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Chapter 8: The Government Narrative
Velma was almost finished polishing the twenty seventh mirror with a soft dry cloth when Tom approached her.
“You can go upstairs now,” he told her.
Oh, can I? she thought. “I’ve still got three more mirrors,” she explained as she refolded her damp cloth and moved on to the twenty eighth.
“That’s okay, I’ll finish them if you wanna get started upstairs.”
You’re not the boss of me! Velma didn’t bother to argue. What would be the point?
Anyway, as usual she had more important things on her mind. She finished her work, and some of his, and clocked out on time. She’d arranged an interview for the job of Hatchery Hygiene Operative (Night Shift) out in the sticks and she had a train to catch.
In the station toilets she had just enough time to put on one of her subtle but effective disguises before boarding the train. When she alighted at Ipswipe station she looked at the clock. It was 9.15pm which gave her forty five minutes to travel the last three and a half miles to her destination. The run would do her good.
Her wolf-self couldn’t help growling when she reached the farm. It was dark and there was no one around so she de-wolfed, and her job applicant persona walked up to the house. She rang the doorbell and a woman answered the door.
“Hello, I’m Michelle,” Velma told her, “I’ve got an interview for the -“
“You’re supposed to go to the office,” the woman was irritated. “Over there.” She pointed over Velma’s left shoulder and closed the door.
Velma walked to the office and knocked on that door.
“Come in.”
She opened the door. “Hello, I’m Michelle, I’ve got an interview for the cleaning job.”
“Yes, yes, sit down. Did you have far to come?”
“Not far, no.”
“You live in the village do you?”
“Just outside.”
“Whereabouts?” he asked sharply before elaborating. “We’ve found local people to be more reliable.”
Velma hesitated. She hadn’t thought to memorise the names of all the nearby villages. “I’ve just come from the next village over,” she ventured.
“Slungsom?” Velma bit her lip to keep from laughing, “or Flapston?”
“Yes, Flapston,” she told him. She’d already forgotten the first one.
“Ok, good. We especially need a local for the night jobs because there’s no public transport out here in the evenings. You’ve got a car then have you?”
“Yes,” Velma told him, “a red one.” Good grief!
He smiled. “Where did you park?”
“Er, on the road, at the end of your drive.”
He frowned. “That’s a narrow road, not safe to leave your car there at night. Why don’t you go and fetch it. You can drive right up to the office here.”
“Oh, it’s okay, I didn’t drive tonight.” I just told him I did! “I mean, I said I parked there because that’s where I thought I would park if I got the job, because I didn’t know that I would be able to drive all the way up to the office. But I didn’t actually park there because I didn’t drive today. Nice evening for a walk I thought. Slapston’s not that far after all.” Sigh.
“You mean Flapston.”
“Yes. What did I say?”
The man shook his head and looked at the open notebook on his desk. “Right, so you’re Michelle are you?”
“That’s right.”
“Nice to meet you Michelle, I’m Doug.”
Another one? Velma smiled, shook his hand and sat down.
“Have you done this kind of work before?”
“Been a cleaner of one sort or another for a long time, yes.”
“Ever worked nights?”
“Yes, I prefer to work at night.”
“Okay, good.” He looked across the desk at her. “If you’re still interested after I’ve explained the job to you, I’ll give you a tour. But basically it entails cleaning and disinfecting vehicles, trailers and hatchery equipment.”
Velma nodded. She’d read that in the job description.
“More specifically,” he went on, “that would be pressure washing the interior of trailers, including fans,” he flipped to the next page of his notebook, “er, removing the floor and roof covers and cleaning all the filters. You’d have to empty day-old chick crates from the lorries.”
Day-old babies should be with their mums! “I have to handle baby birds?” Velma asked. “I thought you weren’t supposed to handle baby birds in case their mum rejects them.”
Doug couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “No, just take the empty crates from the lorries. The lorries bring the crates back for re-use after they’ve delivered the chicks to the farms. And obviously they have to be cleaned before they’re used again. Biosecurity you know.”
Gotta make sure them pesky diseases you made don’t get out! “Yes of course,” she said.
“Then you have to pressure wash the exterior of the trailer and the unit.”
“The unit?”
“Yes, the hatchery unit. I thought you understood what we did here.”
What you do here makes me sick.
Velma offered an apologetic smile and told him “I’m eager to learn.” Now I’m making myself sick.
He smiled. “Good, okay, well, the hatchery unit turns fertile eggs into healthy, day-old chicks. We put the eggs in incubators for about eighteen days and rotate them to ensure proper embryo development. Then they’re moved to a separate hatcher unit to prevent contaminating the incubators.”
How conscientious of you. “Where do the eggs come from?”
“From our own dedicated breeder farm down the road. You must have passed it on your way here. Puddington Farm?”
Ooh, your ‘own dedicated breeder farm’. He’s proud of that! “Right, okay. I thought this was Puddington Farm.”
“This is Puddington Hatchery Farm,” he told her with a grin. “Down the road is Puddington Breeder Farm. Of course they both end up being shortened to just Puddington Farm so I guess it can be confusing to newcomers.”
Velma nodded. Puddington is as Puddington does.
“We keep all the boys and girls together there – in a carefully controlled ratio of one male to every ten females – not a good idea to have too many cocks otherwise they’ll fight with each other, and over-mate the hens. Cockerels can mate dozens of times a day.”
You bastard.
“When a hen gets too much, shall we say, unwanted attention from a cockerel she can get skittish, hide in corners of the coop, and avoid interacting with the rest of the flock due to stress. She’ll also likely suffer injuries from his, shall we say, less-than-gentle love-making.” He grinned uncomfortably. “And that results in a decline in egg production.”
Velma frowned. And there it is! The reason you have a strict 10 to 1 ratio. To prevent a decline in egg production!
“Anyway,” he said after swallowing a mouthful of his coffee, “that doesn’t happen here anymore. Strict ratio of no more than one male to ten females. We’re very strict about animal welfare. Our farms are Red Tractor approved,” he said proudly.
Yeah right! “Well done,” Velma forced another smile. Why am I still pretending to be Michelle? Why am I listening to this dufus?
Doug returned her smile with a nod. “So, where was I?” he went on, “Oh yes, the eggs are fertilised down the road and then they come here. Once hatched, the chicks are sorted, vaccinated, and sent to commercial farms.”
“Sorted how?”
He sighed and looked at his watch. “To be honest you don’t really need to know all the details of the business to do this job. You just need to clean what we tell you to clean. Biosecurity – very important.”
“Yeah, bird flu – what a nightmare! You know, I had an idea about that, how to prevent it. It’s a simple idea actually, but the weird thing is – I’ve never heard anyone else suggest it. So, here it is Doug – are you ready? If you want to stop bird flu – STOP FARMING BIRDS! Idiot!”
Doug’s jaw dropped and he was momentarily lost for words.
Velma smiled. “You sort them by sex don’t you?”
“I think you should leave.” He closed his notebook.
“Because you don’t want most of the males.”
He put his head in his hands. “Will you please jus-“
“My turn to talk now Doug. My turn! You kill the males straight away – with a macerator right? You, shall we say, mince the baby boys alive?”
“The macerator is recognised as the most humane way! Their deaths are instantaneous!”
He lifted his head to look at her and as she smiled back at him, her eyes turned black, dark purple veins became visible under the skin of her pale neck, and her teeth, like stalactites, became long and sharp.
“You’re a boy. How does that make you feel?” She reached across the desk and took his hand. “I mean, admittedly, your death is not going to be instantaneous, but it won’t take long. And it won’t hurt.” He had frozen in terror. “Does that make it okay?”
***
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