‘Like a geyser,’ said Papa.

‘Yep,’ I said, though I didn’t know what a geyser was.

‘We hunt whale in Australia too,’ said Papa. ‘But I don’t cook it in my restaurant.’

‘The Aborigines never hunted whales,’ I said. ‘It was not part of their diet.’

‘It’s not in the Aborigines’ tradition, or not that I know,’ said Papa. ‘Though I bet they would’ve made good harpooners.’

‘Why is it in our tradition to eat pigs and sheep and cows, Papa?’

‘I guess it’s just because we’re used to it. I’ve eaten other animals than those, though.’ He was distracted by the kitchen again: an imaginary pot boiling on the stove. He barked something at the kitchenhand.

‘Well,’ I said. I felt suddenly bigger and more knowledgeable than Papa, with his apron round his waist and his stupid soft drinks that no kid would ever like. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘It’s not ethical to eat cows and sheep. Or chickens and pigs. It’s sort of like eating whales in the light of their own oil from their own heads, Papa.’

Papa looked mystified.

‘The animals we eat only eat grass and hay. And vegetables.’

‘Not pigs,’ said Papa. ‘Pigs’ll eat whatever you throw them. Pigs’ll eat a dead man, Owen, if you chuck one in their feeding trough.’

‘Pigs eat acorns, Papa.’ I was stubborn. ‘Does it seem fair, Papa, to eat animals that are vegetarians? I am a vegetarian. Would you eat me?’

My thinking was not yet refined but righteousness was on fire within me.

Papa looked tired. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Owen,’ he said.

‘And you know something else, Papa?’

Papa shook his head wearily.

‘Cows are smart, Papa. And pigs are like dogs, in their intelligence. And lambs are so cute. How could you want to eat one?’

He threw his hands up in the air.

‘So,’ I said. I felt a strange rush at what I was about to say. ‘So, Papa. For Mother’s launch, we should have a vegetarian banquet. In honour of Paddy Cow and Moby Dick.’

Papa didn’t even bother to look at me. ‘Oh, Jesus, Owen, don’t be stupid,’ he said. ‘I’m not doing vegetarian food for Mother’s launch.’ He stood up and wiped his hands on his tea-towel even though there was nothing on them.

I felt tears come behind my eyes. They made my jaw ache. ‘I just got my cow shot, Papa. I just got my cow shot!’

The tears were right there, right in the sockets of my eyes, and the more I tried to stop them, the more they grew.

‘You’re being stupid, Owen,’ Papa said. ‘Grow up. I’m really sorry about your cow. I won’t cook beef, alright? But just grow up. Imagine how it is for kids living on a farm. When I was your age, I could skin a rabbit without even thinking about it. I wasn’t so bloody soft. Jesus!’ He threw the tea-towel onto a table on the other side of the restaurant and made for the kitchen. ‘Your mother likes pork, Owen. So that’s what I’m going to cook. Jesus!’