Free Eat Him If You Like by Jean Teulé

shattered chest. One crazed yet dreamy eye remained open.
    His ashes floated towards the blue sky, a sky that sang and called to him. He left the pleasures of this world, victim of a misunderstanding that could not have had a more gruesome outcome. His ashes finally rose above the fathomless world of fools and the depravity of these people, guilty of a crime beyond their comprehension. His flesh was now roasting in its own juice. It was a wretched end. Several people asked,‘Who was he?’ They had spent all afternoon massacring a man without even enquiring who he was.
    ‘We’re cooking a fine pig!’
    Alain had become a spit roast. The skin on his thighs and shoulders crackled and blistered, swelling with bubbles full of boiling fat. They burst and a glistening, even appetising juice spurted out.
    ‘It would be a shame to waste this fat!’ said Besse ruefully. ‘Does anybody want to try it?’
    A mother took a six-pound loaf of bread from her basket and sliced it up. With a spatula, she scooped up some of the fat pooling near Alain’s elbows and spread it on the bread, distributing it to her children.
    ‘Eat up! Eat up, darlings. It’s not every day you get something on your bread these days. Blow on it. It’s hot.’
    More slices of bread dripping with scalding human fat were passed around, and good men wolfed them down.
    ‘What does it taste of?’
    ‘A bit like veal.’
    People started flocking towards Alain’s remains for a slap-up feast. Everyone gave an opinion, sounding like great culinary experts.
    ‘It would taste better washed down with a little glass of white Pontignac.’
    Alain could never have imagined they would say such things about him, the deputy mayor of Beaussac. His ashes rose higher, swirling around in the air above the crowd who were feasting as they did on the most important holidays. They devoured their cannibal sandwiches. Anna saw Thibassou take a mouthful and wash it down with whitewine. Eating this body would purge the community. Small satisfied burps mingled with the sounds of chewing. It was a joy to hear. Boiling fat caused overhasty lips to blister.
    ‘Ouch!’
    ‘He burnt you! He’s still hurting you.’
    A heavy, acrid smoke hung above the dried-up lake, rising slowly. Families danced and children squalled. Unmarried men continued drinking and eyed the charred body that the fire had transformed. Like clouds in the sky or logs in the fireplace, the body changed according to where the person was standing.
    ‘Look, he resembles a wild boar. What do you think?’
    ‘A bird.’
    ‘Those two embers glowing side by side look like Beelzebub’s eyes. You can see his yellow tongue flickering.’
    Everybody saw their own personal demons appear. They stood there mesmerised, like children.
    ‘A stag!’
    He was no longer a man. Madame Lachaud delivered a sharp blow between the legs of his charred remains with a spade. His chest split open to reveal a dazzling interior. Fire tongs in hand, she continued rummaging around inside. Her husband started to worry.
    ‘What are you looking for?’
    ‘His treasures. Ah look, look, his nuts!’
    Madame Lachaud’s proud husband observed her passing Alain’s testicles from one hand to the other to cool them down. He found her devilish attitude amusing.
    ‘You wouldn’t …’
    Perverse like no other, she did as she pleased and munchedthem defiantly, staring at Anna. She bit down hard. With her bodice open and her voluminous breasts glistening with sweat, she looked like a rabid dog. From between the jaws of the victim’s burnt skull, big bubbles emerged and popped noisily, giving her a fright.
    ‘What’s that Prussian gibbering about now?’
    ‘He’s saying: “I’d love to fuck you, but my cock’s burning”,’ translated her husband.
    Around them, people roared with laughter. A man takes a long time to burn. On the horizon, the setting sun was weeping blood. The scene was grisly. The ashes from Alain’s charred corpse were