Free Three Bags Full by Leonie Swann

Something must have been planted here, only it didn’t really smell appetizing. Human forms were moving along the paths, taking small steps. They seemed to be coming from all over the place, but they were magically attracted to one point. Othello hid behind a stone that was standing on end. He felt uneasy, and not just because of the human beings: it was the smell. Othello now knew for certain that he wasn’t in a vegetable garden. It might even be the opposite of a vegetable garden. A very old smell drifted with the mist along the gravel paths. Othello thought of Sam. Sam was a man who had worked at the zoo, and he was so stupid that even the goats made fun of him. But the zoo management had put Sam in charge of the pit which lay in the no-man’s-land behind the elephant house. Even as a lamb Othello could understand why the elephants’ eyelids always drooped and looked so red and heavy. Every animal in the zoo knew about the pit. When Sam came back from it the goats left him alone, and the eyes of the carrion eaters narrowed. When Sam came back from the pit, he smelled of ancient death.
             
    It was the first time Othello had been to a funeral, but the ram behaved beautifully. Black and serious, he stood among the gravestones, munching a pansy now and then and listening attentively to the music. He saw the brown box roll up, and immediately knew by the scent who was inside.
    Even before he emerged from the mist, he scented God swaying solemnly. God talked about himself, and fat Kate cried. Nobody seemed to be thinking of George inside the box. Except Othello.
    Othello remembered when he had first seen George, through a great deal of cigarette smoke. Blood was trickling into his eyes. He was so exhausted that his legs were trembling. The dog beside him was dead, but that didn’t mean much. There would always be another dog. Othello concentrated on staying on his feet and keeping his eyes open. It was difficult—too difficult. He just wanted to blink the blood out of his eyes, but once he had closed them they stayed closed. A few moments of heavenly blackness, and then the voice spoke up, rather late in the day. Closed eyes mean death , it said. Othello had no objection to being dead; all the same, he obediently forced his eyelids open and looked straight into George’s green eyes. George stared at him with so much interest that Othello managed to hold on to his gaze until his legs weren’t trembling so much. Then he turned to the door that the dogs came through and lowered his horns.
    A little later he was lying in George’s old car, bleeding all over the backseat. George was sitting in the driver’s seat, but the car was stationary, and night pressed against the windows. The old shepherd had turned to him with triumph in his eyes. “We’re going to Europe,” he announced.
    George had been wrong, though. They never had gone to Europe. Justice, thought Othello. Justice.

5
    Cloud Kicks Out
    The sheep had spent a horrible day. Never in their lives before had they felt so unloved. First the mist, then the feeling that something strange was moving through that mist, and in addition squelching sounds and a suspicion of hostile scents.
    The winter lamb had enticed the two other lambs into a dark corner of the hay barn on some pretext or other, and then terrified them so much that they ran into the wall in their fright and hurt themselves, one on the head and the other on a front leg. Ritchfield saw nothing, heard nothing, and just stayed put. Then the yelling began, and finally even the old lead ram had to admit that there was something wrong. He looked relieved, because at last he had picked up some of what was going on.
    The yelling was too much for the sheep. They raced out into the meadow and trotted through the mist, twitching their ears, too nervous to graze. They crowded together on the hill. Maude kicked out nervously and hit Rameses on the nose. In a sullen mood, they waited for the wind to