Porky by Deborah Moggach Read Free Book Online

piglets. Then he said, ‘Well I’ll be buggered.’ Dad’s fingers were so big, and stiff from working outdoors. He’d cleaned his nails specially but the cracks in his skin were always black, he couldn’t do anything about them. He leaned over and, very carefully, pulled down Teddy’s nightie so his mauve feet were covered. Mum was telling us about the trials she’d been through, the agonies, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the baby. Just then he sneezed – a tiny, wet, human noise, and I knew that I would love him always.
    They were both ever so pleased, of course, that he was a boy. My Dad was so proud he behaved as if it was him who’d given birth, not Mum. It was Tuesday, the day we did the bins at the Skyscape Hotel. We drove round the rear as usual, the empty bins banging in the back of the truck. One of the waiters was out there having a smoke. You know what the Spanish are like about babies. He put his arms around my Dad and kissed him on both cheeks.
    â€˜A son!’ he shouted. ‘You dirty sod!’
    Then the maintenance man came out. His name was Frank, like my Dad.
    â€˜I have to say it, Frank,’ repeated Dad. ‘I’m over the moon.’
    Frank wiped his hand on his overalls and pumped my Dad’s arm up and down.
    â€˜Over the moon,’ my Dad said again.
    Then the waiter fetched a bottle of green stuff and four little glasses. I tasted it, and they laughed when I winced. Dad offered round the fags. There was a festive mood in the yard, which smelt of everybody else’s rotting dinners. Then a man in a black suit came out and shouted something Spanish at the waiter. By now Dad and Frank looked as if they were jointly responsible for Teddy’s birth. They heaved the pig bins into the truck.
    There was a festive mood at home too. Dad went out to the pub that night, and when he returned I heard shouts in the yard and Rinty’s hysterical barks. We hardly ever had people in. I was in bed.
    When I heard them I got up and put on my dressing gown. I knew all the men. Dad carried in a crate of bottles which rattled when he banged against the table. They sat around being very friendly with me. Archie, from the pub, kept talking about the gooseberry bush and winking at the others. Of course, I knew perfectly well that babies came out of people’s bottoms because I’d seen the kittens being born. Dad must know that I knew, too, but he kept making jokes about the stork and how the stork had a job of it, what with the aeroplanes. Then they all had a laugh about flight arrivals and – because Teddy was overdue – about flight delays.
    It was then that it hit me. I can remember every detail, even now, nine years later. I was sitting on the floor between Dad’s feet; he liked me sitting there. There were his boots, one on each side, and the carpet. Glasses stood on the carpet, and an empty Cellophane square from a packet of cigarettes. Our single lampshade hung from the ceiling, casting a dim yellow light; ahead of me the telly was a grey blank. I concentrated on the carpet. My cheeks and my scalp were prickling hot.
    You see, I knew how babies came out, but I also knew how they got in. With saliva. Nobody had told me in so many words, but I knew about a seed being passed from the man to the woman, once they were married, and I’d worked out how it happened. It could only happen during the long, uncomfortable kissing at the end of TV films. They had to keep glued like that to give it time.
    My Dad and I had done that. It had lasted too long, hadn’t it, and all the time his big wet tongue had been pushing the seed in.
    I kept my eyes on the carpet. It was dark red, and dirty, with a swirly black pattern like smouldering fireworks. The laughter echoed miles above me, from a canyon. Why hadn’t I realized this before? Had I been deliberately putting it out of my mind? I sat with my knees hunched up, pressing my face