The Golden Sheep

Chantal Schaul, 2000

During a time and in a place that will be not revealed, there was a farming family called Iliad. The father’s original first name was Thomas, but he had changed it to Odysseus in later years because he liked travelling so much and because the name went so well with his slightly Greek sounding surname. His wife was called Liddy. She had run off with a younger and more sedentary man years ago. Two sons had resulted from their marriage and they were still living with their father, although the younger one, Elliot, was planning to go to a warrior school. The eldest, Rupert, intended to continue his father’s farming business.

Elliot and Rupert were very different in appearance. Rupert was tall, good-looking and not dissimilar from a Greek statue in build. Elliot had been compressed into a smaller mould. Consequently, he was shorter, stouter and overall more compact. He also had exceedingly pale skin, which gave him a morbid touch, whereas Rupert had a healthy-looking, golden glowing bronze tan all over his body.

The only characteristics that the two brothers had in common were their language disabilities. Elliot had a repetition disorder and tended to repeat the same words over and over again. Rupert’s disability was far worse. His whole vocabulary consisted of four words only: ‘ridge’, ‘furrow’, ‘cross-ploughing’ and ‘under-drainage.’ According to the doctor, Rupert’s brain did only have space for four words when he was born, and, because his father was talking to the nurse about ploughing, those were the first four words that little Rupert picked up on.

Because they had been left by their mother at an early age, and because their father was unreliable, uncommitted, irresponsible, and travelling around the country half of the time, Rupert and Elliot became very close to each other. They talked about everything. Deep down, however, Elliot envied Rupert for his good looks and Rupert would have given anything to have Elliot’s lesser language disorder. He could express himself only to Rupert because, over the years, the four words that were within the limits of his working vocabulary had acquired a variety of different meanings that could be detected depending on the tone, volume and pitch used to pronounce them.

Their lives were very monotonous. Day in, day out, they would get up, plough the fields or do some other farming work, have chips and gravy for lunch – except on Sundays, when they would have Sunday roast with Yorkshire pudding – then perhaps do some sheep-shearing in the afternoon, listen to some depressive music in the evenings and finally go to bed.

One day, however, something unexpected occurred. It was a grey, wet and unpleasant morning. Elliot and Rupert were installing some new under-drainage appliances, when suddenly Rupert shouted: “Furrow!” Elliot mentally went through all the possible meanings that could be intended at that moment in time and in the location they found themselves in, but then realized that the word was to be taken literally. Rupert was pointing at something unusual in one of the furrows. A glowing shine emerged from the furrow, slightly stirring. After closer inspection, Rupert and Elliot realised that the mysterious object was a dirty sheep.

The poor creature’s legs were stuck in the mud of the furrow. It was covered with mud all over and trembled in the cold and wet atmosphere. The sheep was shy, for it withdrew when Elliot tried to touch it and bleated weakly and miserably. In the end, the brothers managed to carry the wretched sheep to their backyard and poured a bucket of water over it. They were flabbergasted. The mud had been washed off the creature, its real appearance was revealed. It was sheathed in an angelic coat of resplendent golden wool.

Odysseus had departed on a journey to Wales the previous day, so Elliot and Rupert could not ask him for any advice about further procedures. They took the precious sheep into the house and analysed it carefully. “Can you pass me the magnifying glass?” Elliot requested. “Ridge” replied Rupert, which, in this context, meant “yes.” “The magnifying glass magnifies the golden roots. It’s authentic.” concluded Elliot triumphantly. “Take the magnifying glass back.” – “Cross-ploughing,” answered Rupert, meaning “OK.” Elliot was still pondering. “The roots are authentic according to the magnifying glass. The sheep is authentic. I have an idea. The idea is that we can breed more authentic golden sheep and make authentic golden fleeces from their authentic golden wool. Rupert considered the possibility and said: “Under-drainage cross-ploughing?” in other words: “But where do we get a golden male sheep from?” The two efficient brothers had already established the fact that their sheep was female. It was clear that the absence of a male golden sheep would cause considerable problems. In the end, they decided that their sheep, which they called Goldie, would be inseminated by a normal male sheep. They had, after all, nothing to lose.

The best male sheep of the family Iliad was called Nigel. Odysseus liked to call it Virgil, because the names sounded so alike and Nigel fell for it every time. Elliot and Rupert, however, were less into ancient Greek names and plainly called Nigel Nigel. They put him into a cubicle of their stable, together with Goldie and let their instincts do the job. When Goldie gave birth a few months later, the little sheep were mixed. Their wool consisted of alternate white and gold threads, and looked like dull silver. It could have been used as a Christmas decoration.

The Iliad brothers devised a special machine that was to separate normal from golden wool after shearing. The wool moved through an intricate weighing system and, through the functioning of various devices, came out of the apparatus in two separate heaps. The brothers built a whole factory and employed a bunch of housewives from around the area in order to produce golden fleeces.

The Iliad industry flourished. The golden fleeces were mainly sold to famous actors and actresses, to millionaires and their wives, and even to simple housewives, who had saved their whole lives to buy a mink coat, but now that the golden fleeces were infiltrating the most exclusive circles, opted for this more fashionable alternative. Goldie and Nigel were relentlessly forced to conceive more mixed sheep, in order to perpetuate the business. Elliot, who had taken on the role of manager because he had the necessary vocabulary, felt revived and over-confident in his new position. As a public figure in interviews and commercial deals he was very successful, despite his stout looks and his pallor. His repetition disorder now turned into a strong point because it was a good way of re-enforcing the message that he was trying to convey.

Rupert, on the other hand, felt more and more alienated from his brother and from his new life. The only function that he now fulfilled was to pose together with Goldie for a series of photos, to create the ‘Iliad Golden Fleece’ emblem. But otherwise he was lost for words in the fleece business and was longing to go back to ploughing. Unfortunately, all the fields had been turned into pastures for the sheep, so that ploughing was no longer required. Rupert helped shearing but developed an increasing hatred for everything that was connected to sheep. His primary object of resent was Goldie. He wished that he had never set eyes on her. A strong killing wish started to take roots within Rupert’s soul.

To celebrate the huge successes of the first golden sheep shearing season, Elliot decided to invite everyone connected to his business to a karaoke night. His self-confidence that was already coming dangerously close to arrogance led Elliot to sing all the songs himself, occasionally allowing others to do the back vocals. In honour of his brother, he had written a song consisting entirely of Rupert’s four words, which the latter was allowed to sing all on his own.

When everyone had left, Elliot went into Goldie’s private stable to check up on her. He stood in the shadow, observing the god-sent sheep from afar, when, at the stroke of midnight, Goldie jumped up from her peaceful sleep, surrounded by a thick cloud of golden scintillating glitter. When it dispersed, a breathtaking and ravishing young woman was revealed. She had an outlandish look about her, resembling a Valkyrie perhaps, or what Elliot imagined a Valkyrie to look like. She was glowing and her back was covered in an undulating mass of luminously flaxen hair. Elliot was so impressed that he could not move. He could hardly breathe as he watched her stretch her svelte limbs. But the spectacle only lasted for three minutes, after which the angelic creature re-transformed into the golden sheep she had been.

From that moment on, Elliot secretly visited Goldie every night and watched her metamorphosis at midnight. He had hopelessly fallen in love with the mysterious creature and saw himself powerless to tame his new voyeuristic streak. He did not tell Rupert anything about his discovery, partly for fear that Goldie might prefer the latter’s classical good looks to his own rather morbid attraction.

But Elliot was also cast into a deep conflict between whether he should try and save Goldie’s from her evidently cursed existence as a sheep or not. If Goldie was to be no longer a sheep, then his golden fleece business would go down the drain and he would have to return to ploughing and such likes. He would lose his social status and his self-assuredness, and how on earth would he be able to impress her then? On the other hand, how could he ever live with the awareness that he was exploiting the most beautiful and magical creature he had ever seen?

Elliot did not know about Rupert’s desire to kill the magical sheep, and that he had already devised a plan as to how to get rid of her. He would feed it some deadly nightshade berries. No one would ever know why she had died. He mixed the berries with Goldie’s usual dish of fresh herbs and, one fatal day, put it in front of her, full of anticipating joy for better days to come. He was so excited as he was watching Goldie happily nibbling away that he used his four words all in one go, simply because he could not contain his overflowing emotions any longer. “Ridge, furrow, cross-ploughing, under-drainage!” he exploded. Goldie abruptly stopped eating and stared at him with strange eyes. He faltered. Then, the both of them were blinded by golden shimmering particles.

When the shimmering cloud had settled, Rupert saw what Elliot had seen before him: the beautiful valkyrian lady. She was dying. Rupert screamed: “Under-drainage!” as loud as he possibly could. He used it as an emergency code word, and Elliot, in his office, heard the far-away sound of alarm and ran out to find his brother. Rupert felt so guilty that he confessed the whole truth. Elliot forced his finger into the Valkyrie’s throat, although he felt like violating her delicate facial features, and made her throw up a large amount of herbs and berries.

She recovered almost instantly and expostulated in a still rough but promising voice: “You have prostituted me! I hate you!” Elliot replied hesitantly: “But we didn’t know that you are not a real sheep.” She angrily replied: “Yes, you did. I noticed you every single night.” Rupert frowned. Elliot asked spitefully: “Who are you anyway?” Haughtily she replied: “My name is Isadora. I have been cursed to be a golden sheep hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago. The magic spell to set me free was so far-fetched that I was convinced nobody would ever pronounce it. But you, young man, have finally broken the curse. Therefore I will forgive you for trying to kill me.” She looked at Rupert gratefully, smiling warmly. He stuttered questioningly: “Ridge, furrow, cross-ploughing, under-drainage?” – “That’s right,” she said.

At that moment, Rupert, too, fell hopelessly in love with Isadora. Elliot noticed it and a raging jealousy started to boil within him. They were called back to reality by the distant scream of a sheep-shearer, soon followed by a general uproar outside. As it turned out, all the semi-golden sheep had lost their golden wool and were left half-naked. The courtyard was covered in golden wool, which the workers tried to gather before it would be scattered into all directions by the wind.

The golden fleece business was finished. All the workers were dismissed. The fleece factory stood still. While Elliot had to take care of cancelling contracts and paying debts, Rupert was nursing Isadora. After her near encounter with death and her century-long sheepish existence she was feeling very weak. She could not communicate at a sufficient level with Rupert, but Elliot pretended to be too busy to explain his linguistic intricacies to her and increasingly ignored the both of them, immersing himself into his office work. Deep down, he started to develop a death wish towards his own brother.

One day, not long after the bankruptcy of the Iliad brothers, an old woman dashed into Elliot’s office. She emitted in an unpleasant voice: “I am your mother. I have heard all about your successful business and I want my rightful due before you waste all that is left of your fortune.” Elliot was lost for words. His traumatic motherless childhood passed before his eyes and in no way could he associate the old ugly disagreeable woman in front of him with the dream-like vision of his mother that had accompanied him through the years. She became impatient: “Have you suddenly lost your tongue? You are the ugly one who can more or less speak, aren’t you?” Elliot swallowed.

Liddy had enough and went into the house to find Rupert. She found him combing Isadora’s hair. “Aha!” Liddy screamed triumphantly. “That’s what you are up to nowadays. Wasting my money on girls!” Rupert shook his head and said: “Furrow!” meaning “no.” She went on: “I am going to stay with you for a while. I cannot let you boys alone with a fortune on your hands.”

Liddy settled down in the house within an hour. She re-adjusted all the furniture, re-decorated the walls and re-planted the garden. Elliot and Rupert were powerless against her. Isadora saw how much they wanted to get rid of the disagreeable woman and felt sorry for them. Was it not she who was responsible for the whole mess? She went down to the kitchen at night and chose the biggest and sharpest knife in the kitchen. Then she tiptoed to Liddy’s room and cut her throat.

The next morning at breakfast table, Isadora revealed to Rupert and Elliot what she had done. They were so grateful for her deed that they couldn’t stop hugging her all morning. When they finally released her, she had aged considerably. She explained. “I knew it was going to happen soon. My hundreds of years finally started to take their effect on me.” Even as she was pronouncing these words, she continued to age rapidly. The moment between life and death was impossible to tell. Only when she collapsed into a heap of dust, there was no more doubt. Rupert and Elliot buried what was left of her in the field where they had found her.

A deep silence had installed itself between the brothers and they did not exchange another word until their deaths, which occurred only three years later. By cross-ploughing too much, they made their ox dizzy and run haywire, trampling the both of them to death. Months later, Odysseus found their skeletons in the field. He buried them, sold the farm and because nothing kept him in this desolate spot any more, went off travelling for the rest of his life.