The Pig Did It by Joseph Caldwell Read Free Book Online Page B

knew, an Irish invention, one of the country’s more notable contributions to the stultification of the civilized world. The Greeks had merely “anticipated” the form, which had reached its destined fulfillment in, of course, Shakespeare, who, as is generally known, was Irish, his use of the soliloquy the proof of it—if proof of the undeniable was needed.
    â€œOf course he wouldn’t stay with her,” his aunt was saying. “The scrawny thing, even with all those pigs to make his life worthwhile and keep him busy. And she’d keep him busy all right. The slut. Couldn’t bear to let him off of her. Had to have him on her and all over her at every hour of the day and night, and hear him calling out her name and sucking every last bit of her flesh into his lovely mouth, no matter where the flesh might be. He’d search it out and take it to himself. Like a beast, then tender as a babe. And must he go? And couldn’t he stay? And didn’t every last thing she had belong to him? Just so he’d come back to her and cover her over with himself and his hands and his mouth and the crush of his chest and the hold of his arms and the tickle of his toes along her skin and the great heave of himself mining for what’s known to be beyond the price of gold. But he wouldn’t stay, not him. Had to go. Her time was up. Onto his back, slung across his shoulder, the black bag with the tools and the socks and the warm sweater and the cap that’s on him now. And nothing for her but the need of him. And so what could she do but bring him down with a hit on the head, the greedy slut with her slavering all over him and her moanings day and night.”
    Aaron wanted to keep his aunt from saying more, but there was no stopping her. Now she was cleaning the dirt from the cheekbones and the forehead, forcing the skull to move from side to side. “No farther than the door would she let him go, and she bashed him on the head. And he’s dead on the floor. So what can she do but bring him here and put him where the cabbages were going to grow. And look at him now, without even a sheet to cover him over, the stingy slut, she was that pissed off at him.”
    Kitty had taken up the left hand and was picking the dirt from the joints, blowing on the bones with quick breaths to make sure the job was properly done. “Well, we can’t let him here like this, not in the state he’s in. It’s hardly a decent grave if every pig that comes along is going to snout its way into his crotch. Come on. I’m going to need your help.” She let the hand fall onto the thighbone and stood up. When Aaron got up from where he’d been kneeling, his foot knocked against a cabbage and sent it rolling down into the grave, onto the crotch recently mentioned by his aunt.
    â€œBring the cabbage,” she said somewhat mournfully. “It’ll do for lunch.” She headed toward the house. The screen door slammed.
    Aaron knelt down again and leaned into the grave to retrieve the cabbage. The earth beneath his knees began to give way. He braced himself against the mound of dirt but couldn’t figure out how to stand up without sliding down on top of the bones. As he pondered, the earth itself decided to continue its shift. He went facedown onto the cabbage, his knees touching the dead man’s shoes. A worm was feasting on a cabbage leaf. Aaron slid his left arm out and put the hand next to Declan Tovey’s elbow. The right hand he put next to the man’s other elbow and, in effect, he began doing pushups, which at least took his nose out of the cabbage and away from the worm.
    He heard the screen door slam again. Now his aunt was at the side of the grave. “What are you doing now? Whatever is it? You are the peculiar one, aren’t you? Well, stop it and get up and come help.”
    Aaron rested his forehead on the cabbage, slackened his arms, and thought he’d rest