A Man’s Stomach by Diana Daoust

Philip stared at the door, its cheery red paint flecked with time passing. He had walked through the back door of his weekend cabin without hesitation every Friday for the last 14 years. Whether ranting at the stupidity of undergraduates or bursting to tell her about his day, he would walk inside to find Mary-Anne smiling at the cook stove, waiting for him. Today, Philip hesitated. His hand gripped the handle, his weight shifting from foot to foot. Today, he didn’t want to see his wife. The affair hung heavy around him, a metaphorical perfume. He wanted to pat down his pockets, make sure sin didn’t physically hang on him and in his inward misery; Philip got the hell scared out of him.

Mary-Anne swung open the door, saw his surprised face and laughed grabbing his coat with one hand as she pulled him inside for a kiss. “Who were you expecting, love?”

Philip’s blood drained out of his face, but he managed to mumble something as he kissed his wife out of habit.

“Wow,” said Mary-Anne, “I really scared you, huh?” She giggled and her dark braids, just starting to be flecked with grey bounced on her back as she turned back to pad into the kitchen on her bare feet.

“You’re looking tired love, come sit down at the table and tell me all about whatever’s eating you up inside.”

Philip warily took off his shoes and slung his jacket on the couch, watching the still slim figure of his wife as she stirred a simmering pot. Did she know? He knew he hadn’t been terribly discreet but he hadn’t exactly been thinking with his brain either. He pulled up a scarred, wooden chair at the table Mary-Anne had bought at an auction summers ago and sat thinking frantically; who would’ve seen him and Nicole together? Philip thought of his actions in the past six weeks; necking like a teenager in her car overlooking the calm waves, he thought of Nicole’s blonde curls and how he’d wound his hand around them on her cabin porch and guided her head in the moonlight. The answer came to him as his stomach twisted; Anyone, Everyone.

Mary-Anne reached up and grabbed two bowls. At 5’2 she could just barely reach the top shelf of the cabinet. There was a beautiful efficiency in her movements as she scooped up the steaming food and cleaned up her work counter; her pride and love for her home evident. Philip watched his independent, stubborn wife who he had cherished fiercely up until six weeks ago as she came towards him with supper.

“Chili?” she asked.

He ate silently, methodically. Philip shoveled in the hot chili as something to do despite the fact that he wasn’t remotely hungry tonight and he could barely taste the meat. There must be something he could comment on. He looked around the room and saw the printed out computer pages on the coffee table; Mary-Anne was always reading something. Lamb to the Slaughter was the title.

“Have you started reading another new mystery already? That doesn’t look like a cookbook.”

Mary-Anne went to refill her coffee and topped up his. “Oh, that’s a short story by Roald Dahl, you know the children’s author? It’s pretty inspirational really.”

“Hmmm…” said Philip and he spooned up more of the chili, which was very good but there was something about it, something different.

“Did you use the last of the venison for this? It doesn’t taste like regular hamburger.” He took another bite, the spices rich and heavy on his tongue. Mary-Anne was a fantastic cook and housekeeper and while he knew it was sexist, it had been one more incentive to marry her as a young Master’s student all those years ago.

“Oh, Philip you never change. Not very observant are you. Good thing you’re a professor and not a detective. Look at the counter.”

He looked up and saw the gleaming meat grinder on the butcher block counter top, all trace of the blood wiped away.

“You caught me,” Mary-Anne continued, “I picked up some fresh venison from Henry, he came around earlier. He seemed apologetic about it because the doe had been pregnant when he shot her.” She shrugged her shoulders in an oh-well gesture.

Philip had guilt slam into him; at his insistence years ago Mary-Anne had gotten her tubes tied despite the fact that she had wanted children very much. She’d given them up for his selfishness. He wondered if Mary-Anne still felt the loss at 41 and he shifted uneasily remembering Nicole telling him just six nights ago that her period was late. He set down his fork and the movement seemed to take all of his energy. Now was the moment. He couldn’t draw this out any longer, Mary-Anne deserved to know.

“I have to tell you something.”

Mary-Anne sipping her coffee put it down and looked at him.

“I lied to you last week.” This was a good start, thought Philip. He could draw it out gently. She would understand. She always had.

“About what?” she asked him and her dark, clear eyes held no fear.

“I didn’t have a conference in Winnipeg last weekend. I was …somewhere else.”

Mary-Anne scraped back her chair and interrupted, “More chili?” She walked to the counter, her back to him.

Philip tried again, “No, forget the God-damned chili, Mary-Anne. You have to listen.” His voice held a note of desperation. “This is important.”

“I know,” said Mary-Anne not looking at him. She ran an already clean knife under the water to keep busy. “I know it is Philip. But I’m important too and I asked you a question, which I think deserves an answer. Do you want anymore?”

“No,” he started, “Mary-Anne I’ve been having…”

“No, you listen,” she said and Mary-Anne whirled back to him, stabbing dramatically with the dish-cloth with the knife hanging by her side.

She walked towards him and Philip had the irrational thought of how beautiful Mary-Anne was, still the serene face, the dark hair. He hated to end it now.

“I lied to you too, Philip.” He looked at her eyes and saw the start of tears and his heart went out to her, even if his loins didn’t.

“I didn’t really get that venison from Henry,” she smiled crookedly and put the dish towel on the table “and I know you’ve been having an affair.”

Philip started out of his chair in surprise, except he only moved in his mind. He realized, as his heartbeat began to truly accelerate, that he couldn’t seem to move his muscles. In his panic, he thrashed wildly from side to side which succeeded only in knocking his bowl over with his clumsy wrists and spilling the remnants of the chili down his shirt.

“Philip,” Mary-Anne sighed rolling her eyes, “you’re always so messy.” She put down the knife and cleaned up the dark mess running down his paralyzed chest.

“I think its time to get Nicole off your chest don’t you?” Mary-Anne laughed and laughed at that and Philip, who was slow but did have his PhD after all, started to clue in with a scream that came out more like “Nuuuhhhh,” from his sluggish tongue.

“Oh, yes,” said Mary-Anne wiping away a tear from her eye. “I’ve known from the start. I don’t know what possessed you to think you were sneaky. This is the man who hides money by putting it in his pockets.” She pulled up a chair and sat down next to him to look in his eyes.

“I was hurt, so hurt Philip.” She took one of his hands in hers, “but I came to see that Nicole was a temporary annoyance, like the bears that come sniffing around the cabin occasionally. I was even going to forgive you for having an affair with a twenty-year old undergraduate who rented the cabin, four lots over from ours.”

Mary-Anne’s face hardened. Philip looked at the woman he’d slept with for 15 years and knew her for a stranger. He tried to plead with his eyes for forgiveness, for acceptance, they could overcome this, before she pulled any more psychopathic shit.

“And then she came to me, here in our cabin three nights ago.” Mary-Anne’s hand snaked around the knife. “That hussy came to tell me she was pregnant with your child and she laughed at me for being a stupid, unsuspecting cow of a housewife.” Mary-Anne’s hand started ripping little pieces from Philip’s shirt with the knife.

“So, I killed her” said Mary-Anne and her high-pitched giggle ran over Philip’s nerves, “and you’ll laugh at this Honey –I just grabbed the first thing that came to my hand, which was your tenth year anniversary gift to me. Remember, that big ceramic bird was so ugly I’d said ‘the only place for a paperweight that hideous is the cabin.’ And then you told me the real gift, the forever diamond ring was hidden in the beak.”

Mary-Anne leaned in close to whisper to the husband she had vowed to cleave to. “So in a way, it was your love that killed her.” She wiped a spot of chili on his lip with the dishtowel. “Looking at her body in the living room, I knew I had to get rid of it somehow and I couldn’t stand the waste. So I got out the meat grinder and well –now you’ll always have Nicole with you.”

Philip was trying unsuccessfully to gag. Mary-Anne grabbed one of her braids and pushed it out of her way, her hand gripping the knife more steadily.

“Sectioning her up was fun, but you Philip. Well, this is going to be a chore. I won’t bother you with the details of your paralysis but you’ll note that you can still feel everything. I certainly felt the pain of your affair.” The knife made its way down to nestle in his groin and a dark stain on his pants appeared as Philip realized her intentions.

“I was thinking of starting with the obvious,” said Mary-Anne, “but I just couldn’t stand being a cliché. So, instead, voila!”

With a flourish she sunk the knife into his fleshy stomach and pushed it in and up and out. As Philip watched in a haze of unbearable pain and disbelief his insides made the unnatural progression outside. Mary-Anne stood and straightened.

“I think I’ll leave you to bleed out for a few hours, before I hang you up.” She shook her head at the mess cascading down the floor and onto the clear, plastic drop cloth that Philip hadn’t noticed was underneath his chair.

“A mess to the end,” said Mary-Anne as she went to the sink to get her cleaning supplies, “I think I’ll do meatballs…” she said to herself but Philip heard it just before he lost consciousness and thought; of course, meatballs are my favorite.

The next night Detective Seamus hesitated at the back door of the cabin, not wanting to tell Mary-Anne that her missing husband was probably off having an affair with the floozy four doors down. As he stood, hand gripping the handle, it opened for him and Mary-Anne stood there looking up at the big man smiling though her face was pale and strained. He thought to himself any man would do well to have such a wife.

“Detective, I’m so grateful you’ve come. I’m very worried.” Mary-Anne’s lip trembled and firmed up. “Please come in for some coffee, I’ve just been cooking to keep busy.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to intrude…” began Seamus though his eyes went past her to the pot steaming on the stove.

Mary-Anne pushed back a dark braid and laughed genuinely. “Oh, Seamus, please, if there’s one thing I know how to do its take care of a man’s stomach.” She stepped back to the stove as Seamus came in and took off his shoes.

“Meatballs?” she asked.

Steven:
This was an OK story, but it was not great.

Kfir:
The main complaint that I have about this story is that I only had to go as far as the fifth paragraph to understand that Philip would be served pieces of Nicole. The writing is reasonably good, but there is no suspense, and the cannibalism theme and Mary-Anne's nonchalant butchering spree are overdone and annoying at times. Overall, the story didn't manage to keep my interest.

Wendy:
At first I didn't like this story. I already knew how it was going to end, and I found the switch in characteristics of Mary unbelievable. However I did find the descriptions at the end truly horrific and well done and had me paling as I read it. I wouldn't say it was unique or an overly great piece, but it was well done.

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