The Gardener’s Lamb

It was a cold and still night in early February. The man was dressed for it, or at least he felt like it for now. He wished he wasn’t wearing jeans. Jeans were cold and stiff. He had long underwear but he could still feel the jeans trying to chafe him as he walked along the top of the small snowy hill that led to the pasture. He ought to get some thick Carhartt overalls that were brown and had a soft lining on the inside.

The man lived with his wife and daughter in a house on top of a small hill. The hill flattened out for the pasture and then continued down on its slope. The daylight had gone quickly and the man turned on his porch light. He looked down the path that led to the pasture. Snow had not fallen in two weeks and the snow that was on the ground had a hard shell that protected the two feet of soft snow underneath it. The path, now slick from use, had encouraged the man to start using a walking stick. He started down the path just like he had done every dark and cold night that week. It was not a direct line to the pasture; it went down the hill at an angle and around the garden and past the chicken house. Soon the man was past the reach of the porch light, but the moon on the snow was bright and he knew the path.

When he passed the beginning of his garden, he thought about his tomatoes. The tomatoes weren’t his best that year, but soon that would change when he could spread the sheep’s manure. He would also finally be able to spend the right amount of time in the garden in the spring and summer since he was no longer working at the post office. His hands would become hard instead of soft and vulnerable. Black dirt would fill his shoes and cover his skin. Everything would grow better. There would be cucumbers and onions everywhere. Every meal next year would have onions with it—fried or raw or caramelized. He would be able to freshen the tap water with cucumber slices. There would be so many thick and healthy vegetables that the man could take some to the farmer’s market on Saturdays and sit with the other men, the real men who were nothing like the mail men he was used to. They would talk about their animals and their land. If he could sell some on those Saturdays perhaps his wife would like it too.

All the vegetables made the man feel better about the cold night. When he passed the chicken house, he opened the door and said, “Hello girls,” but the eight hens were tired and didn’t respond. He warmed his hands on the heating lamp and, with his walking stick, broke the layer of ice that had covered the chicken’s water. He checked the corners of the coop for forgotten eggs but found none, so he shut them in for the night and made his way into the pasture.

The man didn’t own more than five acres and the pasture covered two of them. In the corner nearest to the chicken house there was the sheep-shed. It was a red square made out of sheet metal and wood. Inside there were three small brown sheep, two ewes and a ram; none of their heads were above the man’s waist. They were very round because of their winter wool and because of the pregnancies. The man went over to the only stall, which split the shed in half. He found the cross beam and turned the light bulb on. The man looked at the ewes in the corner and said, “Is tonight the night, girls?”

The ewes lifted their heads but did not get up. Then the man went to the ram that was in the stall and grabbed him by his barely curling horn and said, “What do you think?” The ram shook its head and the man let go of its horn and scratched the wool on top of its head. One warm afternoon that fall, the ram had escaped his secluded part of the pasture and went to be with the ewes; he was three months too early. The man had had time to prepare. But he mostly had to wait. It was a cold and patient waiting which was parallel with the winter.

The man went over to an aluminum garbage can and grabbed a handful of corn. He fed the ram and its lips made his hand wet. He wiped his hand on his jeans and grabbed another handful for the ewes. He held it out for them and said, “Girls?” The ewes did not get off the ground. “Alright,” the man said and he put the handful of corn back into the garbage can. There had not been much excitement for the man in his previous trips to the sheep shed. He liked this kind of boredom, which felt opposite to the boredom that he had gotten from sorting mail. He sat down on a large wooden stump and pulled out a book from his jacket pocket and lay it flat in his hand so that he had enough light.

After an hour of reading, one of the ewes began to pant. The man looked up from his book. Then the ewe got to her feet made a small circle around the shed, pawed the hard ground and snorted. It’s time, the man thought. He had his plan for the birth. The towels were ready.

He would allow the ewe to birth naturally. He wouldn’t have to interfere. It would be okay. The other ewe got up and moved to the opposite corner. The ram was on its feet. Then the panting became heavier and the ewe let out a small bleat. The man got up off the stump and looked at the ewe whose chest was heaving. The man thought about going for a walk and coming back when it was done. The ewe bleated again; this time it was guttural and painful. The man thought he could stay and just turn the light off. Between the panting and low bleating, there came a wet noise from the sheep. The man decided that not being able to see would be just as bad as the sight. He looked at the ewe and it started to happen and he looked away.

From what the man heard, everything seemed to be going well. Then a different sound interrupted the heaving and panting rhythm of the ewe. The man looked and saw the half-born lamb. The ewe was being loud now and the man saw that the lamb was not coming out anymore. He stood up and went over and down to his knees on the hard dirt floor and put his hands on the wet lamb. The man closed his eyes and groaned as the ewe bleated. He kept a soft and firm grip behind the lamb’s front shoulder. Trying not to grip to tightly or pull with any force. He held the front of the lamb and his half yelled groans accompanied the ewe and the ram, who had started to bleat as well. And then the lamb was out.

The man got up and his hands were wet, so he went outside to a snow bank, punched through the hard crust, and washed them in the soft under-snow. He sat for a moment and even unzipped his coat to let the cold calm him.

When he went back into the sheep-shed it was quiet and the lamb was on the cold, hard dirt floor. The ewe was licking him. The man dried the lamb with one of the towels and looked at him for the first time. He was very small and gray. The man looked at the ewe and said, “It’s going to be okay, Mama,” and then he wrapped the lamb in a clean towel. He pulled one of his arms out of his jacket and picked the small lamb up and held it close to his body. The ewe started to bleat at him. “It’s too cold out here, Mama,” the man said. He wrapped his jacket around the lamb and left the sheep shed to the bleats of the ewe. It was colder than before and the man could feel it on his face. He walked past the garden and past where the eggplants grew and where he was going to expand the potato area in the spring. He walked with long strides and drove his walking stick into the icy path. He held the lamb under its chest and its thin legs dangled near the cold.

When he got into his house, he went straight to the bathroom and put the lamb in the tub. He found an old blanket and made a bed for the lamb. The house was warm and the man’s face stung, but he was glad about it. He moved the lamb onto the blanket and watched it curl its legs. He then went upstairs into the kitchen to find the lamb formula that he had bought at Fleet Supply. He put it into a bottle and put it in the microwave. He considered going back down to the ewe and try what he could to milk her. Then his wife came into the kitchen in her pajamas and sat down at the counter. Her hair was ratted from lying in bed and she wasn’t wearing her glasses that made her look as smart as she was. The man liked when she wore contacts or just did things without being able to see as well. She must have been listening for me, the man thought. At first she said nothing and just watched him. She put her hands on the counter, one on top of the other. He said nothing to her so then she asked, “How many are there?”

“Just one,” said the man.

“How is it?”

“It’s small.”

“How small?”

“Smaller than he should be.”

“Oh,” she said, “Do you want me to heat the chili up for you?”

“No, you should go back to bed. It will be okay,” the man said.

“It’s cold out,” his wife said.

“I know,” he said and left her in the kitchen. When he went downstairs, he saw his daughter sitting next to the tub. She was in her pajamas and was petting the lamb. She must have been waiting just like her mother, the man thought. She did not look tired like her mother. She was excited and her thin body made many small movements around the lamb. The man felt stiff and slow just by watching her.

“His fur is soft,” she said when she saw him.

“Lambs have wool,” he told her.

“Well, he is very cute.”

“I know.”

“I wish he would stay this small forever,” she said The man said nothing. Then the small lamb let out a little bleat and his daughter looked at him with her mouth open. The man smiled and said, “I know. Let’s get you to bed.”

“Oliver,” she said to the lamb and got up to go with her father.

“Okay,” the man said and wished he had been quieter coming into house.

When his daughter was tucked in, the man went back to the lamb and tried to feed it with the bottle. He was surprised to see that the lamb was standing in the tub. He was more surprised that its legs weren’t shaking; the lamb didn’t latch onto the nipple. He put his finger into its mouth and said, “It’s breakfast time.” Then he tried the bottle again and the lamb sucked weakly for a little, then stopped. He wished it would have drunk more but said to it, “That’s good for now.” He was worried about how the lamb would get back in its bed so he lifted it and it let out another small bleat. The man sat with the lamb until it was very late. He watched it breathe and would sometimes put his hand on its chest so he could feel it breathe. It slept and the man didn’t talk to it or to himself. He thought about getting something to drink like milk or orange juice, but watching the lamb breathing slowly had made him tired. He went to his bed and took off his jeans, but left his long underwear on.

The man woke early the next morning and went down to the bathroom.

The lamb was sleeping and the man petted it. Soon his daughter woke, earlier than she normally woke. She petted the lamb for a while and when he woke she even tried to feed him. The lamb drank little. The man’s wife came too and looked at her husband and at the lamb. Then they all watched the lamb slowly get to its feet, one foot at a time. “Look how good he is doing,” his daughter said.

“I left the paper out on the counter,” the man’s wife said and looked at him.

“Okay.”

“And eat the rest of the chili today. It’s getting old.”

“Time to get ready for school,” the man told his daughter. She dressed quickly and petted the lamb until she had to go to school. When she had left and his wife had gone to work, he went down and fed the other sheep and the chickens. The ewe bleated at him and he told her it was okay. It was cold again and bright. The man was glad that he wasn’t working as a postman on days like this. The bright, cold days were the worst. He was never comfortable. The post-office cars in the country were just normal cars and he had to learn how to drive from the passenger seat. He was always in a hurry when he was a postman.

There was always mail to be sorted and after a while it would be numbing. It was hard to be in a hurry during the cold winters when he had to drive from the passenger seat. His wife would ask about his days and he would tell her they were okay. Sometimes he would tell her that they don’t have a personality test for the post-office. She would smile and would try to give him a deep shoulder rub. She didn’t smile at him when he told her about not being a postman anymore. He told her that the job didn’t pay hardly anything and was dangerous. He said that she supported the family anyway. He said that he could spend time with their daughter, and raise sheep, and would find work in the spring or maybe in the middle of the summer. The man didn’t like thinking about that conversation or about being a postman. He walked slowly up the path to the house. He looked across his gardens and down at the small red sheep shed.

When he got back to the house, the lamb was dead.

He was in a small gray ball away from his bed in the bathtub with his eyes open. The man sat on top of the toilet in the bathroom and did nothing for a while. Then he called his wife and told her. She asked if he wanted her to tell their daughter. He said no. She asked if he was sure. He said yes. She said that she was sorry and that she had to get back to work.

He went to the laundry room and found a brand new light brown bed sheet and wrapped the small gray lamb in it. He sat on top of the toilet and put the wrapped dead lamb on his lap. He thought about what to do. The ground was frozen. He couldn’t bury it in the snow for different reasons that were not nice to think about. He continued to sit in the warm bathroom with the lamb on his lap. He wanted to be numbed with sorting mail and the people of the post-office. The trash came on Tuesday. The lamb was dead and he needed to get rid of it. Dead chickens had gone in the trash before. He put his hand on the lamb’s chest for a moment before getting up. The man found a shoebox and folded the lamb’s long lifeless legs so that he would fit. He then duct taped the box shut and went to the garbage can.

He placed the shoebox on top of a pizza box. Then he said, “Thank you for being so nice to my daughter. Thank you for dying when she was at school. I’m sorry you were born so small. I’m sorry it is so cold. I’m sorry I don’t know what I am doing.” He shut the cover of the garbage and rolled it down to the end of his driveway.

When his daughter came home from school, he brought her to her room and told her that Oliver was dead. He told her that Oliver was too small and it was too cold. She turned away and put her face into her pillow. He rubbed her back and told her that Oliver was a good lamb. His wife came in and took his spot. She didn’t look at him. He went up into the kitchen and saw the paper that his wife had put on the counter that morning.

She had opened it to the classifieds. He heated up the chili and ate it. He had had too much of it that week and was tired of the taste, but it was warm, so he ate it.

The man went down to feed the sheep and the chickens that night. He took the path slowly with short well-placed steps. He put his gloved hands on the sturdy chicken house as he walked past remembering the hot summer he had spent building it. When he went into the sheep shed the ewe bleated at him. He said nothing to her and didn’t even turn the light on. He gave them their hay and left. Before he went back to the house, he walked through the hard snow in his garden. He thought about his leeks and cabbage and how he had to buy some new rabbit fence. He looked around at the empty garden and was still cold. It had begun to snow and the wind had picked up. The vegetables were frozen and dead; they didn’t get any sun. They wouldn’t get any sun for a long time. He was becoming very cold but didn’t want to go in the house. He wanted to be in his garden, but it wasn’t his garden in the winter. The garden was nothing but hard ground and snow. He stood there until he was too cold. He should have milked the ewe. He should have done something. He knew he could have done something. I need to be with my sheep tonight, he decided finally. He went into the sheep-shed and sat down on the stump. He didn’t turn the light on. He crossed his arms and his legs. Ready to sit for a long time. The ewe bleated at him and he said to her, “Shh…shh; he’s gone now.” She bleated and the man closed his eyes. He heard the ram rustling in his stall and the wind blew against the shed. Then he heard the small bleat of a lamb. He opened his eyes and it was still dark in the shed. He reached up and found the beam and turned the light on. In the corner of the shed there was a small black lamb.

The man did not feel well when he saw it. The other ewe had given birth sometime during the day. It gave a second high-pitched bleat and the man shut his eyes and bent over towards his knees. He was stiff and cold and the pasture had been the same way the entire night. The man straightens up and took in a long cold breath. Then he said, “Okay,” and pulled his arm out of his jacket and grabbed a towel.