Chupacabra

Jeronica’s natural smile was more of a snarl: lips slightly parted and slightly curled, exposing bright white teeth that distracted the viewer from the tightly focused stare that fell just below eye-contact and instead seemed fixed on their carotid artery.  At this particular moment the Under-Secretary-in-Exile for Columbia was the target of her gaze, and her smile, and he was feeling extremely nervous.  He was sat in an Eames chair in Jeronica’s office, next to the Secretary-in-Exile who was carefully and delicately laying out a set of statements that were deniably not requests for help.  The chair was, the Under-Secretary was sure, just slightly too low; or perhaps the desk between himself and Jeronica was just a tiny bit too high?  She didn’t seem to have a problem with it, but she also seemed to be eyeing him up like finger-food at a diplomatic buffet.  He swallowed, feeling his Adam’s apple bob.

“There are approximately 50 hippos,” said Verj.  He wasn’t Columbian though he claimed to be spiritually Columbian.  “I’ve often noted that hippopotamus skin is woefully underused in the fashion industry.  It seems that the Spring-Summer season might benefit from something a little more radical than, say, more floral prints or outsized hats.”

“The problem with hippos,” said Jeronica looking at Verj for long enough for the Under-Secretary to relax, “is twofold.  One is that they’re rather hard to hunt, and the other is that they’re not used in fashion because it would be like wearing tarpaulin.”

Verj gazed up at the paintings behind Jeronica’s desk, which impressed the Under-Secretary.  He’d tried looking at them to avoid having to look at Jeronica and found them to be profoundly disturbing in ways he couldn’t put words to.  At first glance they seemed to be unrelated, but as he’d looked at them for longer he’d started to find elements from one repeated in the others and found that unsettling.  The colour scheme wasn’t quite right; he couldn’t say exactly what the problem was, just that it made the back of his eyeballs itch.  Finally he’d decided he preferred Jeronica’s unblinking gaze to the picture’s invitation to subtle insanity. “Modern weaponry,” he said slowly, seemingly unrelated to the conversation.

“Does not leave much of the hippo remaining if you intend to take them out safely,” said Jeronica.  “Please don’t misunderstand me here, it is entirely possible to have couture fashioned from fabrics with obvious damage, and even to represent this as a reflection of the ills of modern warfare and the sickness of society that permits this, but the wholesale slaughter of 50 hippos to produce one outfit is... expensive.  It is hard to get people to look past ’50 hippos’ even with a suitably exclusive label sewn inside it.”

“Tarpaulin wouldn’t be a problem though?” asked the Under-Secretary, hoping to contribute.  Verj lifted his eyes to the ceiling, which was pleasantly white and smooth, like a ski-slope the day before the season starts and Jeronica returned her gaze to what was probably his throat.

“A few years ago we had Parisian models wearing actual binbags,” she said.  “I am confident that they could have been used binbags if we’d wanted.  Tarpaulin would not be a problem; we would...,” she paused, her eyes glittering as she thought, “... probably reference the Akkadian fishermen displaced when the British moved in Canada,” she said.  “That would be – stimulating – for the French fashion houses.  However, the problem of humanely hunting the hippo remains.”

“But this problem is soluable?” Verj’s words were so quiet and his gaze so far removed from the participants in the room that if he’d denied having said it the Under-Secretary would have struggled to contradict him.

“We solved the Sweden problem,” said Jeronica.  “So yes, the problem is soluable.”

“Good,” said Verj.  “Then I’m sure an accommodation can be reached.  Perhaps there might be something else where agreement is needed where suitable concessions might be found.”

“Yes,” said Jeronica.  She opened a beige-folder on her desk and the Under-Secretary craned his neck to see what was in it.  He was slightly surprised to see that it was empty.  Jeronica looked at it as though it weren’t though.

“You mentioned a chupacabra,” she said.

“Mentioned is such a strong word,” said Verj.  “I have heard tell of a chupacabra.

“Just the one?” Jeronica sounded disappointed.  “A breeding pair would be significantly more...”

“Valuable?”

“Interesting,” she qualified.

“Do you think it might be possible to breed a chupacabra that eats hippos?”

Jeronica closed the folder and for a moment there was a flicker of emotion across her face.  “Feeding habits are generally easy,” she said.  “Though I am a little concerned that this would only create a rabbit, as happened in Australia.  There are, after all, only 50 hippos.  What would the hippo-eating chupacabra turn to after the hippos are eaten?”

“There are giraffes,” said Verj.  “and a certain population of undesirable elements. But these are also finite in number.”

“Precisely,” said Jeronica.