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“Mom!”
Martha is just finishing frosting Clark’s birthday cake when the newly-ten-year-old crashes into the kitchen, Pete and Greg close on his heels.
“Careful, Clark. Don't run in the house.” Her scolding is less about running in general, more to remind him to run at a human speed. “You have to come see,” Clark insists, bouncing on his toes impatiently.
“One of your cows had a baby,” Greg explains. “And it's really weird.”
“What are you boys doing out with the cows? I told you to stay in the yard.”
Jonathan asks, having just come in from supervising the dying bonfire.
It’s Clark’s “birthday,” or at least, the day they'd picked to celebrate it on. He’s now ten, or…somewhere around ten. Like the exact date, his exact age is a general guess as well.
After a bonfire and hotdogs, the boys had been out chasing each other around the yard in the dark, but they very much were not supposed to be on the same side of the fence as the animals.
“It's right by the fence,” Pete explains. “And it's got two heads.”
Jonathan raises his eyebrows. “I'd better take a look.”
—
It’s a perfect night, all stars and cool air and the lingering smoke from their fire. Clark grabs Martha’s hand and tugs her forward. Couldn't the universe give them just one evening of normalcy? One evening where Clark isn't accidentally bending a fork with one hand or some other impossible feat he doesn't realize he’s even doing until it's too late.
That was supposed to be this party, Clark's first sleepover, something normal. Just Clark and his friends where she and Jonathan could keep a close eye on him and make sure nothing unexplainable happened.
She follows the boys out to the pasture, where Jonathan us already waiting crouched a few feet away from one of the cows. She’s off by herself, tucked up against the fence with a crumpled dark heap at her feet.
Jonathan shines his flashlight on the lump in the grass, and the mother cow shifts to stand in between them. She lowes softly, then turns back to the calf. Martha gasps when the light hit its face, hoping the distortion is just from the shadows.
“Cool!” Greg climbs on the fence to get a better look now that they have enough light to see properly.
“It's gross,” Pete decides, taking a step back.
The cow licks at her calf tenderly, entirely unaware of the conversation, and unconcerned by the unusual nature of her new baby. In fairness, this particular cow is young, and she's never calved before, so it's not like she knows this calf to be different.
Pete had been correct; it does have two heads, merged together in such a way that it only just has all four eyes. The flashlight reflects off of the middle two, which look more like one stretched eye than two distinct individuals. Martha wonders if the eyes are developed enough to see anything clearly, if it might be looking at her. It blinks, sort of, large brown eyes squinting more than closing. As she moves through the grass, they follow her, light from the flashlight and the stars and the house behind her reflecting as shimmering flecks. Martha looks away.
“Jonathan, let's call the vet,” she says. “No need to make it suffer.”
The poor thing is breathing, but hadn't tried to stand, even after what is likely a few hours. It should have been up and nursing, or at least trying to, with those deformed little mouths.
In the darkness, she feels Clark reach for her hand.
“What are you gonna do with it?” Greg asks, leaning over the fence and craning his neck in fascination.
“Well…” Jonathan sits back on his heels thoughtfully. “I guess a museum or a university would want it, but Clark’s mom is right. We'd better call the vet first.”
He doesn’t say what she’s thinking, that there isn't much chance the fragile, disfigured creature will survive the night. Better to euthanize it than leave it to die slowly.
“Mama,” Clark whispers, tugging at her hand as Jonathan makes his way back to the house. “Don't let them cut it open.”
He understands death, that much is inevitable living on a farm, but there are scarier options in the world of the living. He's been having nightmares about dissections lately, after one of Pete’s brothers explained the concept to him.
Martha puts an arm around Clark's shoulder and gives him a squeeze.
“Why don't you boys go play while your dad calls the vet?”
“This is way cooler than playing Star Wars,” Greg says, which explains all the clashing of sticks she'd been seeing out the kitchen window.
“We could catch moths,” Pete suggests, because Greg is usually happy to do that.
“I don't want to kill bugs,” Clark protests.
“We aren't gonna kill them,” Pete says at the same time Greg points out that “you have to kill them to pin them, stupid.”
“Don't call each other stupid,” Martha chides, though she’s a bit more focused on Jonathan's approaching figure than the boys’ argument.
“Didn't get an answer,” he says. Martha looks back at the calf. Its mother has since moved from licking its faces to its back, where it looks like any other baby.
“Do you think it's in any pain?”
Jonathan runs a hand through his hair.
“I hope not.”
“Is the vet coming?” Clark asks, having snuck up behind them, leaving Pete and Greg to chase moths, fireflies, and crickets around the yard by themselves.
“No, honey,” Martha says gently. Your dad couldn't get ahold of him.”
“Oh.”
Clark goes silent for a moment, then asks “So now what do we do?”
Jonathan runs a hand through his hair again, not sure how to answer. He doesn’t know what to do. The Kents own a gun, he could put it down himself. But the boys would hear that, and Clark looks pretty close to falling apart about the whole situation as it is.
When Clark gets overwhelmed, things tend to happen, things that would be difficult to explain.
Besides that, Jonathan feels he can't quite stomach the thought of pointing a weapon at the damp creature in front of him. Animals die all the time, he knows that perfectly well. But this feels different. It can't even hold its head up properly.
Clark slips up to crouch beside Jonathan and lean into his arms. The evening is warm, but he’s still shivering just a bit.
“It’s alright, buddy. Go play with your friends.”
Pete and Greg have already lost interest in the deformed animal, and are busy wrecking the lawn in pursuit of crickets.
“It's gonna die, isn't it?” Clark says softly. The calf is obscured by shadows now that Jonathan set his flashlight in the grass. Without the light on its face, it almost looks normal.
“Probably,” Jonathan admits, because there's no point in lying.
Clark’s grip on his hand tightens enough to hurt, but Jonathan ignores it and does his best to offer a comforting squeeze in return.
“I don't want anybody to cut it open.”
He's still watching the calf with wide eyes, like if he stares hard enough, the two disfigured faces will merge into one.
“Alright. How about we bury it?” Jonathan asks. Clark nods slowly, still clinging tight to his hand. The calf isn't even dead yet, but here they are making funeral arrangements. It hasn't really moved in several minutes, and Jonathan is certain it's dying. He'd prefer if Clark were elsewhere when it finally happens, so he carefully extracts his hand from the ten year old's iron grip.
“Go play with your friends, Clark. Nothing else is happening here.”
Clark leaves reluctantly, and is more wandering around after Pete and Greg than actually joining them, but he's away from the cows at least.
Jonathan stays outside by the fence while the boys play, making sure they don't get themselves killed. Eventually, they go inside to have cake and turn the living room into an enormously cluttered campsite, and thankfully, it seems like the fuss outside is forgotten.
Jonathan goes out to check on the calf one last time after the boys are asleep. The mother is still licking at it as though it's alive, but he can tell from where he stands, it isn't breathing.
He lies awake that night, thinking about how tightly Clark had clung to his hand.