The Surrogate

Thursday, 16 October 2008

Around midday a slight smell begins drifting across the property.
‘Something’s dead up on the koppie,’ I say to Liz.
‘Either that, or the men who drained the cesspit didn’t put the lid back properly,’ she replies.
The cesspit is properly closed, so, when Liz takes the dogs for a walk in the late afternoon, I climb the koppie behind the house. There, in a slight hollow, is a cow, recently dead, lying on its side, legs awkwardly in the air.
Whose cow is it, I wonder? How did it die? Will someone come to remove it? Will someone butcher it for the meat? Is it a health hazard?

Sunday, 19 October 2008

The koppie burnt on Friday afternoon but the fire did not damage the cow. A flock of cattle egrets rise up from the blackened grass and settle several metres away from the carcass. Maggots crawl everywhere, especially over its face. The smell is not too bad and slowly I circle the cow. I gaze into its sightless eyes.
I finish and move away. The egrets return to feast on the maggots.

20 October to 6 November 2008

The days pass, but I don’t visit the cow again. If the breeze is north-westerly we get traces of the smell, so I know it is still lying there. Other cows forage across the koppie, seeming neither to avoid the dead cow nor to pay it any particular notice. Occasionally at night we hear the call of a jackal, closer than normal. Our terrier Jenny appears from off the koppie with a hoof in her mouth, and chews it for the rest of the day, guarding it against all comers. The egrets become fewer and then disappear.

Friday, 7 November 2008

I visit the cow again, walk around it slowly, sit down up-wind from it. There are still flies, but the maggots have disappeared. The cow’s skin is drying, shrinking, and its eyes and udder have been eaten away. Inside its abdomen are decaying grass and five or six plastic bags.

Friday, 14 November 2008

In the morning mist I cross the greening veld to visit the cow again. It’s lying slack, sunken against the veld, its hide drier now, with parts ripped away, but still glossy in the early light.

Thursday, 4 December 2008

Three weeks have passed since I last visited the cow. Liz has been ill. Again it’s a misty morning as I make my way up the koppie, the veld grass now the blue green of summer. Most of the cow’s hide has disappeared, and its skeleton is breaking apart. The lower jaw has become separated from the skull, which now lies a few feet away, a remnant of balding skin across the forehead. The cow’s backbone lies white on the ground, and the ribs have come adrift, some lying scattered here and there and some in a heap.

Wednesday, 26 December 2008

Another three weeks have passed, and sculptured shapes lie on the grass. The skull and pelvis and other bones reveal smooth planes, receding hollows and passageways, elegant arches and fine intricate structures as they pattern the ground.

Tuesday, 30 December 2008

In the Sutra on the Four Establishments of Mindfulness the Buddha taught that the desire for permanence inevitably brings suffering since change is one of the fundamental marks of our existence. Physical death is inevitable and is not an end but a transition. To help his followers come to terms with the impermanence of the body he taught what some call the cemetery contemplations, where one contemplates the stages of decomposition of a corpse . The corpse bloats and festers, and then begins to crawl with insects and worms. Birds and animals tear it apart and eat it, leaving a skeleton with only traces of flesh and blood. It becomes a bare skeleton and the bones scatter here and there; they bleach and dry out and decompose till finally only a pile of dust is left.

Saturday, 3 January 2009

Two or three months after the cow died, Liz brings its skull from the veld and puts it alongside the doorway to our meditation room.

Sunday, 1 February 2009

The traces of the cow become less and less obvious and only a few bones, plastic bags and blackened remnants of its intestines and last meal remain.