Bror tried to refuse. Hid under the blanket. When mother pulled it off him he started crying. Said he didn’t want to.

Your will is growing in the forest she said.

Go out meant go into the byre. Mother and father were small-holders or weekend farmers as city folk called it. We couldn’t live off the land alone but it helped to keep us going. Five cows a few pigs calves and a horse.

Every saturday father said the horse would be mincemeat.

But I thought when you die we’ll use your scalp for a saddle pad.

We had set jobs as befits underlings. First shovel the muck out of the cow stalls then spread straw. Then it was feeding time for the calves. The calves with just one tail would grow up into heifers but the ones with an extra tail would die soon and were kept separately. We heard their frail voices mooing for the mums. Out of father’s sight we were their mum. Father had no truck with pampering.

Next was the turn of the pigs and the horse.

We were chatting together the animals and us. Whispered about father’s friday and were answered with long licks from a rough tongue. Nothing feels safer than a muzzle.

In father’s opinion bror was a feeble weakling who should try harder to be more like a man and the way to go was physical work and to put up with a whipping from time to time. 56

In father’s opinion I was a feeble weakling who should try harder to be more like a woman and the way to go was practising womanly skills such as milking cows and other teats.

When bror was busy in the pigshed father dragged me into the milking parlour and closed the door with the hook. Put down his bucket pulled me close so my nose was buried in his belly that was bulging out between the buttons in his green farmer’s overalls.

You know I care for you don’t you said father. His hands held my head. Now you just do as well as you do with them udders and I promise that brother of yours won’t get a hiding.

My childish fist pulled and milked until gluey drops were oozing into my palms but the smell was the worst.

His mouth was sour with stale booze. His skin was sweating urine. The fluid coming out of his teat stank of ammonia.

Even though he had promised that bror wouldn’t get hit the blows rained on him anyway. And even though father hardly ever kept his promises I would hope to the last moment that I could save my brother.

I went to stand next to the horse while I listened to the sounds of the beating. The horse told me if I just get the chance I’ll kick him to death.