photography

Cacatuidae /  by Areito Echevarria

My granddad was a magician, and part time butcher. He also kept pet cockatoos. I remember one day going over to his house way out west to visit him. He was in the garage, cutting up frozen beef shanks on his circular saw. The saw was buzzing and screeching and he was getting covered in a fine powder of frozen beef shavings. Seeing me hovering at the door, he flicked off the saw, wiped the beef frosting from his thick rimmed glasses and beckoned me to come over. From the front pocket of his greasy white apron he pulled out a little toy guillotine, sparkling and black, old and worn. "Put your finger in there" he said. I was nervous, but my granddad always had cool junk scattered around the place, like the bowling balls with blue pirate ships on them, the cockatoos that could swear and count to ten, the pile of vintage playboy magazines I had located under a box of smelly old paint thinner. "Ok" I said. I slipped my finger into the dark wooden hole in the base of the rickety little execution machine. He pulled up on the wobbly handle attached to the angled blade. I looked over at the frozen beef shank, stuck deep into the circular saw. He gave me a wink, covered in frozen meat pulp, and slammed his hand down on the blade.