"Roman used to butcher pigs for the whole village," Maria said. "Now it's just our pig, but we share with our friends."
It was a simple proposition: Sumo would die so they would live. Yet the scene also had the feel of a country fair. Vanko was dragged across the white yard, and the old women cheered him on as if they expected nothing less than bedlam. When the pig broke for the gate, Nina, her eyes lit, steered the beast back with her crutch.
"I'm sorry," Eva whispered. "I didn't know this was going to happen."
"It's December, it's time to fill the larder. I understand Roman's situation."
"Will you help with the pig?"
Arkady made a noose from a cord. "I'll let Vanko wear him down a little more."
From nowhere, Zhenya stripped off his jacket and tackled the pig. They rolled over the ground. The pig was fast, heavy and fighting for its life, pale eyelashes fluttering, squealing for help. Even when Sumo shook Zhenya off, he held onto the cord. A boy whom Arkady had never seen lift more than a chess piece hung on with one hand and waved with the other. "Arkady! Arkady!"
Arkady dove for the pig. He and Vanko and Zhenya were dragged over the snow until Arkady got the noose around the pig's other front leg. The pig plowed forward on its jaw, still charging with its rear legs.
"On three," Arkady said. "One... two..."
He and Zhenya used the animal's momentum to turn it on its back and slide it to Roman, who pressed down on the pig's front legs and slit its throat in one crescent-moon stroke.
The rubber apron made Roman a different, more impressive figure. He tied together the kicking rear legs, hooked them to the pulley, pulled the pig into the air upside down and kicked a zinc tub into place underneath to catch the spurting blood.
Smeared bright red, Zhenya staggered in the snow, his thin arms out, laughing. Vanko rose from his knees and lurched toward the samogon, while the pig hung kicking and squealing. Roman looked on with magisterial calm. He dug a finger into the pig's eye and plucked it out. Arkady looked at Eva as she looked at him.
"To drain faster," Roman explained to Zhenya.
As soon as the pig was still, Roman moved it into a wheelbarrow to the center of the yard, where the women came to life, heaping hay on the pig and setting it on fire. Flames swirled in the snow, orange beating against white. Once the hay had burned, Roman straddled the pig and scraped off the singed hair. Maria released the chickens, who raced around the yard pecking at blood and chasing the eye. When the pig had been burned and scraped several times, Roman washed off the blood; it was remarkable, Arkady thought, how clean an operation it was. Roman cut off a crisped ear and offered it as a treat to Arkady. When he declined, Zhenya took it.
The rest of the afternoon was spent reducing the pig. First with a hatchet to chop off the head, because it took longest to boil, then with knives to carve off the limbs. Roman sliced open the back to reveal a glistening sheet of fatback, and Maria and her friends scurried with plastic pails in anticipation of a year's hams, sausages, smoked fat.
Blue shadows had covered the village by the time the work was done, and Arkady and Zhenya had changed clothes and washed for the ride back to the airport. By the time everyone had kissed and had their farewell sit, a winter evening had settled in. So, into the car, Arkady and Eva in front, Zhenya in back, all waving to faces in the headlights. A bounce in reverse before finding the ruts that led like rails to the main road. A final burst of leave-taking and then they were free.
They could have been floating. On an overcast night in the Zone, there was no star, no lamp, no other traffic, only their headlights groping in a void. He looked at Eva. She reached to hold his hand and say, "Thank you." For what, he hardly dared say. He stole a glance in the rearview mirror. Zhenya sat straighter, as if he had shoulders.
Finding and following the road took all their concentration.
Dazzling crystals rushed to the windshield. Beads of light swirled around the car, tugged on the doors and beat against the windows.
No one slept, and no one said a word.
END OF WOLVES EAT DOGS
Martin Cruz Smith, Wolves Eat Dogs
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