I watch in horror as she holds down the body. He grabs the head, pulling the neck straight and lowers the hatchet. She puts a plastic bag over the fresh opening as he starts pumping the body, forcing blood to spray into the bag.
The duck had spent its final moments being chased around the yard by the tall Dane wearing a sarong. The Khmer neighbors look on, expressions blank, as he dives and misses several times before finally catching our dinner. I feel slightly nauseous. Is it the palm palm beer or the realization that the people I've committed to share the evening with, may very well be insane.
The Dane and his Khmer girlfriend had been sitting in a makeshift restaurant under someone's deck drinking palm beer when I rolled by on my bicycle. Anxious to escape the heat, I venture into the yard and they invite me to sit with them. He hasn't spoken to a foreigner in six months so I'm welcome company. After a few rounds, they invite me back to their place where I'm to be treated to a duck dinner.
While the girlfriend is busy ripping out feathers, the Dane and I retire to the living room. He offers me a beer, but I decline. It smells like a barnyard, which isn't surprising since I've just been informed that I'm sitting in the pig's favorite seat. He takes one of the wild parrots out of the cage, a baby that he hand feeds and intends to raise as a pet. He tells me of his dream to be a farmer with a bit of land to raise pigs.
He's not sure if he'll be able to stay with his girlfriend given his anger issues. Not too long ago the police were called when he and the girl were heard out in the rice paddy, yelling and hitting each other; a mess he cleaned up with a small donation. The conversation turns to the bird flu. He tells me he's lost quite a few animals to it.
"So how do you know if an animal has it?" I ask.
"You don't." he informs me. "They usually die within 24 hours."
"I'll take that beer after all."
