Flab wobbled as the arm raised the cleaver and then brought it down into the meat.

 

CHOP!

 

The visions took him back to Volvograd, where Fedor tried to play with the other children. They stopped and stared angrily when he arrived. There were names for kids like him: fatty, huge, lard butt, heavy, and worst of all, dumpling. Stones hit like hail as he lifted his arm to shield his face from the pelting. He ran toward the muddy streets as rocks hit the back of his head and neck, back to the meat shop.

 

CHOP!

 

Your father is working hard at the shop. Why aren’t you helping him? You want to read books? Romance books!? How will books help you chop meat? That’s nonsense. You didn’t finish your dinner, here, eat a second helping. My big dumpling!

 

CHOP!

 

A rose lifted towards the young woman. To him, she was the most beautiful girl in school even though she was bullied by the other girls. She looked at him as he towered over her. Sweaty clothes clung to rolled skin as moisture beaded off of his high forehead. With a steady step she backed away.

“Would you like to go to the p-p-arade with me?”

She shook her head, “With you! I’m sorry dumpling. I’m already spoken for.”

“Oh, sorry, it’s well and good then,”

But she had already ran off.

 

CHOP!

 

The wine soaking his hair ran down his face in little red rivulets. It stung his eyes. The flower held between his sausage-like finger blurred. Laughter filled the room, drowning out the party music.

“He actually did it. He actually confessed to her. This is the fourth girl this year, and her of all people. What desperation!”

A hand smacked hard into his back.

“Dumpling, you’re a riot, you’re hilarious! Who will you propose to next! You look red faced, here, drink some vodka!”

 

CHOP!

 

“Father! Father, can you hear me? Do you want some vodka? Father, what’s wrong. Call the doctor! Mother, mother, father is ill. He passed out over the table while we were working! I can’t get him to stand up!”

It took several strong ambulance drivers to get Fedor’s father into the vehicle. The man would never raise a cleaver again. He heard his mother yelling, “Dumpling, get to the car, we’re going to the hospital!”

 

CHOP!

 

A heavy-set woman had been coming to the shop every day for the past week. She always bought several kilograms of sausage, a brick of the fattiest ground beef, and a kilogram of their best tenderloin cuts. The conversation had been good. They made eye contact. Fedor believed this one liked him. The rose stood ready in a water filled glass near the counter.

She came with the same order, so he lifted the rose from the vase.

“Baby, dumpling, did you get the meat yet,” said a lanky older man in a white suit. A gold chain with an orthodox cross hung around his neck. He smacked her behind playfully. She turned and kissed him on the cheek.

“I’m sorry love, usually he is fast but today he seems distracted. Perhaps we can go to another shop?”

“Ah- I’m sorry miss. It’s your turn. Can I get your usual order?”

The rose fell to the bloody floor behind the counter.

 

CHOP!

 

“Been a while since high school, doing well? Ah, never mind. So you want to join the military, da?”

“Da.”

Fedor nodded. The recruiter with the broad chin overgrown with short stubble did not look impressed at the nearly thirty-year-old man who could barely fit through the door. He examined the file.

“I didn’t think a dumpling like you could pass the physical. Ahhhh, we must be desperate. Men are in short supply. But I doubt you would be a good fit. Look at you, you’re huge dumpling. Sure, you move well, but you’d be a living target on the front. The assault squads are certainly out, and if you hold a trench you’ll just get killed. How’re we even going to feed a dumpling like you!”

Fedor clenched his fists, “I’m a butcher. I’m a very good one as well. I’m not asking for big pay. I just want to serve the motherland. My mother and her new husband can handle our shop, so there will be no interruptions in local service.”

The recruiter slapped his thigh, “If you insist, I have an idea. You’ve nothing to worry about. We actually need butchers. Our soldiers fight better when they have good protein. Exactly yes, I have the just perfect assignment for a man of your talents.”

 

CHOP!

 

Fedor put the meat on the pallet. The shrink wrap went around and into the notch. With the press of the button the pallet spun, wrapping the meat. Cut the meat, wrap the meat, spin the meat, and watch the forklift lift the pallet onto the flat bed. Another batch of fresh meat arrived, upon another, and then another.

"Fresh batch dumpling!"

The battered corpse fell upon the table before the cleaver raised and dropped over it. Another batch, another pallet swirled as the shrink wrap crinkled. The buzz of the chipper activated as limbs filled the chute. The cleaver rang whenever it hit shrapnel. Meat squelched.

 

CHOP!

 

Another pallet finished wrapping as it dripped watered down life liquids from the compressed rotted meat and flesh inside. Fedor’s eyes stung with a crusty infection. He could hear a buzzing ringing in his ears.

“I’m going outside to smoke,”

The garage door opened with a twirling clinking chain sound. Crickets chirped in the high grass. The smell of rotten meat faded as the gravel crunched beneath his feet. Despite the poor rations and the heavy work, he had not lost weight. Plenty of free meat to be had if one could quickly discern which cuts were unspoiled. The feast of war never ended.

The cigarette was a bad excuse to go outside, everyone knew he didn’t smoke. But a man could not be trapped in a warehouse all day, sometimes he needed to smell what remained of the fresh air.

But what buzzed in the air? Stravinsky! No, possibly similar but it had a mix of Gershwin’s style and its’ own elemental beat. The most beautiful piece he had ever heard played over the air, a composition of absolute genius.

He walked toward the symphony of sound as the wilted unlit cigarette in his hand lengthened while sprouting leaves and thorns that pierced flesh. A bud pushed out of the tobacco as the smoke bloomed into a large red rose. The thorns pressed through the skin of the chubby fingers to draw blood.

He lifted the rose and looked confused as blood trickled down his fingers. The sky was a clear blue with one or two perfectly fluffy white clouds. The music gave the breeze that cut the hot air a classical ambience scented with grilled beef. It became louder, and if he listened hard enough, he could hear a high-pitched giggle among the notes.

A woman appeared before him and instead of grimacing in disgust she actually smiled and waved. What was this crazy woman doing out here? It wasn’t the front, but running around outside was still dangerous. He floundered angrily toward her, as he intended to tell her to get home.

As he got closer, he noticed the fine embroidered detail of the traditional red and white dress. Her brilliant hair the color of flowing snow like a winter evening in moonlight contrasted red glowing eyes like the fire of a warm hearth. That shy smile played with his heart.

He fell in love. His heart ached as his body quivered and he dared lift the rose to this surreal beauty. To his shock, she approached and gently held out a hand to accept his gift.

“What a beautiful gift, and you’ve been waiting so long for someone to receive it. You have a profoundly deep heart.”

She swirled in place while lifting the rose up above his head. The music played louder. That hidden orchestra played the mix of Stravinsky and Gershwin that tamed his ears and made his love all the more beautiful. He tried to speak so as to ask where she came from, but his lips merely quivered as he rubbed his infected eyes. Suddenly she flung herself against him, her tail pushed into his rolls of fat to tickle his flesh. Hands clung against his chest to kneed his bloody apron.

“No, no, you can’t touch me like this. I’m hideous. I will only stain you.”

Azoria pushed back from the huge man and blinked before looking into his eyes, gazing gently for the longest moment. She hovered off the ground, bare feet dangling from her dress so she could enjoy his gaze as she carressed his cheek.

“I like you, Fedor. I want you to be my dumpling. I want you to play a game with me. Won’t you please join me?”

“There is nothing I would want more.”

A twisted cigarette fell to the burnt ground as Fedor saw his bloody shrapnel wounded hand. The classical symphonic duel between Gershwin and Stravinsky that had soothed his soul warped into a cacophony of grenade explosions and the buzzing of propellers.

A rickety device floating on four propellers floated in front of his face. The camera scanned the several hundred pound man in the army logistics uniform and bloody apron. Fedor’s mouth hung open as he stared at the drone. It stared back at him with two red blinking lights.

It dropped a metal tube in front of his feet.

 

CHOP!