MYSTERY

1

A small crumbling wall in the middle of the square

dates from the eighth century, according to the slaughterers;

on the site of this wall the first converts celebrated

the feast of sacrifice with their first proper offering.

The magnificent killing room (art nouveau elements) was built

by a rich French family at the turn of the twentieth century;

the slaughterhouse was just outside the administrative center.

Since the departure of the former colonizer some fifty years ago

much has happened, the center has expanded enormously,

the population has exploded,

but the slaughterhouse is still there.

A town council with a modicum of vision would renovate

this magnificent slaughterhouse (leaving the ruin untouched)

and reinvent it as a museum or something similar,

so that at least some of the objects unearthed

by American archaeologists could escape export—

finding an attractive destination here instead.

2

A museum would be a tremendous improvement because

the scenes are macabre: barred rattletraps full

of unsuspecting clean animals sputtering past cafés

and grocery stores on their way to the slaughterhouse.

Hot days with the sickly smell of blood hanging

over the town like a bell jar. The desperate

bellowing of cows that suddenly seem

to have grasped their fate. Feral dogs

wandering the shopping streets.

A slaughterer in a blood-smeared coat and

blood-smeared waders, panting but imperious,

passing silent shoppers, pushing a wheelbarrow

stacked with innards—

not at all conducive to mass tourism,

which really is this region’s only hope

of ever amounting to anything.

Truly, it’s a mystery that steps are never taken.

You’d almost think the council is bewitched

and every new generation falls anew under the spell

of a small consecrated wall, a ruin of no account.