by George Helmer
“Wash your hands, boy, wash them!”
The boy scrubbed his hands vigorously as he watched the filth drown down the sink. His hands had been sloppy from the work done earlier when he was tending the sheep. The boy and his father stood in the barn that sat an acre away from their house. Inside they stood before a giant washtub. The washtub had served a great purpose to the family six years ago. The room smelled like salt and rust. Outside the sound of birds and vultures swooped overhead.
“Let's hope another accident like this never happens,” his father whispered, ashamed.
...
Four hours earlier.
“Better get on that work, boy. The sun doesn't stay up forever,” the boy's father told him. He was a tall lanky man, standing six foot four with greasy hair and no teeth. The small family, the boy, his father, and the mother, owned a farm and tended sheep. The boy enjoyed taking care of them. He often ran his small hands through the sheep's coarse wool and dreamed of blankets made of the material. His job was to go through the eighty acres and count all the sheep. It was an all day job, and the father stressed the importance.
“Now, son, you need to make sure you keep a good eye on that there pregnant sheep. Looks like she'll pop any day,” the father explained.
“Just like mommy,” the boy shouted happily.
“Yes, son, like mommy.”
“Maybe baby will come soon, and then baby can help me count sheep.”
“That there baby won't be ready for that anytime soon.”
“Soon,” the boy trailed off into thought of another family member. He was beyond excited.
“Well, get out there, boy!”
The boy walked out of the house slamming the screen door behind him. He ran off past the barn and to the fence surrounding the acres of sheep. He hopped the fence, stumbled, but quickly found his steps again and ran towards the sheep.
“Albert,” the mother whispered to her husband.
“Yes, sweetie?”
“We should tell Bernard about losing the baby, he has gotten too excited.”
“Now that there boy don't need to know any of this grown up conversation.”
“Albert,” the mother whispered sadly.
“Alright, I'll go tell the boy.” Albert walked out of the tin house carefully closing the door behind him. He walked slowly through the grass until he got to the barn. Albert stopped inside to wash his hands in the large wash bucket hanging from the right side of the barn. The cold water ran through his hands as he watched the water trace the creases. His knuckles stiffened in the water, then relaxed. For an autumn day it was still fairly warm. Albert wiped his hands on the back of his Levi’s and walked out towards the fence surrounding the sheep. Stopping at the entrance of the gate, he unlatched the hook, and carefully latched it back on the other side. Bernard was a couple of yards ahead; he hadn't made it very far yet.
“Bernard, I need a word with you.”
The boy released his hand from the sheep's fur and walked over to his dad.
“Son, your mother lost the baby.” Albert's throat tightened as he forced a swallow. “Sometimes things happen and there's nothing we can do about it,” the man continued.
“I don't understand. How does she lose a baby?” Bernard questioned, puzzled.
“Sometimes the babies don't make it out. And then it's gone.” With that, the father patted Bernard on the back and walked back out of the pasture.
The boy was confused and sad. He had been looking forward to the baby. He sat in the grass and pondered for a while until he decided it was time to get back to work.
“Four, five...” the boy continued to count the sheep. As he did, he ran his hands through each of their fur in an infinity pattern.
“Well, I told that there boy.”
“Thank you, Albert.”
“He didn't say much, just confused he was.”
“He might understand eventually. For now, that's all we can do for him.”
“Well, I hope that boy is getting to work out there. Barely even counted five sheep when I seen him out there.” Albert trailed off about working when he was younger.
“You know,” the wife blurted in, “All this work is probably what scared the baby off in the first place.”
“Ain't no baby gonna be born here that ain't gonna work. If it ain't born working it ain't mine. I tell you what, like that boy out there, he was born right there in that barn, warshed him off right in that tub. Yes sir the tub brought life, this farm brings life,” Albert went off again.
“I wish you would stop with that nonsense. A baby's gonna be born here if I say it's gonna be born here.” The two went back and forth for a while about the baby being born—Albert arguing about work and his wife wishing he was more compassionate towards a baby.
The boy was ten acres in, counting sheep.
“Twenty sheep already. Today shouldn't take too much longer,” the boy said to no one but himself and the sheep. Suddenly, a violent noise came from one of the sheep a distance away. The boy uncurled his fingers from the sheep's fur and looked up.
“I bet that's the pregnant sheep!” The boy ran instantly towards the direction of the noise. He tried counting the sheep he passed but stopped after he realized he was running out of breath.
“I'm coming sheep don't worry! Mommy, Daddy hurry! The sheep is yelling for someone.” The boy ran downhill towards the sheep he could now see.
“Everyone hurry!” The boy slowed down gasping huge breathes of air. He approached the sheep. It lay on it's right side, surrounded by blood.
“She's hurt, somebody fast!” The boy considered running to the house but he thought he should stay with the sheep. The sheep was yelling and making noises the boy had never heard before. He didn't know if this was good or bad.
“Alright, sheep, you're pregnant just like mommy was, but she lost the baby somehow. Don't worry. Your babies will stay with you.” The boy was determined to help the sheep.
Suddenly, the sheep let out a huge yell and a smaller sheep started to appear at the other end of it. The boy didn't understand what he was seeing. The little sheep completely fell out flopping on the ground covered in blood and other liquids the boy didn't recognize. The sheep's yelling had calmed down to heavy breathing and it slowly closed its eyes. The baby lay in blood next to her, yelling just as the mommy sheep was before.
“Oh your baby fell out. Daddy and mommy aren't here so I'm gonna try to help you, sheep.” The boy picked up the slippery baby and squeezed it tight. He then began to shove the baby sheep back inside the mother. The sheep yelled violently as the baby sheep cried harder. The boy twisted his fingers and squeezed in different places to compact the baby sheep back enough to fit inside the sheep. The boy heard bones cracking and the baby began to be silent. He tried his best to fit the baby back into its mother.
“You won't lose this, I'm trying to give it back to you,” the boy spoke to the sheep, trying to calm the yells. After more struggle, the mother sheep fell silent.
“What are you doing to that sheep?” The father yelled ferociously at the boy. The boy turned around and stared at his father, his hands and torso covered in blood. The father stared back to see his son covered in blood next to a dead sheep. The grass was stained red with blood and not a single sheep was around. The world fell silent around the boy and father. The boy had committed a murder beyond anything the sun above the farm had ever witnessed.
“What did you do, son?” The father asked silently with his teeth clenched.
“I tried to save the sheep's baby. I didn't want it to lose it like mommy did.”
“You killed the sheep, son, and the baby. Come with me now.” The father led the boy out of the pasture. The blood from the boy's hands was dripping off his torso and began to harden on his hands. The wind carried the scent of death throughout the farm and dropped it on the father every second it found the opportunity. The father led the boy out of the gate and towards the barn.
“You're gonna scrub your hands so hard your skin is gonna peel off, you understand me?” The father said.
The boy just nodded and stared at his hands. A tear rolled down his face. The two entered the barn and the father ran water in the washtub. The walls surrounding them were red and peeling like the hands of the boy. The water fell silent as if it knew the shame it was about to be a part of.
The other sheep walked up, slowly surrounding their dead friend. Once every sheep got a good look, they turned around slowly and left. They wouldn't graze on the grass; they just stood around. There was one less sheep to count.