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the old ones

excerpt from
Pig Story
by Kathy Magher

There have always been more pigs than people in Saint-Edouard, two thousand one hundred and sixteen, last time they counted, and one thousand two hundred and ninety three people. You wouldn’t, of course, take notice of this fact if you should go there. All those pigs are crammed together in one giant barn called the Piggery. Only one terrible accident mars the history of pig farming in Saint-Edouard, back in the days of the family farm. Rae was thirteen at the time and sporting her first bra.

“It’s a training bra,” I said.

Rae wasn’t sure what that meant, but she didn’t ask me and I didn’t offer an explanation. All she cared about was that she was wearing a brand new piece of clothing that was hers and had been no-one else’s. Rae got to wear all the clothes I had outgrown. But the bra was brand new. It was plain white with a little bow sewn on where it came together in the front. Mother had ordered it from the Sears catalogue and it had arrived by mail the previous day. Rae seemed so pleased with her breasts. I hated mine. I hated the whole notion of them and not being able to take my shirt off any more when it got hot. Rae was busy looking at herself in the mirror when we heard Aunt Jolie on the front porch. Old M. Adélard had suffered a heart attack and collapsed while tending to his pigs. The pigs got hungry and ate him. His wife had gone away to visit her sister for a few days, and so no one had thought to look for him.

“The pigs even ate his money,” we heard Aunt Jolie say.

“Poor man’s in a better place now,” Mother said.

The horrific details of the farmer’s demise began to take shape in the days following the event.

"Pieces of the Queen’s head they found in the sty, they did, right next to the wallet.”

“Imagine, dollar bills and all, poor fella.”

“Didn’t eat the wallet though. They found the wallet right next to the ears.”

“Ears were chewed right off.”

“Oh, but the pigs didn’t eat the ears. They found the ears in the pen.”

“Did they eat the eyeballs?” Rae asked me.

“Oh, pigs will eat anything,” I said.

“What are they going to do with the pigs?”

“The son-in-law is lookin’ after things now. Oh, I wouldn’t worry about the pigs. The pigs are doin’ fine,” Aunt Jolie said.

We had pork chops for supper a couple of days later. Mother said they were on sale. She said the butcher reassured her it was in anticipation of an overstock, but that we needn’t worry, this pig was grain fed. Rae confided that she really didn’t care one way or another what the pigs ate. No one else said anything ...

copyright 2002 Kathy Magher