its chest.
“You’ll help Juano,” my grandfather said, leaving no room to refuse him.
I knew what was coming, but I wasn’t ready. My stomach lurched. I wanted to throw up. I looked at Andreas. His eyes, usually steady, now had a strange glint, the same uncertainty I felt.
“What if I don’t want to?” I murmured, more to myself than to anyone.
My grandfather clicked his tongue, tugged the rope, and tightened the knot with a single pull around the animal’s legs. He looked straight at me—not harshly, but with a seriousness that left no room to run. “You’ll help Juano,” he repeated, as if saying it again sealed the order.
Juano readied the knife. Sweat ran down his forehead as he approached. The lamb stayed still, breathing more slowly, unaware of what was about to happen. He brought the blade close to its neck, drew it once, then again, and then, without a word, cut its throat.
“Gael, hold the bucket. Don’t let the blood go to waste!” my grandfather ordered, low and grave.
I gripped it with both sweaty hands. The sound of thick liquid on metal made my throat close. Some of the blood splashed into the bucket; the rest, warm, spattered the dry ground. The lamb let out a short moan. The cut was clean, yet its body still arched. But it didn’t die.
It didn’t stop shaking. Its legs scraped against the ground; its chest rose and fell with pain. My breathing ran wild. I tried to steady myself, but my legs wouldn’t answer.
“Your pain will only make it suffer more. Stay calm, Gael,” my grandfather said, eyes fixed on the lamb.
Not an order. A plea.
My fingers were wet and slippery on the bucket. I tried to look away from the cut. I wanted to run. Before I could move, Andreas stepped forward and took the bucket from my hands.
“I’ll do it,” he said quietly.
Juano looked up, surprised, but said nothing. My grandfather frowned but didn’t intervene. Andreas glanced at me, careful not to shame me, then fixed his eyes on the bucket.
The lamb stopped moving. My heartbeat slowed. I let out my breath. My body knew before I did. I couldn’t keep it.
*
After the sacrifice, the heat eased a little. Grandfather finished giving Juano his final instructions. Juano kept working, focused on skinning the lamb. A dark bloodstain had spread on the dry earth. I stared at it. Something in its shape, in the way it kept widening, unsettled me.
“Let’s go,” Grandfather said, dusting off his hands. “Come on. We’ll take a walk.”
We walked in silence along a path between the mango trees. Andreas was a few steps ahead, kicking pebbles. I followed with my head down, the smell of the dead animal still stuck in my nose.
Grandfather had his small radio slung over his shoulder. As always, its black strap was frayed.
“Do you listen to music, Gael?” Grandfather asked without stopping.
“Yes,” I said. “My parents love it, and my brother is teaching me guitar.”
“Your grandfather’s taught me a lot about music, but I still don’t have a guitar,” Andreas said, a little ashamed.
“But we have lots of guitars that nobody uses,” I said, genuinely confused.
My grandfather didn’t answer. He kept walking, as if he hadn’t heard. When we reached the big rock we’d known since we were kids, he stopped.
“Here,” he said.
He turned on the radio. Static mixed with the sounds of the fields. A light breeze carried the smell of fresh earth. A song began: “Penso che un sogno così non ritorni mai più…”
Seated with his hands on the rock, Grandfather looked straight at me.
“What do you feel when you hear this song?”
I paused. I didn’t understand the words, but the melody wrapped around me.
“I’m not sure… it sounds like it’s about someone who flies. Someone free.”
A small smile crossed his face. He didn’t say a word, but took three slow breaths.
Andreas began to sway side to side—small twirls, short steps—playing with the rhythm. The sun fell on him and, for a moment, it looked like the light came from him.
Grandfather watched from the rock, his expression lively but quiet. In that instant everything seemed to float: the music, the wind, the calm. Nothing needed to be said. But he was already elsewhere.
*
When we decided to head back, Grandfather laid a steady hand on my shoulder and walked beside me.
“Sometimes you can’t protect everyone, Gael,” he said, looking at me. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth trying.”
I didn’t know what to say. I knew what he meant.
“You see differently, Gael. That isn’t taught.”
The trees cast long shadows over the path. Andreas was a few steps ahead, cutting branches from the orange trees. He stopped, lifted his head, and blew up toward the sky, shooing away something invisible.
“There are things you don’t forget,” Grandfather added.
I didn’t ask anything. I kept walking. Each word stayed with me, waiting for the day I would come back to find its meaning.
That night I couldn’t sleep. I went out to the patio barefoot, following the soft hum of crickets. Andreas was there, sitting in the moonlight with his back hunched and his hands together in prayer. I came close in silence and sat beside him.
The bloodstain was still there, next to us.
“I don’t think I should have let it die,” I said.
Andreas didn’t answer. He didn’t move.
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Good story, beautiful writing!
Fantastic.