John Fairchild stood at the edge of the Institute’s graveled area and stared out to sea, sipping his coffee. From his feet the ground sloped sharply downward until it met the craggy boulders upon which the angry, sullen waves of the ocean crashed. On some of the less precipitous slopes in between John and the ocean the dirty, near-comatose sheep grazed. John pulled his jacket tighter against the chill wind coming from the ocean.
John reflected on why he was on this island as he stared at the low grey clouds, moss, lichens, beige grass, sea birds, and outcroppings of volcanic rock. At the other end of the island was a village with a small pub. Every two weeks there was a boat that would take one to the mainland for a day where there was a slightly larger village with a slightly larger pub.
He had heard there were a few trees on the island, but he hadn’t seen them.
His contract with the Institute had another three months to run. By that time he should have his paper finished. It was the final requirement for his Ph.D. in anthropology. He had no intention of doing research for the Institute on cold, bleak islands for the rest of his life.
The paper would be a good one. It was about the men with whom he worked at the Institute’s research station. The men had varied backgrounds and had little social interaction except with each other for long stretches of time. They were a good group to work with. The island would have been difficult to tolerate otherwise. Often they would all go to the pub after their day’s work at the research facility was over.
There wasn’t a heck of a lot else to do.
Angus was the oldest of the other men. Roderick, Peter, Walter, Richard, and Gunnar were the others. Angus was the first to arrive that morning. The others began arriving one by one.
“Mornin’, John.”
“Good morning, Angus.”
“Morning.”
“Mornin’, Peter.”
“Good morning, Peter.”
“Yeeeee!”
“Oh, hullo, Roderick.”
“Good morning, Walter.”
“Mornin’, Richard.”
“Morning, Gunnar.”
“Yeeeee!”
It was just like the Waltons in reverse.
The greetings over, the other men fanned out into a semicircle looking at John. He regarded them warily. Something was up.
“We need to adjust that collimator first thing this morning, Angus,” John said.
“Before we start on that, John,” Angus said seriously, “there’s somethin’ we’d like t’ discuss with you.”
“Okay,” said John, looking around at the faces of the other men, who stared back impassively.
Angus pulled out his pipe and fondled it. John suddenly realized that he had never seen Angus light or smoke his pipe, just fondle it.
“John,” said Angus, “you’ve been workin’ with us for near three months now. We all like you and think you’re a fine fellow.”
“Well, I’ve enjoyed working with you men also,” John said warily.
“Well, good, John. I’m glad you feel that way. Because we feel it’s time you truly became one of us.”
“What do you mean?” John asked.
“The Rite of Initiation, John. The one all of us went through.”
“An initiation rite? Are you serious? What’s the point of that?”
“T’ prove you really want to be one of us, John.”
“Huh. So what does this initiation rite consist of?”
“It’s done by young men in pastoral areas all over the world, John. Sheep. I’m talkin’ about Biblical knowledge.”
“Biblical knowledge?”
“To know a sheep, as in the Bible.”
John’s jaw dropped and he felt a flush creep up his neck. He looked around at the other men, who stared back stolidly. “I -- I don’t think I understand you,” he stammered.
Angus took his pipe from his mouth, glanced at it, then looked calmly at John. “I’m quite sure that y’ did, John,” he said mildly. “Don’t see any need t’ say it again. As a man of the world, I’m sure you’re aware that there’s no point to an initiation rite if it’s somethin’ people don’t mind doin’.”
“Are you crazy?” John yelled. “You want me to go ram a sheep?” He regretted the inadvertent pun the moment the words were out of his mouth, but none of the other men seemed to have noticed it. They stared at him.
“Okay, whew.” John sighed and grinned. “Good joke. You guys really had me going there for a minute.”
The men continued to stare impassively. John suddenly remembered that Peter could never keep a straight face while telling the tamest of jokes, and he wasn’t smiling now, while Walter never joked at all.
They weren’t joking.
“No!” John yelled. “I won’t do it!”
“Well,” Angus said, “we can’t exactly force you, John.”
“This is ridiculous,” John seethed. “Richard, you’re a serious Christian. What does the Bible say about bestiality?”
“That’s the Old Law, John. We live under Jesus’s law now.”
“You think Jesus wants people to prong sheep?”
“Did He not say ‘How much then is a man better than a sheep, and he rejoiceth more of that sheep, and he that entereth in by the door is the shepherd of the sheep, and--’”
“Richard--”
“’--and the sheep hear his voice, and I am the door of the sheep, and I am the good shepherd and know my sheep, and other sheep I have, and my sheep hear my voice and I know them, and--’”
“RICHARD--”
“--and that even the foxes have holes?” Richard stared at John in a defiant manner.
“So what happens if I don’t do it?” John asked.
“Well,” Angus said, “we can’t exactly make you leave the island.”
Suddenly John saw how it would be. He would be ostracized. He would have no one to talk to. Not only would his life on this island be unbearable for the next three months, but he would be unable to finish his paper.
If he gritted his teeth and went through with this, he could complete his paper and become an anthropologist. He could even cite this incident in reporting his research.
He would, of course, in his paper attribute the deed itself to one of the other men.
“All right, all right! It’s stupid, but I’ll do it.”
“We knew you wouldn’t disappoint us, John.”
If ‘twere done, ‘twere best done quickly, John grimly told himself. Turning to make his way down the hill to where the sheep were, he stopped to ask Angus, “I’m rather new at this. Any advice?”
Angus stroked his chin thoughtfully. Finally he said, “Prob’ly best t’ choose a female.”
The worst part of the whole thing was the apparent complete indifference of the sheep.
Making his way back up the hill, John began hearing a strange noise.
The men were laughing! Loudly!
John gasped. His face grew red. He raced up the hill in a rage.
The men were sprawled in various helpless positions, all of them laughing so loudly they were unable to stand. John actually feared that the laughter was so loud that people in the village might hear and come to see what the matter was. Richard had been laughing so hard he had wet his pants, and from the smell John suspected that at least one of the men had defecated.
“You swore!” John yelled. He dragged Richard to his feet and began shaking him. “You swore you’d all done it!”
“But we did! We all did do it, John!” Richard gasped. “We didn’t lie! I swear! But you . . . you . . . “
Richard seemed about to succumb to his mirthful spasms, then, with a Herculean effort, managed to compose himself enough to gasp the words, the terrible words, the words that would haunt John Fairchild to the end of his days, that would cause him to abandon both anthropology and Institute research and become a water treatment plant operator: “YOU picked the UGLIEST ONE!”
