Margo studied the scene before her, trying to look at it as a student of ancient cultures. She wished she hadn’t skipped so many Latin lessons or skimped on the cultural reading Kit had assigned her in favor of more time in the gym. Robed initiates stripped naked and descended into the deep trench. The bull lowed piteously. Its eyes rolled white. Someone she couldn’t see too well was doing something under the animal’s belly. She caught a flash of sunlight on steel as the High Priest shouted something.
The bull screamed and lunged. The men holding it strained at the ropes. The knife flashed again to the throat, this time. Margo flinched. God, they’re really killing it …. Blood poured through gaps into the trench. The bull fought, screaming and bellowing and bleeding to death at the end of its ropes. Margo covered her ears. She’d never seen an animal die up close like this, hadn’t realized they would scream so pitifully. It was terrible, cruel, monstrous ….
You’re not in Minnesota, Margo.
But the bull’s agonizing death shook her, nonetheless.
They don’t take so long to die in modern slaughterhouses, she told herself. But it would be a long time before she wanted to eat beef again. Eventually the bull sank to its knees, dead The High Priest held up something long and crooked at one end, like the walking cane on Attis’ statue.
Then she realized what it was. “My God!”
Her shocked expletive was lost in the cheer from the crowd. Trumpets sounded again, wild and shrill in the April sunlight. The young initiates emerged, reeling and covered with blood. They looked like they’d been drinking it. They stumbled past the High Priest, each touching the bull’s severed member in turn, then vanished into the temple. The priestesses followed. The High Priest, too, entered the temple. Other priests took up a chant that lasted a long time. Then, at some signal from inside the temple, the crowd began to cheer wildly. The high priest of Attis returned, still holding the bull’s severed genitals.