It was only noon, but I still asked her what was for dinner tonight. I’m learning to ask regularly now, because it seems that, oddly, food and water aren’t always thought of in advance. Sometimes we go without, and it’s always a ’surprise’. Asking seems to be a way of reminding her that it may become a problem later on. Being forced to rely entirely on one other person for your survival, because of a stupid language barrier, definitely has it’s perils. “Oh..you’ll like it.” That means she doesn’t know yet, either, and she disappears into mom’s kitchen.
Outside, the sound of an unusual motor sputters in the distance. I walk outside and find a kid riding an old Yamaha moped up the driveway. Dad comes out from behind the house and waves to him. As the kid putts past, I notice a large cloth tube bungeed to the side of his seat. The boy hops off the bike and unstraps the wriggling bundle of blue cloth. At one end stares a confused pair of brown eyes, and on the other, a tiny curly tail. It was a piglet- yes, a proverbial pig in a blanket! It seemed perfectly content to speed down the dangerous roads strapped to some teenager’s butt, but was not at all interested in being handled. It ‘s the cutest thing I’d ever seen. And, like the idiot I am, I proceed to say it.
“That…is the cutest thing… I’ve ever….”
Before I can finish my sentence, the machete is in dad’s hands, and blood sprays over the bamboo shards that litter the ground. I don’t even notice the boy tear out of the driveway behind me in a cloud of dust . Yes, the preparations for dinner have officially begun. I walk back into the house and pour myself a rum and… rum. She walks into the living room and asks, “When did the pig get here?” I plop down into the sofa like a dead piglet and stare vacantly at the broken TV set. “I have no idea.” I say, and take a long drink. This was the beginning of day 11…
