In the Hall of the Vegan King, pt. 1

connor walker

          Back in high school, I remember that one of my friends went vegan. I’m sure that’s something most can relate to that one friend that just decides to become a vegan and crafts a pedestal out of leafy greens and bovine tears on top of which they sit, judging everyone that’s normal. I had not talked to Todd (the vegan friend) in a while, but I ran into him not too long ago at a Sprouts. We made small talk, exchanged pleasantries, spoke about our recent lives, etc. Todd, being a vegan, eventually brought up his diet and told me to watch a documentary about factory farming that he promised would change my life. I nodded my head, eyes rolling under closed eyelids, and told him I had heard about it (a lie) from another friend that I had watched Food, Inc. with (not a complete lie) a few months ago. He smiled and said “yeah” a few times.

          “Yeah, that’s the movie that made me go vegan. It was so good, but this movie is, like, really good,” he said, “Anyway, I gotta go find a few more ingredients. I can’t find the cashews anywhere, man.”

          And with that, Todd left with an aura of all-natural, fair-trade, smug superiority. When I got home from sprouts, I looked into the movie he told me to watch. It was called Nous sommes des animaux, je suis l'agneau. I knew Todd was a vegan, but I hadn’t pegged him for a foreign film type of guy. I ended up finding a site where I could download and watch the movie for free, and that was it. I watched it, not my cup of tea, but it wasn’t so bad. It was just a little weird.

          Three days passed, and I made myself a standard breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast, but I found that I didn’t want to eat it. I ended up tossing it and looking in the fridge for anything else, and ate a box of strawberries instead. But none of this had registered to me until I finished the strawberries; it was just one fell swoop, almost unconsciously, like a divine vegan being had possessed me. A few minutes later, there was a knock at my door, and to my surprise, it was Todd standing with two men in brown robes with clerical collars: one was faint green, and the other a ferrous orange. I opened the door and greeted them.

          “Wyatt, it has been so long,” Todd said as he opened his arms.

          “It’s been, like, three days, Todd,” I replied.

          “Yes! Three days too many to be separated from a brother!” he exclaimed, raising his arms to accentuate his want of a hug. I obliged him reluctantly.

          “So, who are your friends?” I asked.

          “This is Altus Quercus, named for his wisdom and long practice of the way.” As the man with the green collar bowed, he said, “and this is Campus Florus, named for his positive demeanor and beauty,” and the other man bowed.

          “Huh, then what’s your, uh...name?” I asked.

          “I am Iustus Olivarum, named for my sense of justice and love of peace,” he told me. I looked behind Todd and saw a fourth man waiting in a car, also wearing a brown robe.

          “Who’s that?”

          “Oh, that’s Craig.”

          I eventually agreed to get in the car with them (which, as they assured me, ran on vegetable oil and divine will) and we took a dirt road that led us to a clearing in a forest. The car was parked, along with a few other cars just like it, and we walked the rest of the way on foot. 

          We came upon what looked like a small village, and Todd exclaimed, “we have arrived!” 

          I started to wander off, but Todd stopped me.

          “No, Wyatt, you must meet him,” he told me.

          “Meet who?”

          “Oh, you shall see.”

          Todd walked me to a yurt, lifted the flap for me, and motioned for me to enter. The only floor other than soil was a large rug, and the only bedding a few bedrolls scattered around said carpet. The lighting consisted of candles hanging from the top of the yurt, a fire, and a small open skylight. The people were singing “Frère Jacques” accompanied by kalimba, flute, sitar, and three different kinds of drum. The man playing the sitar wore no shirt,  had a blanket covering the lower half of his body, and looked oddly familiar. When the song was over, everyone laughed except him. He beckoned for me to come closer, and I sat next to him.

          “You are Wyatt, non?” he asked in a thick French accent. He had deep brown eyes and long hair, with a beard to match. “Come, let me feel you,” he said, making me freeze a little.

          “Uh, alright...” I said as he placed his hand on my chest. He closed his eyes and gave a heavy sigh.

          “Mm, yes, Wyatt. I see your soul. It is tainted,” he said.

          “What do you mean?” I asked.

          “It is tainted by blood. The blood of animals and suffering. To let it free, you must, how you say, tell them you are sorry, yes?”

          “You mean, like, repent?”

          “Ah, yes, that is the word. Repent. Will you?”

          The way he said it felt like it set off a chain reaction in my head. It made sense now.

          “You’re the one from the movie I watched, aren’t you?” I asked.

          “Oui, je suis l'agneau. Take this from me,” he said, and he brought out a knife. “Sang,” he handed the knife to me, “pour sang, blood for blood. You will repent for me.”

          He took my hand and pointed at my finger. I looked at him nervously and looked down at my finger. He nodded and smiled. I pricked my finger with the knife, and watched as blood began to bead up. He took my finger and moved it to my mouth, and I opened it.

          “Very good, mon chéri, we forgive you,” he said, and he kissed me.

          The kalimba started playing, accompanied by the djembe, and the group began singing what sounded like a gregorian chant. I could hear Todd singing in the background as the man who played sitar continued to kiss me, and I closed my eyes. I can’t deny that it felt magical, nor can I deny that Todd is a good singer. I cannot deny either that he was a good kisser, and that I felt everything melt away as his tongue was the last piece of meat I had in my mouth ever since.