mules of production
once upon a time a man had always had a mule. I suppose his father had too.
he had always, one day every week, rode his dumb little mule up the ragged hill south of his house with 2 sacks of rice- or whatever was the faithful grain of the month- hoisted on the mule’s stubborn, rickety back. at one end of the hill, a lonely man would wait, with a moustache that hid his dead wife’s ashes, and 2 sacks stuffed with vegetables of the most exotic gardens.
the bags would be swapped, and our man would guide vegetables slowly back to his hungry home again. he would usually make three of these trips in that day. 6 sacks. his wife would take care of the farm for that day & he’d be back just in time for dinner.
“hunger is a strange disease” our man would say to his fat wife one day, “I’d reckon our entire village is fed.”
his wife didn’t understand, but she rarely did anyway. they didn’t love each other but they had two fat children. he didn’t love them either. he only loved his mule. he reckoned the mule understood. he’d sit and talk with his mule in the evenings after bathing it. and he’d watch the sun set over their tiny fields.
one early morning, as he set off on the weekly trek with his mule, humming his lil forest tunes, he was suddenly accosted by the strangest couple. the two were dressed like they didn’t care what people thought of them, but did care deeply what birds thought of them. they started talking fast, and then, all at once.
he begged them slow to down and heard, “we made new food for your mule. it could now carry 4 sacks instead of 2!”
our man tilted his head. “okay, give me the food. here. I’ll give you two sacks of rice in exchange.” they had plenty extra.
the couple fidgeted. “No!” the lady said suddenly, “We need to make and feed the mule fresh food everyday for this to work.”
he realised they were suggesting they take and raise his mule at their house. he laughed and walked away with his mule & completed his three rounds for the day before it got dark.
the next day when he got back from tilling his field though, his mule had disappeared from where he’d last lovingly kissed it. he ran to his wife and demanded to know how. she looked up slowly and said she gave it away to a funny looking couple who promised rewards. that they would now send 8 sacks of rice to moustache man in two trips and of the 8 sacks they got back, they ought to give give 2 to the couple.
she added “you should stay at home more. the children are growing”.
“fatter” is all our man said.
& then he sat alone silently all night.
he could not disagree with his wife. she was too strong. one time, she hit him with a spatula and he was limping for a week. so was the spatula.
he just waited a week to see his mule again. he grew lonely and a beard. and the shadows of both could fit a dead mule. in tears when the day came, my man was suddenly made so aware of how much shorter two trips was than three. his mule was much fatter and took 4 sacks without so much as a wince. for a moment, they didn’t recognise each other. & that broke my man’s heart. he told his mule stories of the past week but for the first time, he wasn’t sure it understood. after he dropped 6 sacks off at his house, he headed to the couple’s house with their share.
the man was still rambling and bawling to his mule when suddenly he noticed- his mule’s eyes were bloodshot and it was a lot slower, its knees buckling more often. the doors flung open as soon as they reached the couples house and they hastily pulled the sacks off and began feeding the mule. all this while our man stood crying and completely bewildered in the corner, barely whispering, “what did you do to my child?”
“oh it’s nothing.” the lady waved him out. “we’ve got to feed it on time, or it gets weak”
our man, wide eyed, gave his mule one last look. suddenly the man feeding the mule came up to him and said, “hey, don’t you think you owe us 4 sacks at-least? we sleep hungry every night.”
our man must’ve said something in response. he doesn’t remember, and I couldn’t make out the mumbles. he stumbled away quietly, muttering all sorts of things. one phrase I remember is “hunger is the strangest disease.”
it was a pathetic sight. he eventually got home and went to his wife. he told her he would go and give them two more sacks of vegetables tomorrow. he called her fat again. she looked up at him and they both didn’t really care- about the vegetables or the fat. they fucked.
but afterward she said, “it’s only fair. it’s their mule now anyway.”