The Whipping Pig’s Revenge

Fernando was a man with a terrible temper. He spent his days yelling at his wife, his
children, his dog, even his pig. Especially the pig, for some reason. Maybe because the
pig took the yelling so calmly. His wife screamed back, the kids cried, the dog ran to
hide. But the pig just stood in its dirty pen grunting every few minutes while Fernando
ranted. Nothing he said rattled that pig, and eventually Fernando decided that he had
found the only sympathetic creature in the world.

Of course this was an illusion. The pig’s main interest in life was his next meal and
what that meal might be. As long as Fernando kept the food coming every day, he could
say whatever he wanted however he wanted and the pig would happily listen to him.

Fernando eventually took the step that comes after yelling and began to hit. He beat
his wife, but she attacked him with a knife and swore that if he ever touched her again
he would be minus some vital equipment. Fernando believed her, because she was the one
person he knew with a temper worse than his own. He beat his son, who immediately ran
to his mother and Fernando received his second warning. He decided that to beat his
daughter would mean risking more than he wanted to pay, so he left her alone and turned
to the dog, who bit him and then ran away for good. That left the pig.

The first time Fernando came roaring out of the house with a broom in his hands and
whacked the animal across the back, the pig was so startled he screamed. Fernando hit
him again, harder. He liked the sound of the mushy thud made by each blow of the broom
handle. Even the pig’s repeated and louder screams could not drown it out. Fernando
felt strong, powerful. When he was through beating the pig, he was more relaxed than he
had been in years. This must have been what he needed: something to serve as a punching
bag so he could get rid of all the rage that came from who knows where. He went back
inside to eat his dinner without once yelling at anyone. The new peace around the table
was a welcome surprise. The family enjoyed their pleasant meal and went to sleep happy.

The pig was not happy that night. His back hurt, and so did his feelings; he had done
nothing to deserve such a beating. But worse than either of these aches was the pain in
his stomach, because Fernando had not given him the usual evening bucket of scraps. The
pig was hungry. By morning, that hunger had overpowered everything else and the pig had
no thoughts for anything but the slop that Fernando dumped into the pen at last.

However, as soon as the pig finished eating he went to wallow a bit in his favorite
muddy corner and the tenderness in his back reminded him painfully of the day before.
So when Fernando showed up with a shovel to give the pen its twice a month cleaning,
the pig kept a wary eye on him the whole time and tried to stay as far away from him as
possible.

Fernando whistled while he scooped the sludge from the bottom of the pen and tossed it
onto the large smelly pile behind the back wall. Someday he would spread that around to
prepare a patch of garden. But not today: he felt too good to work hard today. In order
to celebrate this good feeling, he decided to visit his friends at the pulque shop. So
he gave the pig an affectionate slap on the rump with the flat of the shovel, laughed
at the loud grunt of surprise, and hurried away.

Much later, when Fernando slouched home again, he stopped by the pig’s pen and reached
a hand towards the pig’s ear, muttering about it being the only ear that listened to
him. Who knows what he had intended to do…perhaps scratch the ear, perhaps twist it.
But the pig backed quickly out of reach, which infuriated Fernando. How dare that pig
not allow him to touch it! He could do whatever he wanted to that pig whenever he cared
to do it and he would prove it!

There was a small pile of broken bricks nearby. Fernando grabbed two of the biggest
chunks he could find. He threw the first piece, aiming for an ear but hitting the side
of the pig’s head, making a cut just below one eye. The pig began to squeal, turning in
tiny circles and bumping against the gate, which was not all that sturdy. Fernando let
fly with the second brick but he missed the pig completely that time. Fernando’s wife
came out of the house just as he bent over to get more chunks. She pushed him off
balance and he fell into the mound, scraping his face and hands. Fernando started
yelling at her even before he managed to get himself up off the ground. From inside the
house came the sound of crying. The two children had heard the noise and realized that
their too-short happy day was over.

Meanwhile the pig had accidentally bumped into that not-too-sturdy gate hard enough to
pop it open.At first he was too surprised to realize what that meant.He stood listening
to the commotion nearby, looking blankly at the empty space where the gate usually was.
Did he dare put his head through that space? He tried it. No one noticed; they were
still too busy fighting. The pig took one step, then another and another. One last step
and he was free of the stinky pen, free to explore,free to do whatever he wanted to do!

But what did he want to do? He was hungry again. Maybe he could find something tasty
to munch on. He trundled around the yard, crunching here, nibbling there. When he got
to the small empty doghouse, he shoved his head and shoulders inside to get closer to a
tempting odor.The house collapsed around him and he shook himself clear of the wreckage
just in time to receive a ferocious kick in his backside. Fernando and his wife had
discovered the loose pig. Their fight was over but now the chase was on!

It was not a high speed chase. The pig had never been outside of his pen before and
he was already quite tired. But he trotted quickly here when Fernando went there; and
there when Fernando’s wife went here. He tried to slip daintily around the turkey pen:
crashing into it and setting the ten young turkeys loose was certainly not planned but
did add to the excitement.

The children were ordered out to help, but they were frightened at the difference
between the imprisoned pig they were familiar with and this huge floppy-eared freight
train huffing and puffing towards them. They could not keep to their posts; the pig
broke through every attempted blockade. So Fernando’s son was sent to his grandfather’s
house for reinforcements. That seemed to be the signal for a break in the action, since
no one moved while he was gone. The pig had discovered the sludge pile behind his pen
and was rooting around happily at the edges of it but he kept an eye on Fernando, who
was leaning against his truck trying to decide what to do next. There had to be a way
to get the pig back into his pen, but how? Maybe he had better wait until his father
arrived. Papa was always the one who solved problems; he would fix everything. Yes,
Fernando would wait and let his father take over. That was the best thing to do.

After what felt like a very long time, the gate opened and Papa came into the yard.
Fernando groaned when he saw half a dozen old men with his father. He had forgotten
that this was their day to gather for dominoes, gossip and pulque. Those old men were
a rowdy bunch; he had never felt comfortable around them but he could hardly tell them
to leave now. Just his luck to have so many tongue-wagging witnesses to his little pig
problem. But wait until later, pig…when we are alone you will be sorry you ever got
out of your pen.

Fernando! The stern call broke into his thoughts. Papa was directing traffic.You here,
Esteban. You there, Jose. He sent each of his friends to various points of the compass.
The plan was to gently funnel the pig back to its pen. He knew none of his friends
would let the pig break through the lines. He was not so sure about his son, however.
Papa was annoyed with Fernando for being such an imbecile that he could not control his
own pig. He did not appreciate having his social afternoon so rudely interrupted, but
his friends were having a wonderful time teasing Fernando mercilessly. Papa decided
that the best place for Fernando was behind the pig. Fernando! Get over there and drive
that pig towards Juan…just get him started…and don’t make a mess of it!

Old men’s mocking hoots accompanied Fernando as he stomped towards the pig. Why did
they have to laugh at everything? You would think they were enjoying the whole stupid
situation. He tore a small branch from the remains of a lime tree and swished it like a
sword a few times. He’d show them what was what. First the pig, then those silly old
men.

All this time the pig had stayed close to the sludge pile. More than close, actually.
He had bulldozed his way through it a time or two, just to see if he could. He had dug
at it with his feet, rooted around in it with his nose, and rolled in it with his
entire self. So now not only was the pig a mess, the sludge pile was spread out: a
thick steaming blob of a kingdom ruled by the pig, who stood relaxed in the very center
watching Fernando marching in his direction. He was not concerned about Papa and the
other men. He knew they were the masters of any situation, they had that aura. And if
one of the old men had been assigned the task of starting the pig on his way, the whole
episode might have ended differently.

But it was Fernando getting closer.Fernando of the broom stick.Fernando of the shovel.
Fernando of the bricks and the kick. The pig twitched his curly tail but did not budge
when Fernando of the switch shouted at him to move. Get closer! You are too far away!
More laughter from the old men. Fernando took a squishy step across the boundary line
of the pig’s kingdom. He waved the switch around and yelled again. The pig ignored him.
Papa’s voice rose above the others. If you don’t get closer and get that pig moving…!
No need for him to complete the threat. Fernando knew that even at his age, Papa could
still thrash him easily.

So he took a deep breath, blinked clear his suddenly watery eyes, and took two giant
strides forward into the muck. His feet sank to the ankles, and he could hardly breathe
for the stench, but he was close enough now to whip the pig with his switch. The pig
still ignored him. The old men were delighted. Closer, Fernando! You will have to kiss
that pig before it will move! Fernando was nearly close enough to touch the pig. With
one final step, he leaned forward, stretching his arms before him, planning to give the
pig a good hard shove. He felt the pig’s body under his hands. He put all of his power
into that shove; the pig swayed like a tree in the wind. Fernando cursed him, braced
himself as best he could in the slippery ooze, rocked back on his heels, and let
his body fall towards the pig. At the precise moment when he touched the pig this time,
the pig took two casual steps forward and Fernando, being overbalanced and with all
his momentum pushing him on, landed face first in the slime.

All the old men roared with laughter, even Fernando’s father. But then the pig added
the crowning touch: he raised his curly tail and let fly a great stinking stream which
completely covered Fernando’s back. Ay, Fernando…he’s been saving up for you! The men
could hardly breathe for laughing, and they all saluted the pig when he casually walked
past them and into his pen, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. Pepe
closed the gate to the pen, complementing the pig on his aim. He was impressed with
this pig. Fernando had been rude to him more than once, and Pepe felt he deserved all
that the pig had given him if not more. Yes, this was a good pig, a very good pig.

Fernando jumped up almost incoherent with fury. He spluttered and cursed, but no one
paid attention to him except Otilio, who told him he sounded like Donald Duck, which of
course triggered another round of helpless laughter and some good imitations. It was
the most exciting afternoon these men had had in months. But when they saw that the
slime-covered Fernando had picked up his machete and was heading towards the pig pen,
they quickly became serious. Donald, what do you think you are going to do? I am going
to kill that damned pig!

Pepe stopped him cold. You will have to kill me first, Donald.The other men echoed the
threat. Fernando was spitting mad, but even so he knew better than to tempt fate with
these men. All he could do was scream with rage. Then Pepe made the offer that changed
the pig’s life forever. I will buy this good pig from you. I will take him home with me
right now and you will never be able to beat this pig again. Yes, I have seen the marks
on his back, Donald. You should be ashamed of yourself. You do not deserve to own such
a fine pig. Now go take a bath. You stink worse than any pig ever did.

The old men cheered. Someone went to fetch Pepe’s truck and parked it backed against a
slope. Pepe went to scratch behind the pig’s ears, telling him about his new home and
the lady pig waiting for him there. Then Pepe opened the gate, inviting the pig out.
They walked together to the truck, and the pig climbed in easily, full of trust in this
little old man who talked so gently and knew how to scratch itchy places. He would have
followed him anywhere. What a good pig!

And Fernando? He turned the hose on himself. His wife took the opportunity to scrub
him down with some very harsh soap and a stiff brush until his skin was nearly raw. He
never did completely lose the perfume of that afternoon, though. And forever after he
was known around town as Donald.