Game of Bones: Part 5

September, and the days were getting shorter. 
The wild turkeys still prowled the fields beyond the fenced off white turkey grounds.

Many of the white turkeys, who were becoming very big breasted began saying things about the wild turkeys like: 
"They are really, when you look at them, very dirty looking. Look how white our feathers are and how dark and filthy they look."
Or
"They are an infestation."
Or
"They must carry disease. Bird flu maybe. Best to keep them on their side of the fence."
Or
"They cackle at me, like I'm some sort of floozy. I'm glad that fence is there. They're all rapist turkeys."
The white turkeys took great pride in their white feathers and their red wattles. They strutted around, shoving out their breasts and they complimented each other with, "You look luminously white today."
They told each other, "Farmer Brown's fence is so great. We will not be replaced by those filthy brown turkeys."

But Brooks and Will and Chamberlain, the three turkeys who had met with the goats, walked along the fence and sometimes they spoke with the wild turkeys.

"Rush says Farmer Brown is a wonderful farmer," Brooks told Thomas.

"Oh, Rush said that did he?" said Thomas.
"Yes," Brooks said, unsettled by Thomas's tone. "He did."
"Well," Thomas said, "I guess Rush should know."
"Why is that?" demanded Brooks.
Thomas did not answer, at first, but just kept pecking at the sere. Finally, he stopped and looked up at the three white, worried turkeys on the other side of the fence and he asked:  "Did Rush come from the hatchery with  you?"
"No," Brooks said. "He was here to greet us, when we arrived."
"Yes. Rush has been here the past three years," Thomas said. "Sean and Rupert, too."
"Oh?" said Brooks.
"Did you ever wonder why there were only three turkeys here to greet you?" asked Thomas, not looking directly at Brooks, but continuing to hunt and peck around the dry grass.

"Well, no."

"There are dozens of chickens," Thomas said. "Those chickens have been here for five, six years.  A dozen goats. Goats been around longer. A score of pigs. Two lamas, six years. Twelve cows, seven years." Thomas said. "But there were only three  turkeys," and then Thomas lowered his voice pregnantly. "Only three surviving turkeys to greet you."

"'Surviving' turkeys?" asked Chamberlain. "What do you mean: Surviving turkeys?"

"Have you ever asked the goats or the chickens or the pigs what happened to the other turkeys?The turkeys who were here before you?" asked Thomas.
"Before us?" said Brooks.

"You must have noticed the fencing of your yard was not new," said Thomas.

"You did not think you were the first turkeys to have been brought to the farm."

"We were happy to be brought here," Brooks said. "We had heard we would be free range turkeys on Farmer Brown's farm. We had seen, across the road, how other farmers coop up their birds."

"That is true," Thomas said. "I've flown over some of those turkey coops. You can smell the urine from thirty feet up. It's just ...inhuman." 
"We are lucky to have Farmer Brown protect us," Chamberlain said.
"Those three--that troika--they are fat and happy turkeys," Thomas said.  "They keep you happy. That's their job. That's why Farmer Brown spares them. They are the Judas goats, or Judas turkeys, as it were," said Thomas. "Ask the old goat."

"What is a Judas goat?" asked Will, after Thomas had left.
"I don't know," said Brooks, "But it doesn't sound good."

The old goat was back to his reticent ways, but Delphi confirmed the three turkeys of the troika had been on the farm for at least three years.
"And how many other turkeys have there been here, on the farm?" asked Brooks.
"When?" said Delphi.
"Last year." asked Chamberlain.
Delphi shot the old goat a look and the old goat  looked down at the ground, as if he had not heard, as if this conversation had nothing to do with him and that's the way he wanted to keep it.
"I don't rightly recall," said Delphi.

The three turkeys turned to go, when one of the lamas spoke. 

The lama spoke with a strong Spanish accent, but the turkeys had no trouble understanding him:
  "There were as many turkeys last September as there are right now, this year," the lama said. "Close to two hundred."
"Where did they all go?" asked Brooks.
"Where they always go," said the lama.
"And where is that?"
"Into the big silver van."
"What van?"
"The van comes every November," said the lama. "In the dark days."

"How long have you been on the farm?" Brooks asked the lama.

"Six years," said the lama. "But I am here for my fur. They shear me every Spring. That's all they want from me."
"And what do they want from us?" asked Brooks.
"Not fur," said the lama.