tooth soup

photo credit: stukinha

‘My refrigerator? Loads,

why?’ Dave asked, his attention fully with Charley now that his beloved white goods were in question.

Charley continued cautiously. ‘You would agree that we need to do something about this body, yes? You stated not ten minutes ago that police intervention wouldn’t–’

‘Wouldn’t be giving the lad the full respect that he deserved,’ chorused Dave, impatient to learn Charley’s intent. ‘Yes, what of it?’

‘Well, with that noble goal in mind, I think we should bury him ourselves. For that we need two things, and one of them is a suitably elegant coffin.’

Dave’s eyes widened at the implication. He looked to the white monolith and back to Charley. ‘You’re not suggesting…?’ Dave trailed off, only resuming in when it was clear Charley wasn’t going to finish his sentence for him. ‘You’re not suggesting we use my fridge as a coffin are you?’ he whispered in a horrified tone.

‘Do you have any better ideas? You did say–’

‘Yes, yes, I know what I said, stop reminding me.’ Dave grumbled. He paced around the room, stopping every few steps to check that the body and the stool were still in the room with him. Eventually he came to a stop, looked mournfully at the fridge, and faced Charley. Evidently his brain had overcome its previous inability to comprehend the situation as he pleaded with Charley, ‘Surely there’s something else we can use? My mattress perhaps? We could rip out all the springs, stuff him inside!’

Charley remained unmoved. ‘No, I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible. Your physique wouldn’t afford you the ability to hoist the mattress downstairs without arousing suspicion. Who would believe a man having enormous trouble moving a mattress? No, the only suitable receptacle is the refrigerator I’m afraid.’

Dave was devastated. All that fresh produce he’d have to throw away. And he’d be forced to eat take-away for weeks until he could afford the down payment on a new fridge. It must be said that although Dave cut a less-than-striking figure, his girth was mainly due to the enormous amount of alcohol he consumed. His diet was actually very healthy, and he was quite the gourmet in the kitchen. The prospect of having one of his few remaining pleasures–that of being able to prepare a meal with fresh ingredients–taken away from him was horrifying. ‘Couldn’t we, I don’t know, cut him up or something?’

It was Charley’s turn to be horrified. ‘You’ve certainly gone full circle from requesting a sober burial to treating him like a haunch of meat. No, of course we can’t chop him up! For a start, the human body is notoriously hard to separate into pieces if you aren’t equipped with the right tools. Have you even a hand saw? No, I didn’t think so. I’m afraid as much as you protest I will stay stoic on this matter. You should attend to your stocks and see what will or won’t keep, and use the perishables in a final banquet in honour of your soon to bedeparted fridge.’

Dave sighed, opened the fridge door and started the long process of removing the many ingredients from within. Out came vegetables of all shapes, sizes and colours, fresh fruit and home-made yoghurt, dozens of eggs from a variety of birds, multi-colouredwheels of different cheeses, capers and peppers, truffles and anchovies, the pile just kept growing larger. The freezer contained more meat than a slaughterhouse, every genus was represented. After almost half an hour of sorting and deliberating over what might last, Dave stood back and declared himself finished. ‘Well,’ said Charley, ‘I hope you’ve got an appetite, because tomorrow afternoon at exactly 2:30pm you will be wheeling our deceased friend out of this apartment and towards the nearest garbage dump.’

To be continued next Friday!

No related posts.