Back in the old days, the raza used to slaughter animals for their meat as a community event. While the actual killing of the animal was called a sacrifice, the event itself was called a matanza. It involved preparing for visitors, recruiting a maestro to lead the ritual, bringing in the animal calmly from the pasture, sacrificing it, quartering it, and cooking the meat for whatever event it was that called for the matanza.
The sacrifice marked the peak moment of the matanza. The maestro would signal that it was about to happen, and the crowd would turn solemn in anticipation of the golpe de gracia. The maestro would raise the knife and thank the animal before he took its life. The moment inevitably moved the crowd and prompted people to speak truths. Some said they were pregnant or had had a miscarriage. Others that they regretted something they’d done in the past. Still other that they were in love.
Getting someone special to speak such a truth was what the vato was hoping for when he accompanied a girl to a matanza one late-summer Sunday morning. They’d been walking to school together for weeks but hadn’t yet gotten to the point where they held hands. He thought that the moment of the sacrifice would provide that opening.
“Before we take your life, know that we thank you for the nourishment you will provide our families,” the maestro said.
After a short pause, he sacrificed the steer. The sight made the girl shriek. Then she spoke up.
“I love my mother and father and no one else,” she said turning to the vato.
The vato immediately left the crowd and went behind a nearby house.
Everybody heard what she had said but tried not to show it. A group of pre-teen boys followed the vato. When they reached him, they were startled to find him crouched over sobbing.
“Eeee!” one of them taunted.
“It’s not chile!” the vato said struggling to catch his breath, tears streaking down his cheeks.
The boys looked down in sorrow, as if it was their friend who had just been sacrificed.
“Hey, let’s go stand guard and not let anybody come around and see him,” one of the boys said.
The boys split up and stood watch to prevent anybody from coming around the corners of the house that was shielding the vato from the matanza.
