There had been a serious discussion, in the week before the dinner, about serving another barbecued pig and how it might serve as a necessary lesson for the children. Jeremy had mentioned that he had some experience in slaughtering hogs and wondered if the children could see the entire process, from life to death to table. “The kids could really understand how connected we are to the food that we eat. How grateful we should be for the food that sustains us,” he said, as if he had a pamphlet in his back pocket that would explain more if you wanted to learn.
“I don’t want my kid to watch a pig get shot in the head and then make her eat it,” Julie said, shaking her head.
“You don’t shoot them,” Jeremy said, his voice soothing and solicitous. “You cut their throats.”
“No,” Julie said.
“It’s more humane than I’m making it sound,” Jeremy offered, and then Ellen said that she thought it seemed like a good idea. “It feels like the way our forefathers would do things,” she said. “And farm to table is very popular stuff right now.”
Dr. Grind then said, “Ordinarily, I think we could talk through this more deliberately, but I want to bring up one aspect that perhaps we’re not considering. If we kill the pig, and the children observe the act, we need to remember that our benefactor and her granddaughter, who is in some ways a stranger to the work we’re doing here, will be here. I think we need to be careful about how we promote the complex to the larger, perhaps more skeptical world. While we might think this is a helpful lesson for our children to learn, we have to realize that we’re representatives of the work we’re doing here. If the children cry or are distressed by the event and they haven’t shaken it by lunch the following day, how might outsiders, without the proper context, consider this event?”
“They’d think we were fucking up our already fucked-up kids even more,” said Benjamin.
“The most unkind people would phrase it that way, perhaps,” Dr. Grind said.
“It was just a thought,” Jeremy said.
“Well, let’s vote,” Dr. Grind offered, and, though not as overwhelming as he had suspected the vote would be, the complex decided to table the idea of slaughtering pigs for the children’s enrichment.
“I’ll put together a menu that doesn’t have any animals,” Izzy said, more to herself than to anyone else, but Dr. Grind nodded his approval.
Izzy led Dr. Grind around the table, loading up a plate of food for Mrs. Acklen. “I can make her something else if she doesn’t like any of this,” Izzy told him as she spooned a serving of German potato salad onto the plate, already loaded with food. “It would be criminal to make something else with all this food,” he replied. “You should give her the plate,” Dr. Grind said, “since you made the food,” but Izzy shook her head. “I’m not ready to meet her yet,” she told him.
“She’s the most normal and down-to-earth billionaire you will ever meet,” he said, and gave her a gentle nudge toward the picnic table where Mrs. Acklen and Patricia were waiting. The three research fellows were making small talk with the two women, and Dr. Grind cleared his throat and handed each of them a glass of water spiked with cucumber. “This is Izzy, one of the parents. She made all the food.”
Izzy set the plate down in front of Mrs. Acklen, who whistled long and low.
“I can make you something else if you’d like,” Izzy stammered, but Mrs. Acklen shook her head. “If I can’t find something on this plate to eat, that’s my fault,” she replied. She lifted her fork and indiscriminately poked it into a mound of food. She took a small, careful bite and she seemed instantly relieved. “This is so good,” she said. “What is it, now?” As she asked, she offered a bite to Patricia, who politely, but firmly, declined.
“It’s grilled tofu with a wasabi-soy dressing,” Izzy answered.
“It is so much better than that sounds,” Mrs. Acklen remarked. She took another bite and then regarded Izzy. “I’ve heard a lot of good things about you, miss,” she told her, which made Izzy blush. “You’re an interesting case, I remember that from the beginning. I’m glad to hear things are going well for you.”
“They are,” Izzy said forcefully, as if she couldn’t figure out how to accurately explain this to Mrs. Acklen.
“Keep it up,” Mrs. Acklen said, then returned her attention back to her plate, and Izzy walked over to the rest of the parents, who were now keeping the party going, playing with the children, while also craning their necks to watch Mrs. Acklen.
Finally, as the fellows and Patricia awkwardly watched Brenda Acklen take tiny bites, steadily, never stopping, of everything on the plate, Dr. Grind noticed that Cap and Eliza and Marnie had broken away from the rest of the family, cards in their hands, and gestured for him to listen to a secret. The children seemed to be vibrating with excitement. Dr. Grind knelt and then Marnie whispered into his ear, “We made stuff for that old lady. They said we hafta wait, but we’re going do it anyway.”