Page 55 of The Secret Dinner

“Okay, okay, I won’t push it,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “But let me tell you something, kid: Human beings like power. Rich, poor, tall, short, man, woman … everybody. Why do we want money? For the power. Why do we take a million photos when we travel and post them online? For the power. Sex, career success, friendship … everything is power.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Food is also power, of course. We kill cattle, chicken, hogs. Why? Because we can. We’re incredible creatures, developed, rational. We’re better than animals, that’s the honest truth.”

He looked around and lowered his voice like he was about to reveal the meaning of life.

“Yesterday, after that dinner, I realized: Eating human flesh is above all that, Dante. It’s the power of all powers. Think about it … We live in such a polarized world: whites against Blacks, evangelicals against gays, right wing against left wing … Social media is a battlefield! For people like me, it no longer makes sense to sit around eating beef, turtle, alligator. Experience makes you more demanding, more discerning, it raises the bar. We’re at the very top of the food chain, the lions of the jungle! And that’s how we want to feel—superior, always!”

“You’re just a delusional megalomaniac.”

“Touché! I’m also that.” He didn’t take offense; he even seemed to find my insult amusing. “But what I’m trying to say is that I was up all night with this idea in my head and I know when I see a good deal, one worth investing in. I see the world in numbers, kid. And that dinner … What a dinner! It’s the future. Nobody’s ever thought of it, not like this. Eating human flesh. Tasty, provocative, surprising. Essential.”

“You’re insane!”

“Call me whatever you want but listen to what I’m saying. Of course there will be people who are against it, who think it’s absurd. Everything truly revolutionary is frowned upon in the beginning. Stem cells, robots, cloning. Conservatives fighting progress. But we need to be brave, invest in what we believe in, Dante. Eating human flesh is the way of the future.”

“You’re not even making any sense,” I said, taking off my bookstore apron and promising myself that I wouldn’t give him another opening. “This conversation is over; it’s time for my break. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Umberto placed his hands on my shoulders, blocking my path. He brought his face up to mine and I could smell his cigarette breath as he spoke:

“Brazil exports a lot of things, Dante. Carnival, soccer, caipirinhas. Good-looking women, whores. It’s time we started exporting our cuisine. We’ve got way too many people on this planet. China is all fucked up from overpopulation. Africa, India … Have you seen how many beggars are out there on the street? What about the favelas? They’re crawling like anthills! And what about all these lazy bums, freeloaders living off welfare. Government handouts, affirmative action, who knows what else. Round up all these people and slice them up into steaks. Carpaccio. Chicken-fried deadbeat. It will revolutionize the culinary world. And it will be a good way to clear things out, a true cleansing.”

Umberto paused to nod at two little old ladies who had just walked into the store and seemed to recognize him. Then he turned his hungry eyes on me again:

“I want in on this with you and your friends, Dante. I want to join Team Seagull Meat, I love that. It’s a great name. Our own underground start-up. I’ll inject some funds, one hundred grand to start. I know I’ll get my money back and then some. I’m not making you this offer because I’m a nice guy. I’m interested in you, and your friends, too. I like it when the money flows freely, and I’ve got a knack for lucrative investments.”

“Funny, from my research, you’re broke.”

“I produce films that nobody watches, I know, but it’s just a front. Money laundering, you know, tax breaks. There’s no real money in the film industry. Investing in arts and culture is for either the crazy or the smart. And I’m not crazy. I don’t give a fuck about Brazilian cinema. I want to make real money with you.”

“I don’t talk to fascist lunatics,” I said slowly. I couldn’t lose my cool at work. “Get out of here or I’ll call the cops.”

He kept his hands on my shoulders a few more seconds, then pulled away like he was repulsed by me. He shook his head and adjusted his bow tie.

“What a shame, Dante. Yesterday at dinner you were so clever, you handled that situation so well. I thought you were a brave guy, but it seems I was wrong. You’re throwing your future away. Maybe you should think about that.”

There’s nothing to think about, I promised myself as he left the bookstore. God knows how much I wanted to keep that promise.

But Umberto’s words stuck with me in a way I couldn’t shake. The whole thing sounded utterly absurd and I tried to get him out of my head. But sometimes I found myself thinking about his proposal as an actual, real possibility, and that terrified me. Looking back, I can see how all my worrying was pointless. I was destined to make the worst possible choice.

4

I called Miguel six times, but he didn’t answer. So the first thing I did when I got home that night was look in his room. There was no sign that Miguel had been there since the previous day. That worried me. He could have told his mother what we’d done or, worse, his girlfriend, Rachel, who’d never liked us and she thought we were a bad influence. She was right.

On Sunday morning, I called Miguel again a dozen times, and still no answer. Exhausted, I lay down on the couch to scroll social media and get my mind off things. Minutes later, Cora came out of Piglet’s room.

“Something is eating you up inside,” she said. “I can feel it from here.”

She came over and sat down beside me. She was wearing makeup, but she still looked half asleep. Her fingers drummed on her thighs.

“Wanna talk?” she asked and let out a yawn.

“Okay … How did you get rid of the remains of the two bodies?”

“I buried them.”

“Where?”