“So there I am, horns caught in the thicket. This Abraham fellow starts eyeing me, and I know this can’t be good. He just tried to ice his own flesh and blood. What’s he gonna do to a ram?”
“Let’s back up,” the police officer said. “What did you say you were doing on the mountain?”
“My client doesn’t have to answer that,” the ram’s lawyer interrupted.
The ram nodded. The policeman rolled his eyes.
“Okay, just start from the beginning,” said the officer, “you’re on this mountain. Then what?”
“I’m minding my own business, then these two guys waltz up. Look like a father and son. And I get it, y’know? It’s peak season, everyone wants a view. But they immediately start piling up wood, and there’s no way these clowns have a burn permit.”
“Okay, okay, but you said the older man was violent?”
“No, he was a real man of God, a peacemaker, it’s just that… oh, what was it… that’s right, he was about to murder his own child.”
“Just answer his questions,” the lawyer snipped.
“So they’re stacking wood, and I start to get nervous, cause this isn’t a campfire, this looks like a sacrifice. I’ve seen this movie before. But then I realized they should’ve brought their own animal. There’s always some sickly goat at these functions. Obviously, I step back ’cause I am not trying to get offered up for their whacko desert cult.”
“This is when things took a turn?” the policeman asked.
“Big time. The old man is a psycho. Starts telling his kid that God told him he had to sacrifice his own child. The boy is confused, then too stunned to speak. Ol’ Abe throws the poor son of a bitch on the wood pile and draws a knife. Now look, officer, not to be all ‘paging Dr. Freud,’ but there was some serious Oedipal shit at play here.”
“Did you get a good look at the assailant, general description?”
“Sure. Lime-green sharkskin suit, opera pumps, pencil mustache, bifocal lenses.”
The ram’s lawyer put his head in his hands.
“All right, all right, I’m just kidding. He looked like every other schmuck in this godforsaken desert. White beard, sandals, clothes that look like a bed sheet.”
“We’ll get our sketch artist on this. And when did you get involved in the situation?”
“Like I said, I’m just back there in the thicket. I can’t believe what I see. Abe has the knife not six inches from his son’s throat and—get this—he hears more voices. Says an angel told him God had seen enough. Apparently, he was testing one of his followers. Testing? I mean, seriously, who are these people? I get freedom of religion, but what’s the line between religion and a cult, y’know?”
“Just tell the officer what happened to you,” the lawyer grumbled.
“So they stop this bloody charade, and I think, ‘Well, at least no one died.’ But then the dad says they still gotta kill something, per the big man upstairs. Of course, the son is like, ‘Sure, Dad, whatever you want,’ ’cause he’s happy just to make it off the mountain. I’m about to walk down too.”
“But you couldn’t leave?” the policeman asked.
“No! All of a sudden, my horns get caught in the thicket. It’s happened before, of course. These things aren’t exactly practical. But that was certainly not the time.”
“Then the man tried to sacrifice you?”
“Yes! That’s why I’m here. So you can lock this freak up.”
“How did you escape? Surely, it wasn’t his first animal sacrifice.”
“This Abe guy grabs me and chucks me onto the wood pile. I wait for the son to step in, y’know, show a little solidarity, but he puts his hands in his pockets. The coward. Anyway, Abe draws his knife, and I see him eyeing my throat. I know where this is going. As he plunges down, I roll back just a bit so he makes contact with my neck skin but nothing more.”
“And that worked?” the policeman asked.
“Like a charm. He was looking up toward God the whole time anyway. Only problem was they started lighting the wood on fire. That’s the thing with these guys. Can’t just kill an animal, gotta burn it to a crisp too. I mean, can a ram catch a break or what? I know to play dead, though. The flame kicks in, they say some gobbledygook prayer, and head down the mountain. As soon as they’re out of sight, I roll off the pile and get some stitches. Check ’em out.”
The ram tilted his head back for the policeman.
“Well, I’ll be. So you want to press charges against this Abraham character? What about his son? Did you get a name?”
The ram turned and whispered something to his lawyer. The lawyer whispered back, then the ram said to the policeman, “No, it’s only the Abe guy I’m worried about. Can’t even remember the son’s name. Ike? Ivan? Issy? It’s not important.”
“Okay, I think that’s all the info we need. Thank you for coming in today. I’ll report back to my sergeant, and we’ll get a team on this. You said you’re seeking damages?”
“Yes sir, my lawyer will be in touch.”
The lawyer and his client gathered their things and walked out of the station, each one thinking about what it means to be sacrificed.
