A box came in the other day. From previous deliveries, I was expecting avocados and dragonfruit. I opened the box with great haste only to find a bag full of crabs. At first I had an expression of apathy until I noticed movement within the bag. By god, these crabs were still alive!
I immediately called my missus and asked her why she would have crabs shipped alive. She thought it queer of me to say something so ridiculous; crabs boiled alive were fresher than ones that had been dead for days, obviously. I explained to her this was animal cruelty, and she still couldn't understand where I was going with this. "It's ok to kill crabs because they don't have any feelings," I heard Kurt echoing in my ears.
My missus was right to think it strange for someone like myself to say something like this. I never showed the slightest inclination of caring for the lives of animals. I had been an avid meat eater since we had known each other. Even when I attempted veganism in my collegiate years, I did so for health reasons instead of ethical ones.
I had also noticed the Chinese view on animal life. I remember being terrified at the zoo and aquarium years prior. I can still see the faces of the animal as crowds passed by taking selfies and the staff showed little compassion. I have heard of people hear eating monkey brain straight from a live monkey and have seen the fresh blood of a slaughtered lamb at the outdoor market. Was I perhaps thinking too deeply on the lives of these crabs?
Two days went by and I could hear them attempting their escape. Claws scratching at the styrofoam top; legs clinging mongst one another; in my imagination, perhaps, a cry for help with foam gushing at the mouth. I would be busily working and hear a noise coming from the kitchen. I would forget they were there, then remember, and go back to my day. I wondered what would happen if they were successful in their evacuation. I would plead not guilty to my crab overlords. They were already here, it wasn't like I wanted to toss money into the ocean. Did capital matter more than a life? Is what these things had a life? Is what I have considered a life? Why did I give a damn? Why did I all of a sudden gain a conscience for these damn crabs. The answers eluded me.
I took off the top on the day of their slaughter to look at them. They looked back with their beady little eyes and asked me for help. I knew there was nothing to be done: I had mates coming over that night and they had been promised crab. Their lives were put over the lives of these crabs, if we could be calling what these crabs had a life. They would be delicious. Warm and savory. Fresh as fresh can be.
The night arrived and preparations began. She had two pots, one on the bottom with water and the other on top with the crabs. I found this to be particularly cruel. It would be bad enough boiling them alive but steaming them alive seemed that much worse. I didn't argue, I already accepted these crabs were going to die. Steamed or boiled, fried or barbecued, they were destined to die. They were placed in their iron maiden and a bowl was placed on the lid to ensure they couldn't escape. I got back to my work and soon after heard a thump coming from the kitchen. I went in to investigate and found the crabs had made their escape. There were some on the floor, some in the sink and a few hiding behind the oils and spices. They didn't move much, just trying to hide with the little camouflage they had. We put on gloves and picked up the crabs to return them to their end. They squirmed in my hands but didn't try to harm me. I threw them back in with great malice, as if they had been so rude to interrupt my studies. I counted them to make sure all 10 had been returned. In a way, I wished one would've gotten out and later I could return him to the ocean. At least in that way, it would be like I tried to atone for my sins.
I went in at one point to see how the process was going. They were still alive, barely. I said sorry and went back to work. I returned later and the deed was done. Orange crabs illuminated the pan. They looked delicious but I had no appetite for them.
Mates came and relished in the feast. I tried a piece of crab; I didn't like it. I ate the other dishes. I said nothing on the matter and enjoyed the night with great company.
I would be lying if I said I cared about the ethical treatment of animals when it comes to using them for food. I don't question the shady ethics of KFC when I gorge myself on a bucket of their fried chicken. Not once have I protested the cattle industry when my McDonald's hamburger crumbles between my lips. The only thing different in this situation is cutting out the middle man; I took on the atrocity myself instead of having someone else do it for me. I don't plan on ending my meat crusade anytime soon, so I suppose I will continue living my life as a sinner, and pray that the good lord above ain't a crab.
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