LG's Excellent PC Adventure

(With apologies to Ernest Hemingway and anyone else who believes they deserve one)

The day began, as it often does, early in the morning. It was cold out, but it wasn't raining and there was no wind. The American was glad of that for he was uncertain about the day's work under the best of conditions and foul weather might have made it too difficult for him to continue. He had his coffee and sat in the small room off the kitchen and waited. The Woman who owned the house asked after his comfort and he assured her that he was fine. Nothing much would happen until the men arrived, so he just drank his coffee and waited.

A little later but still quite early the men did arrive. They came in one by one and went into the kitchen where they took seats around the table and waited for the Woman to bring them coffee. They were rough looking men, the kind of men with a hard bark to them, men well suited to the task. The American was pleased that he hadn't shaved that morning and hoped that he too looked like a man of purpose.

A small pot sat simmering on the stove and from time to time one or another of the men would walk over to it and smell the rising fumes. One of them, the Biggest of the four, waved the American over to the stove and invited him to smell the liquid. The American did so and wondered why they were warming paint thinner on the kitchen stove and whether or not it might explode. He supposed it had some purpose in the morning's work. He was tapped on the shoulder and turned to be handed a small clean glass. While he stood wondering what the glass was for, warm amber liquid was poured into it from the pot on the stove. He could feel the heat in the palm of his hand and it felt comforting on the cold morning. Each man received a small clean glass of the liquid and the Oldest of them raised his and said, "Haidi, Nazdrvey!!" and each man touched his glass to each of the others and sipped his drink. It was the homemade rakiya for which the Older man received justifiable acclaim. Sugar had been added according to tradition and it had been warmed by the Woman before the men arrived.

The men drank their rakiya and talked in muffled tones as the Woman brought in steaming bowls of soup. This too was tradition. Bowls of chicken and rice soup into which each man squeezed half a lemon and added substantial amounts of salt and pepper were served piping hot. Then all but the American ate one small raw hot pepper and they were ready to begin their work.

Each man pulled on some form of protection against the cold, an old tracksuit, an old sweater, a pair of stained and dirty overalls. The American had neglected to bring old or dirty clothes and so went to the killing dressed for a Sunday walk in the park. He watched as they each pulled a knife from a pocket or belt or sheath, the Brother's knife was wrapped in a piece of old newspaper and stuffed down the front of his pants. The knives were uniformly long and as sharp as razors. The American remembered that he too carried a knife in his pocket, a small folding knife that he used to clip the ends from his cigars. He decided to leave it there. The men whetted their knives on an oiled stone and set them side by side on the outdoor window ledge. Then they moved down the alley towards the pen and one of them, the Oldest, carried a length of nylon rope.

They entered the pen without speaking and the Older man quickly snared the huge animal by a rear leg with the rope. The hog seemed to sense that things were going to go badly for him and made a futile attempt to retreat into his shed. He moved too slowly and too late. Each of the two younger men grabbed an ear, the Older man pulled steadily on the rope and the Brother simply threw his own bulk against that of the animal and together they began to move it away from the pen, back up the alley and onto the patio of paving stones in the front courtyard. The American stood aside to let them pass. They dragged the screaming terrified animal to the very spot where the American had sat beneath the grape arbor and smoked his cigars. Then they threw the struggling hog onto its side and while three of them sat on it, the Oldest man stuck one of the long razor sharp knives into its throat.

The high pitched screaming immediately changed into a drowning moan of pain and terror as the blood flooded out of the wound and down the pig's throat at the same time. The men all held the animal down as it struggled to regain its feet and escape. They knew their business and the hog would not escape. It would indeed die after some few minutes of struggling and moaning. There was a quantity of blood and gore on the paving stones and the wound in the pig's throat was vivid red against its snow white hide. The American was satisfied that he hadn't fainted, vomited or otherwise embarrassed himself.

When the pig was well and truly dead, one of the hard men lit a hand-held gas burner that shot a blue flame four feet out from its nozzle. The Grandson, who had been watching silently with the American, was dispatched on an errand. The Big man took the flamethrower and began to singe the hair off the pig by moving the blue flame in long easy sweeps up and down the dead body. Each individual hair glowed as brilliantly as the filament in a lightbulb and then blackened into char. The other men stood with the American and watched.

The Grandson returned struggling under the weight of ten liters of wine. Then he ran back into the house for a tall pitcher and a single glass. The Old man filled the pitcher and then poured the glass full of the red wine. He just held it, watched the flamethrower and didn't drink. Finally, when the white hog was blackened down its entire length, the flamethrower was shut off. Each of the men picked up his knife and together they began to scrape the black layer away. They were talking now, telling jokes to each other and stories. The American stood apart and held the glass of wine he'd been handed. He watched but didn't understand the jokes or the stories. The men worked on the hog with their knives as if they were giving it a shave. Using quick easy strokes they scraped away the black char and in fifteen minutes or so, the hog was white again. Then they rolled it over onto its other side and repeated the process. The hair was burned off, the skin was charred black and the men scraped it back to white. Every part of the pig received this treatment, the legs, tail, head and ears, all were blackened and shaved with the long sharp knives. A wooden plug was inserted into the pig's butt, and the flesh on its rump was scorched and scraped too. The Grandson stood with the American and explained in broken English that this process "disinfected" the pig.

When the entire animal had been "disinfected", the men walked over to the small outdoor sink and washed their knives. The American held out the glass of wine to the man nearest him but that man just chuckled and shook his finger back and forth. Then they turned the flamethrower back on and the Big man began again to blacken the skin.

Now other members of the two families began to arrive. Wives and daughters walked over, looked at the pig and went into the house where the Woman was setting the table. Newly arrived men stood around the pig and smoked and offered advice on how best to blacken and scrape. The mood was light and they bantered back and forth. The Big man handed the American a knife and took the glass of wine from him. He was shown to a blackened area on the animal's flank and he began to scrape it clean. As with most things that other people do well, it was harder than it looked. At one point he tore the skin he was scraping and stopped to show the men his error. They laughed and slapped his back and told him not to worry. He finished his small area.

When the hog had been scraped white for the second time, the flamethrower was again lit and with the same long fluid strokes the Big man turned it black for the third time. This time was different. Warm water was poured over the charred animal and salt was rubbed into the skin. The American was given great hands full of salt and rubbed it into the black skin just as he saw his friends do. The blackened skin was smooth, hot and pleasant to touch on the cold morning.

Then the scraping began in earnest and the spectators crowded closer to the pig. The Brother scraped one leg clean and cut a small piece of skin from it. He held it up for all to see and then popped it into his mouth. The other three legs were cleaned and quickly, The Big man and the Older man cut small pieces from them and ate them. A piece was cut away and handed to the American. It felt like a small patch from a wet leather glove. The American held his breath and put the piece of white skin into his mouth. It was soft and the fat clinging to the underside of it was still warm. The Grandson was offered a piece but declined saying, "I don't like this thing". The glass of wine was now passed from man to man and each took a long swallow from it. When the glass reached the American it was greasy and smeared and the wine tasted better than any he could remember.

The spectators were given pieces of skin after the men and they too were passed the glass of wine. The glass was constantly refilled from the pitcher and the pitcher from the big bottle. The for the third and last time, the hog was scraped clean. It lay in the cold morning sun looking as though it had been carved from a single piece of alabaster. It's ears and tail were removed and set aside. It was rolled onto its back with its legs sticking straight up in the air and its head was removed and it too was set aside. The legs were taken off at the first joint and set over with the head. They would be used to make a special dish later in the Winter. The four legs and the head would be covered with water and onions and then frozen. The Woman explained all the steps that would follow but the American didn't understand her. She just laughed and assured him that it didn't matter because he'd be back to eat it and would see for himself.

A cross was cut into the skin between the upraised forelegs. It was half an inch or so deep and the Brother filled it with salt. Now each man took his knife and cut pieces of skin from the legs, dipped them into the salt, ate them and drank from the communal glass. Between them, piece by piece, they ate all the skin from the legs.

The cross was a tradition dating back to the time of the Turkish rule. The Turks were allowed to confiscate any and all food from the local population but, being Muslim, they never took the pigs. The people say that their pigs kept them from starving for 500 years. The cross helps them remember their faith and their history.

Finally, the belly was opened and the entrails removed. The kidneys and part of the liver were taken into the small cooking shed where the women began to grill them over the fire that had been kept burning all morning. As these organs were grilled, they were cut into bite-sized pieces called "meze" and brought out for the men to eat as they butchered. The single glass of wine was passed freely to any man who wanted a sip. The American ate and drank but wasn't asked to help with the butchering. The hog represented a yearlong investment and it was food for the two families for the coming year. This was no place for an amateur to earn his stripes.

Now choice morsels of fatty muscle were being cut and grilled and the American stood next to the Grandson and they ate together and wiped the grease from their mouths with their hands. The Grandson held up a grilled piece of pork dripping with melted fat and smiled, "This is why the pig has to die", he said and ate it in one bite.

The pig was butchered and sorted into bins, skin and fat here, ribs over there, organs in yet another bin, nothing was thrown out, everything would be used. A huge vat filled with cabbage was cooking over a fire in the shed. The Woman moved amongst the bins and indicated which pieces she needed and the Grandson carried them into the cooking shed and dumped them into the vat. When cooked this mixture of pork and cabbage would be bottled and divided between the two families.

It was early in the afternoon when they finished butchering the hog. After it had disappeared into the bins, the killing ground was cleaned of blood and ofal and the tools put away for another year. The men cleaned themselves at the outdoor sink, stripped off their overalls and went into the house. The women took over and began to serve the food they'd been cooking through the day. It had been a good day and both families were in high spirits. Rakiya was brought out and glasses were filled. Toasts were offered back and forth and more rakiya was called for. The rakiya had been made by the Big man who had been taught the craft by his father, the Older man. The wine was also home made by these same two men and it too was acclaimed throughout the region.

The American ate and drank until he could do no more and then reminded the Woman that he had to catch a bus back to his own city. He stood in the yard with the Older man and they sipped a last rakiya beside the empty pen. On the bus ride home from the village the American thought back to the Summer and the nights when he and the Older man would stand out by the pen, smoke cigars and talk to each other and to the pig. He thought he might miss the pig but then remembered the fresh pork roast in his bag and thought about how he would hand rub it with garlic and marinade it in red wine and spices grown by the Woman. Then he would roast it slowly with new potatoes and carrots and apples and it would be perfect. This, after all, was why the pig had to die.