NOVEL SIMPLE Chapter-127 Ketaby
They anchored at their destination island, furling the sails, and docking the ship. The captain organized the sailors and prepared to unload, while Ewan and Kiev debarked to the stony beach, their steps crunching the pebbles, and met the Step-1 Asheva who owned the island—a round-bellied mustached man with a grin on his face that stretched to his ears, leaving only a slit for his eyes. He welcomed Kiev with a bear hug, then crushed Ewan too when Kiev introduced him.
“Welcome to my humble adobe,” he said, breaking the hug and clapping his shoulders.
“Thank you, Sir Malcolm,” Ewan said.
“I’ve prepared a feast, would you two please join me?”
“We were hoping to just get some rest, uncle,” Kiev said.
“How can that be? I can't let a guest go to bed empty stomach,” Malcolm said. “I’ve prepared some Water Ketabies for you, I’m sure you’ll love them.”
“Ketaby?” Kiev’s eyes sparkled. “I can't reject your good intentions then,” he said.
“Are they that good?” Ewan asked, following behind Malcolm with Kiev as they walked the paved trail through the forest. ‘Ketaby—a non-flying bird type Astylind that was a luxury food for many’, the books had read. There weren’t many details about them, but the explorer’s edition did mention a special gruesome method of cooking them that gave them the title of the ‘luxury food’.
“Their meat melts, and it’s not an exaggeration,” Malcolm said.
“Can I watch it when you cook them?” Ewan asked. Their special preparation method mentioned in the book had piqued his interest.
“That’s a bit…. It’s not a pleasant thing to watch. I can't let a guest see something like that, it might kill your appetite,” Malcolm said.
“Actually, I’m also interested, Uncle Malcolm,” Kiev said. “Grandpa never let me see it.”
“And there’s a reason for it, Kiev,” he said.
“I promise I won't tell him,” Kiev said. “Please.”
Malcolm sighed. “Fine,” he said. “But don’t blame me if you can't eat it anymore.”
……
Before the feast began, Ewan and Kiev both followed a member of the establishment that Malcolm ran on the island and came to the area where they prepared the Ketaby—a clearing in the forest behind the main building.
Two plump cerulean-feathered birds huddled together in a cage, and a bronzed half-naked man prepared the roasting pit. The wave of hot air assaulted Ewan when he moved closer, making his face feverish.
“Will you start now?” Kiev asked as Ewan observed the two birds.
“The pit’s almost ready, we’ll begin soon,” the bronzed man said.
“How does it work?” Ewan asked.
“Ketabies?” the man asked. “Those two are mother and son. We’ll choose the heavier of the two.”
When the pit burned red-hot, when it twisted the air above it and wafted the smell of barbeque, he weighed the two Ketabies and brought out the mother by her talons—she weighed less than her son.
“You chose the lighter one?” Kiev asked.
“That’s the one you’ll be eating,” the man said, pointing the thumb at the son Ketaby in the cage. “This one is for preparing the other one.”
“It’s confusing if you say it like that,” the member who brought them here said.
“How else should I say it…” the bronzed man grumbled under his breath and honed his sharp but time-beaten tools before the cage. Then in full view of the son Ketaby and the two new spectators, he made the first slash on the mother—shallow but it broke the skin.
He started from small cuts—the Ketaby screamed—and moved on to deep lacerations. The Ketaby in the cage rampaged around, crying, fluttering his wings, his feathers scattered. And the more he did, the more the bronzed man tormented the mother Ketaby. Their screams resonated and echoed in the clearing, ringing in Ewan’s ears as he gaped at the show.
The way Malcolm advised against them watching this hinted towards something grisly. Ewan’s guess was the physical torture of the food before cooking it or slowly cooking the food alive. But this kind of mental abuse never crossed his mind. The empathy, the pity, and the cruelty aside, the method fascinated him, still with a pinch of discomfort. And he wondered what kind of mind discovered this.
“I’m not clear on the details but doing this before cooking them makes their meat more tender and opens up their fat pockets,” the member said. “It makes them juicier.” He gulped.
His words ended and Kiev vomited to the side. The intrigue of this cooking method had already gripped Ewan, even amidst the unease, so he paid no attention to his retching companion and stared at the Ketaby in the cage. Was it the negative emotions? Was the Ketaby even capable of those emotions? The chain of questions rolled in his mind. Did the trauma trigger something in the Ketaby that made it taste better to the Starons? Could he reproduce the effect in other meat source if he knew how it happened? Emotions initiating physiological changes—it was an amusing field of knowledge; Ewan made a mental note to research it later.
The bronzed man moved on from torturing to cooking the mother Ketaby alive—he roasted her over the pit, feathers and all. The pungent stench of burnt hair and skin worsened Kiev’s condition, he paled. Ewan too protected his sensitive nose and backed off.
“You could’ve at least taken off the feathers,” the member said, covering his nose and glaring at the man.
“It works better this way,” the bronzed man said. “The little bit of theatrics adds to the taste.”
Everything ended when the Ketaby in the cage lost all his spirit and lay on the ground, unmoving, his eyes glued to the burnt Ketaby over the roasting pit. The bronzed man went all the way and added a bit of physical torment on top before slitting the son Ketaby’s throat and draining its blood in a large bowl. The interesting parts ended, so Ewan supported Kiev by his shoulder and went back to their accommodated rooms.
At night, they joined Malcolm in the feast. Kiev didn’t touch the meat and only ate the veggies, still pale with an embarrassed smile plastered on his face. Malcolm had some refreshing fruit juice made for him especially which eased his complexion. Ewan, on the side, savored the Ketaby’s meat after overcoming his hesitation. Each bite of the meat melted, the fat pockets burst into sweet juices, and the hum of the spices enhanced it all. Though it came with its own burden on conscience, tonight’s dinner was the best he’d ever had in his life.
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