Werner and Helen had once gone in together with some friends to buy bulk meat from a cow that had grazed on the field close to their house. The chest freezer had been specially acquired for that purpose. For months on end, there had been nothing but beef on the menu, until the whole family was sick of it. Helen had no idea what to do with all the extra meat and bones. “Make soup,” the farmer had said. But it was much quicker and easier to use bouillon cubes nowadays. Last year, Helen had regretfully thrown away the dried-out, ice-encrusted remnants, then cleaned and switched off the freezer.

Now it was running once more at full capacity. All of the lights were on—green, yellow, and red—and every now and then, it made a quiet gurgling noise. Werner had set it to “quick freeze.” A few old cardboard boxes were piled on top of the lid, and a faded parasol leaned against it.

Helen stood, looking at the freezer, arms folded. “This is insane,” she whispered.

“It’s for the best,” said Werner softly. “If anyone finds out, the story will take on a life of its own. We’ll lose everything.”

Helen turned her head and looked at him questioningly. He went on talking. From his demeanor and his movements, she could see he was trying to persuade her that this was the only choice, but his words didn’t really reach her. All she could think of was what he had said to her earlier that evening: We have three wonderful children who we can’t keep locked away in a golden cage.

An eye for an eye.

“What if I go mad?” she whispered.

He put his arm around her and drew her to his chest. Kissed the top of her head. “You won’t. We’ll get through this. He’s OK in there for now, and I’ll come up with something.”

“Mom, Dad?”

Helen froze at the sound of Emma’s voice.

“Yes?” called Werner.

“Can I have a bag of potato chips?” Emma stood in the doorway at the top of the basement stairs.

“Of course, honey,” Helen heard herself reply. “It’s the weekend.”

“OK!” A moment’s silence. Then, hesitantly, “What are you doing down there, anyway?”

“Cleaning up!” Werner yelled back.

“Oh, right, have fun, then.”

Once the footsteps had died away, Helen laid a trembling hand over her mouth.

“It’s all right,” whispered Werner. He produced a half smile and drew her closer against him. “The kids are so self-absorbed these days, they won’t notice any of this. Nothing at all.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’m sure of it.”

Saturday

Saturday

1

1

The patient was thirty-four, a mother of two. Her eyes shone. “I’m sorry, Nurse. I know it’ll all turn out fine like you say. I’m just scared.”