When I was ten years old, I was hauled into the principal’s office for frightening the other children. They deserved it because they were taunting me. They said me and my sister were wierdos for not eating meat. I explained to them exactly why we didn’t meat.
“Our dad is a paramedic and he got called out to an industrial accident. The food factory used steam to clean and sterilise the equipment. Someone got caught in the steamer and cooked to death. When my dad turned up, he said the smell was like boiled pork.”
I shouldn’t really have got in trouble because I wasn’t lying. OK so I embellished a little. I described how the eyeballs popped out and the skin was flaking off, but the bare bones of the story were correct. My dad came home that day and emptied the fridge and freezer of all the meat. He was so haunted by the smell that he would avoid barbecues and other social functions where meat was likely to be served. He would always say:
“You can trust a plant. You know what you’re getting. Root, stem, leaves, nuts and seeds.”
I was on board with our family’s newfound vegetarianism, but my sister rebelled and had the occasional McDonalds. Then came mad cow disease, a big scandal in the UK in the 1990s. In short, they were feeding bits of cow to other cows causing an infectious cannibal like disease called Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy which led to a disease called Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease when humans consumed the meat. 178 people died. One of them was a boy at our school called Lewis. My dad was Mr I told you so. He had always been inclined to conspiracy theories but this time he was actually right. Someone from the government appeared on TV with his four-year-old child, telling us beef was safe while eating a burger.
There are two big employers in our town, the hospital, and the university. Mum also worked at the hospital where dad was based. It was normal for people in town to be born in the hospital and go to the University. There is a great deal of pride in these two institutions.
Fast forward a few years and the horse meat scandal broke. In short, they had been replacing beef with horse meat which is taboo in the UK (but not uncommon on the European continent). Thankfully no one was hurt (except the horses of course). My dad had a field day. He was always trying – unsuccessfully – to convince his friends that nuts contained all the protein you need. For me the path of least resistance was to eat my bowl of nuts and not complain. My sister just said:
“What’s the difference between a horse and a cow? They both eat grass for a living.”
I knew dad was ultimately just trying to keep us safe. I wouldn’t want any harm to come to him, or my mum, or my sister especially. We’re twins and we’ve always looked out for each other. I’ve got her back and she’s got mine.
Now my sister and I go the prestigious local university and live at home with mum and dad. It’s only half the experience but we’re saving a lot of money. I’m an anthropology major and my sister studies English. We run in different social circles and don’t hang out much. I’ve made a lot of friends in my first year. We hang out a lot in the canteen because it’s subsidised and none of us have any money. Even the beer is subsidised. My vegetarianism isn’t a big deal here because I seem quite tame in comparison to the vegans.
Two of my friends have been ill with suspected meningitis and because I’m not allowed to visit them, I asked my mum if she could check in on them at the hospital and let me know they’re ok. I begged her for a week, but she always found reasons why she couldn’t see them. Eventually she told me that they both seemed fine. They were sat up in bed, though supported by a lot of pillows, and they were both laughing.
“so they must have been having a good time. I suspect you’ll be able to visit them soon.”
Then we got confirmation that it was meningitis and everyone at the university was put on a course of preventative medicine. Mum warned us not to go hooking up with people because you could get it from kissing. Fat chance of that when I live at home with my parents.
Then, suddenly and without any warning, we were informed that our friends had died. In fact, there were other students that I didn’t know who had also caught meningitis, some of whom had also died while others were fighting for their lives.
Rumours spread like wildfire and a town meeting was called. The collective wisdom of the people was aired. Then my dad the conspiracy nut got up and spoke:
“We’ve seen this before. With mad cow disease and then the horse meat scandal. I’m telling you it’s in the food. The government are lying to us!”
Dad was shouted down. People were concerned for the young people and needed real solutions not his ravings. I was so embarrassed to be seen with him. When we got home, he was pacing up and down the kitchen muttering to himself.
“No one wants to besmirch the good name of the infallible university or the flawless hospital………………The mayors on the board of both and he likes a kick back………………………I’ve seen them taking the bags out back from the incinerator…………………Everyone wants to make a quick buck.”
I went to bed on an empty stomach. I couldn’t stand to be around my dad, especially now another friend had been taken ill. I did my usual trick of begging mum for updates, which again she was reluctant to give. I threw myself into study by way of a distraction.
Anthropology majors like myself like to study Papua New Guinea a lot because of the abundance of tribes. I had decided I wanted to do my thesis on one of these tribes. I couldn’t afford to travel there myself so naturally I hit the library and spent countless hours lost down rabbit holes on the internet. Obviously, I was macabrely drawn to the stories about cannibalism.
When my mum failed to bring me news about my friend, me and a few of my classmates hatched a plan to find them ourselves in the hospital. Dozens, perhaps hundred of students had been trying to get in and talk to their friends. We were receiving no news from them. It didn’t make sense. Surely, they could send us messages. We stole some lab coats and high visibility vests and marched straight through the front door. We found them eventually. Wards and wards full of students. They were lethargic and couldn’t sit up unassisted. The worst part of this was the maniacal laughter that piped out from them. A deafening cacophony. The nurses told us it was completely involuntary, and got worse just before they died. We managed to take a polaroid of one of our friends as evidence he was still alive.
We returned to the university canteen to hash out next steps. I snacked on my nuts while everyone else had lasagne. I was so tired from all the days events. I hadn’t seen my sister in weeks. She was probably off investigating with her own friends. And that’s when the argument started. I honestly didn’t know the answer, so I asked my friends what type of meat is in lasagne?
“It’s beef” “well sometimes it’s beef and pork” “sometimes it’s horse”
Everybody laughed. One of my friends - Chris - said he was going to go and ask the canteen. We were watching from a distance sniggering. The dinner canteen worker looked at Chris askew. She answered and then left in a hurry. He came back and he said:
“As we all suspected. It’s horse meat.”
Everyone laughed again but the consensus was that it must contain some pork because it tasted porky. We agreed to meet back in the morning. I went to the library to study. I learned about people in Papua New Guinea who got a disease called Kuru, or smiling death syndrome which was ultimately caused by cannibalism. My mind made an almost unutterable connection. What was really in that lasagne?
The next morning, we all met up at the canteen. Everyone except Chris that is. A few people had messaged him, but he wasn’t messaging back. He probably slept in. Everyone was joshing each other as per usual. Some students on a separate table were arguing over their breakfast.
“All I’m saying is that’s some funny looking bacon.” “yeah what part of the pig is that?”
I told my friends what I suspected was in the lasagne. I knew it wouldn’t get a great reception. It was disgusting and absurd. But the facts were undeniable. Then we got a group message from Chris:
We were all in agreement that the canteen was sourcing “meat” from the hospital and the students did not in fact have meningitis. I ran home to tell my parents. I just hoped my dad could forgive me. He was waiting for me in the kitchen when I got home.
“Dad it’s in the meat. You were right.” “I was right again. Right again son. Thank God we are a family of vegetarians.”
My face went pale. My dad said I looked like I had seen a ghost. I silently stood up and climbed the stairs. I walked across the landing and slowly pushed open the door to my sister’s room. There she sat, supported by about 10 pillows, with a wide-open grin on her face. Her eyes fixed on me as she started to cackle, at first a whisper, then a deafening cacophony.