Was Pear’s question a test? Was Dice listening? I tried to imagine how he would answer. “Of course it’s nice to be alive, even for a few months,” I said. I wanted to be humble and open and praised. I thought of the lambs hopping around their enclosures, facing off, leaping onto their mothers’ backs. When they drank, they wagged their tails. “I guess two months or eighty years, it’s more or less the same kind of question.”

“Wrong,” said Pear. She began to oil a large metal bowl.

Dice stood and watched me. I didn’t understand why they couldn’t tell me clearly what they wanted from me. I was desperate to follow the rules, but it was hard to guess what was right and what was wrong.

Pear said, “It’s better never to be born at all, because as soon as you’re born, you begin to destroy.” She formed the bread into a ball.

“Is that what you think?” I said to Dice.

“If Dice didn’t think that,” Pear said, “would I be able to tell you that you were wrong?” She tilted the oil around the bowl to coat it. “No, I would not.” She dropped the dough into the bowl and covered it with a cloth.

Dice walked to Pear. I thought he meant to inspect the bread but he reached up and brushed flour off her face.

* * *

The next morning Dice found me while I was feeding the lambs. The lambs drank down to the dregs of the milk, their mouths fluffy with foam. I lifted the bucket, and the barn cats swarmed. He watched me pet the lambs and said, “They like you, but you know this year we’re not raising any to keep?”

I hadn’t known that. I thought they were all to keep. “We’re selling them?” I said.

“No,” he said. “Eating. Today I’ll teach you how to slaughter.”

“But—” And then what could I say? I’m not here to kill things? I’m happy to kill other things that I haven’t raised? I’m happy to eat things I’ve raised if someone else has killed them? I wished Isaac were here to translate my feelings into the sort of indisputable, bloodless ethics of which he was so fond. Isaac knew how to reason.

I could only imagine saying: I’m happy to proclaim my commitment in other ways. I’d freeze on a hill for you, I’d stand in front of a bulldozer for you, probably, but let me choose. Queen had told me Dice wouldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do. I did not want to slaughter.

“Harmony,” he said. “Do you know why your name is Harmony?”

“Fitting in?” I said. “Oneness?”

“That’s right,” he said. “Oneness with everything. Selflessness.”