Pathway to Japanese Literature

None] Since it was written that "All other substances are thoroughly ingested, converted into fat or protein, and accumulated within its body," the animal husbandry assistant and custodian at the agricultural school began hurling every non-metallic object they could find into its pen. To the pig, this was simply its natural disposition—something it had grown thoroughly accustomed to—so it never found the practice disagreeable. On certain evenings, it even felt profoundly grateful for its existence, gazing up at the sky in quiet contentment. This particular evening's gratitude stemmed from a first-year chemistry student who stood before its pen, utterly bewildered as he scrutinized the pig's physique. The pig itself occasionally lifted those small, broad-bean-shaped eyes that perpetually seemed on the verge of anger, darting furtive glances toward the observer. The student declared: "How extraordinary this porcine mechanism remains! Consuming water, slippers, straw—transmuting them into premium-grade fat and flesh. Its body functions as nothing less than a living catalyst. Precisely like platinum! Where inorganic matter employs platinum, organic systems utilize swine. The more one contemplates it, the more astonishing it becomes."

“Pigs are such peculiar creatures.” “They eat water, slippers, and straw and turn them into the finest fat and meat.” “A pig’s body is essentially a living catalyst.” “It’s exactly like platinum.” “In inorganic systems it’s platinum; in organic systems, it’s pigs.” “The more you think about it, the stranger it becomes.”

The pig naturally heard its name being equated with platinum. Then, since it knew full well that platinum cost thirty yen per momme, it could immediately calculate how much its own body—weighing twenty kan—would amount to. The pig pressed its ears flat against its head, half-closed its eyes, and stiffly bent its forelegs while performing this calculation. 20×1000×30＝600000 - truly six hundred thousand yen. If one spoke of six hundred thousand yen in those days around Flandon, well that made one a first-rate gentleman. Even now this might still hold true. Therefore being a first-rate gentleman after all, no one could call it unreasonable when the pig felt completely happy and twisted its large mouth—resembling a shark's at the back of its head—into a smug grin of delight.

However, the pig’s happiness did not last very long.

After two or three days had passed, from a lump of food that came crashing down from above, the Flandon pig (Students, fortify your resolve. Alright then.) saw within that food something slightly elongated and white with short bristles planted at one end—to put it quite plainly, a Camel-marked toothbrush. This makes for rather an unpleasant sermon, and I apologize to you students who have undergone this baptism of sorts, but please bear with me a little longer.

The pig was truly startled. When it saw those bristles on the toothbrush, every hair on its body rustled harshly like grass in the wind. The pig stared at it for a very long time with a strange expression, but finally its head grew dizzy and it became filled with utter revulsion. It suddenly buried its head in the bedding straw across from it and curled up to sleep.

As evening came and its mood improved slightly, the pig quietly rose. Even if one were to call its mood improved, it was ultimately a pig’s mood—of course it didn’t become crisp like an apple or shine like a blue sky. This was a gray mood. This was a gray mood, slightly cold and transparent in nature. Therefore, to truly understand a pig’s feelings, there was no way other than becoming a pig oneself.

Whether it be a foreign Yorkshire or a black Berkshire, a pig never considers itself dull-witted or lazy. The most difficult thing to imagine was what a pig felt when its flat back was struck heavily with a stick. Was it Japanese? Italian? German? Or English? How should one express this? Nevertheless, in the end, one could not know except through its scream. It remained entirely unknowable, just as with Dr. Kant.

Now the pig steadily grew fatter and repeatedly lay down and got up. The animal husbandry teacher from Flandon Agricultural School would come every day, fix his sharp eyes on its living mass, calculate it intently, and then leave. "You need to close the windows more properly and darken the room. Otherwise the fat won’t accumulate well, won’t it? Also, it’s about time we begin forced fattening. Could you start giving it small amounts of apricot kernels daily from now on?" The animal husbandry teacher said this to the young assistant in the light blue jacket. The pig heard all of this. And then it became utterly disgusted again. It was just like with the toothbrush. Even those specially prepared apricot kernels refused to go down smoothly. All of these reactions were intuited by the pig from the animal husbandry teacher’s tone. (Anyway, those two do send me food, but sometimes they stare at my body with eyes like Arctic skies—truly unbearable, with hearts so harsh there’s no point even approaching them—thinking about me like that. It’s terrifying. Ah, terrifying.) While thinking this, the pig could bear it no longer and began ramming the front fence wildly with its snout.

However, precisely in the month before that Pig was to be slaughtered, a decree had been issued from the king of that country.

It was called the Livestock Slaughter Consent Signing Law—a decree stating that anyone wishing to slaughter livestock must receive a death consent document from said livestock, and that said consent certificate required the livestock’s seal.

Now, in those days, even cows and horses—all of them—on the day before being slaughtered, were forcibly compelled by their owners to press their seals onto the consent documents. Even aged horses had their horseshoes specially removed and, shedding copious tears, pressed their large seals onto the documents with a thud.

The Flandon Yorkshire pig also saw that death certificate typeset in letterpress. The act of seeing occurred on a certain day when the principal of Flandon Agricultural School, holding a large yellow sheet of paper, came to where the pig was. The pig had made considerable progress in language studies, and since its tongue was supple and it had ample natural aptitude, it greeted the Principal in perfectly fluent human speech.

“Principal, what lovely weather we’re having.” The Principal, still silently tucking the yellow certificate under his arm and with his hand in his pocket, gave a bitter smile and said:

“Well, the weather is nice.” The pig somehow felt those words enter its ears and then lodge in its throat. Moreover, the way the Principal stared at the pig’s body was exactly the same as that animal husbandry teacher’s. The pig sadly laid back its ears. And then timidly said: “Lately, I can’t help feeling so terribly down.”

The Principal gave another bitter smile and said to the pig: “Hmph. Feeling down, are we?”

“Is that so?” “Have you grown sick of this world already?” “Or is that not it either?” Because the Pig made such a despondent face, the Principal hastily withdrew his words.

Then the Principal and the Pig stood for a while in silence, glaring at each other. They stood there without uttering a single word, utterly motionless. In the end, the Principal finally gave up on obtaining the certificate that day,

“Just make sure you get some good rest. And don’t move around too much.” Still tucking that large yellow certificate under his arm，he walked off toward the other side． Afterward，the Pig replayed over and over again—the Principal’s bitter smile，those words steeped in hidden malice—shuddering all the while as he muttered to himself．

“Just make sure you get some good rest. “And don’t move around too much.” What on earth does this mean? Ah! It’s unbearable! Unbearable! Thinking this way made me feel like that trapezoidal pressure would split my head apart. To make matters worse—that night brought a fierce blizzard; outside roared violent winds while dry rustling snowflakes blew through gaps in my shed’s walls until even my leftover feed turned pure white under their coating.

However, the next day, the Animal Husbandry Teacher arrived again with that red-faced assistant in the light-blue jacket, both fixing their usual sharp-eyed gazes upon the pig—staring intently from its head to ears, back to tail as if devouring it whole—then raised one pointed finger and: “Have you been administering the apricot kernels daily?” “I have been doing so.” “I thought as much. Whether it’s tomorrow or the day after makes no difference now. Just secure that consent document quickly. Though I wonder—the Principal did come here yesterday with the certificate tucked under his arm, didn’t he?”

“Yes, it seems he did enter.” “Then I wonder if it’s already been prepared.” “If it’s ready, he should send it over immediately.” “Understood.”

“Perhaps you should darken the room a bit more.” “And make sure you don’t give it any feed on the day before we proceed.” “Understood. I will certainly do so.”

The Animal Husbandry Teacher fixed his sharp eyes on the Pig once more, then left the room.

The Pig’s subsequent distress—(What exactly was this “consent document”? What were they ordering me to do? On “the day before they proceeded,” they mustn’t give me any feed—what did “the day before” even mean?)—was just as skull-splitting this day too. What in the world were they going to do to me? Was I going to be sold off somewhere far away? Ah, the pain, the pain!) The skull-splitting pressure remained equally unbearable this day too.

That night, the pig's nerves were so excessively agitated that it couldn't sleep properly.

However, the next morning, when the sun had finally risen, three students from the dormitory came guffawing to the shed. And so, to the pig who had stayed awake all night with its head throbbing dully, they subjected it to yet another unpleasant conversation.

“I wonder when it’ll be. I want to see it soon.” “I don’t want to see it.” “I hope it’s soon. If it takes too long, even the leeks we’ve stored will end up freezing.” “We’ve got potatoes stored too.” “We’ve stored them.” “We’ve stored three bushels.” “There’s no way we could eat all that ourselves.”

“It’s bitterly cold this morning.” One of them blew white breath onto their hands and said this.

“That pig looks warm.” When one answered this way, all three burst out laughing. “That pig’s wearing a one-inch-thick coat made of fat—of course it’s warm.” “It looks warm. “See? “Even steam’s rising off it, fresh and hot.” The pig was so overwhelmed by sorrow and anguish that it began to stagger. “They should just hurry up and do it already.”

The three exited the shed while muttering.

The pig's subsequent anguish—(want to see, don't want to see, hope it's soon, leeks freezing, three bushels of potatoes, can't eat it all)—a one-inch-thick coat of fat—oh how terrifying—seeing right through human bodies—oh how terrifying. Terrifying. But what connection could there possibly be between me and leeks? Ah, this is agony.) In the midst of this distress, the Principal came again. At the entrance, he stomped off the snow, then stood before it with his usual vague bitter smile.

“How about it? Are you feeling well today?” “Yes, thank you very much.” “Are you sure? That’s excellent. Is the food to your liking?” “Thank you very much. It is most satisfactory.” “It is most satisfactory.”

“Is that so?” “That’s good to hear. Now then—the truth is I’ve come today for a confidential consultation with you. How about it—is your mind clear?” “Yes...” The Pig’s voice grew hoarse.

“The truth is, all beings living in this world must die.” “Actually, everything dies in the end.” “Whether they be nobles among humans, the wealthy, middle-class folks like myself, or even the most wretched beggars—” “Yes...” The pig’s voice caught in its throat, unable to give a clear reply. “And even animals that aren’t human—horses, cows, chickens, catfish, bacteria—they all have to die.” “Such as mayflies—born in the morning and dead by evening, their lives last but a single day.” “Everyone must die.” “So it’s certain that both you and I will die someday.”

“Yes...” The pig’s voice grew hoarse, and it couldn’t manage any reply whatsoever.

“So there’s actually something I need to discuss—our school has been caring for you up until today. “It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but rest assured we’ve done our utmost to treat you with considerable care. “Your kind are found everywhere—and I’m quite familiar with them—though it may sound odd coming from me—but truly, no institution offers better treatment than mine.” “Yes...” The pig tried to reply, but all the food it had eaten earlier became lodged in its throat, making any coherent response utterly impossible.

“So then—actually, there’s something I’d like to discuss—if you feel even the slightest gratitude for such treatment, could you perhaps consent to one very small request?” “Yes...” The pig’s voice grew hoarse, and it was utterly unable to respond. “It’s just a very small thing.” “Here is a document of this sort; it states as follows.” “Death Consent Document: I, the undersigned, in perpetual recognition of the benevolence bestowed upon me, hereby consent to expire at any time as deemed convenient by the aforementioned party. Date and Location: Flandon Stable. Yorkshire. To: The Principal of Flandon Agricultural School.’ That’s all there is to it,” The Principal, having already begun speaking, was about to launch into a torrential outpouring of words.

“In short, since you’re going to die anyway, this is just about dying cleanly when the time comes—by stating ‘I’ll die whenever,’ it’s truly nothing at all.” “As long as dying isn’t necessary yet, there’s absolutely no need for you to die.” “I simply want you to press one front hoofprint right here.” “That’s all it is.”

The pig furrowed his brows and stared intently at the document thrust before him for some time. If things were as the Principal said, it should have been nothing serious—but when I read through the document's wording with utmost care, it turned out to be utterly terrifying. Finally unable to bear it any longer, the pig said in a voice that was almost a sob:

“Does ‘at any time’ mean even today?”

The Principal flinched but recovered his composure and said: “Well, yes—but it’s not like it’ll be today or anything like that. That’s absolutely out of the question.”

“But you mean even tomorrow, don’t you?” “Well now—speaking of tomorrow—it’s hardly so urgent as all that. It’s merely an extremely ambiguous matter—‘anytime’ meaning ‘sometime,’ that sort of thing.” “Does dying mean I’ll die alone?” The Pig asked again in a shrill voice. “Hmm—it’s not entirely so.” “I refuse—I refuse—if that’s how it is then I refuse. I absolutely refuse.” The Pig wept and screamed.

“You refuse?” “Then there’s no helping it.” “You’re being far too ungrateful.” “You’re even beneath dogs and cats.”

The Principal fumed with anger, his face turning bright red as he swiftly stowed the document into his pocket and strode out of the pen in long strides.

“After all, I’ve been inferior to dogs and cats from the very beginning! Waaah!” “Waaah!” The Pig was so overwhelmed by frustration and sorrow all at once that it burst into uncontrollable sobs. However, after crying for about half a day, the fatigue from not having slept for two nights surged forth all at once, so it inadvertently fell asleep while still weeping. Even in that sleep, the Pig startled again and again, its limbs jerking violently.

However, the next day, that animal husbandry teacher came again, bringing the assistant with him. Then, after staring at the Pig with that unbearable gaze of his, he turned to the assistant with a deeply displeased expression and said:

“What’s wrong with it? “Splendid—the meat’s just fallen right off, hasn’t it? “This is completely beyond discussion. “Even farmers keeping it in their homes could manage this much. “What on earth has happened? “Don’t you have any clues? “The cheek meat’s dropped off far too much. “What’s more, even the shoulders have gotten this scrawny. “We can’t even submit it to the exhibition. “What on earth has happened to it?”

The Assistant pressed a finger to his lips, thought intently for a while, then replied absently.

“Well, only that yesterday afternoon the Principal came by, sir. “I believe that was all.”

The Animal Husbandry Teacher leapt up. “Principal?” “I see.” “It’s the Principal.” “He was trying to get the consent form and pulled off a splendid blunder.” “Frightened it off.” “So this thing’s been pacing circles all night without sleeping.” “This is a disaster.” “And he must’ve botched getting the consent form too.” “This is a disaster.”

The Animal Husbandry Teacher, looking thoroughly vexed, ground his teeth with a grating noise for a while, crossed his arms, and spoke again. “Tch—no helping it.” “Open all the windows.” “Then take it outside and make it exercise a bit.” “Don’t go beating it senselessly or running it ragged.” “Take it for a slow walk through shaded areas—around the stable’s shadow, over snowless grassy patches.” “Fifteen minutes per session. Then withhold feed—let its stomach grow empty.” “Once its mood’s fully recovered, give it some choice cabbage bits.” “Then once it’s gradually mended, resume standard procedure.” “He’s gone and ruined a month’s fattening in one blasted night.” “Understood?”

“Understood.” The Animal Husbandry Teacher returned to the faculty room, and the Pig—now utterly dejected—stared vacantly at the far wall, wanting neither to move nor to cry out. Just then, the Assistant entered carrying a thin whip and smiling. The Assistant opened the enclosure’s exit and said with utmost politeness.

“How about a little stroll?” “It’s a very fine day today, and the wind is calm.” “Then I shall accompany you.” The whip cracked against his back—this was utterly unbearable—and though the Yorkshire pig reluctantly trudged out of the stable, his chest brimmed with such sorrow that each step felt like tearing him apart. The Assistant, whistling “Chipperary” in leisurely fashion, slowly approached from behind. He lazily swung the whip.

What on earth was 'Chipperary' anyway? Though I was so miserable—he kept twisting his snout over and over. Sometimes,

“Now then, how about walking a bit more to your left?” he said, mouthing nothing but smooth words even as he delivered a crack of the whip. (This world is truly, truly harsh—a world of suffering indeed.) Thud—struck yet again, the Pig pondered deeply as it walked. “Well now, how about this—it’s time for you to retire for the evening.” The Assistant delivered another crack of the whip. Ultra University gentlemen, what could possibly be enjoyable about such a walk? There’s no benefit for the body or anything else.

The Pig reluctantly returned to the stable and plopped onto the straw. The Assistant brought a meager portion of the cabbage's choice green parts. The Pig didn't want to eat, but with the Assistant standing rigidly across from him—staring down with eyes of indescribable menace—he truly had no choice left; when he feigned nibbling at it, the Assistant finally relaxed, let out a single derisive "Hmph," then departed while whistling Chipperary once more. At some point, the windows had been thrown wide open, leaving the Pig shivering uncontrollably from the cold.

In this manner, Yorkshire spent three days as if in a dream, each day sinking deeper into thought.

On the fourth day, the Animal Husbandry Teacher came again with the Assistant. Glancing briefly at the Pig, he waved his hand and said to the Assistant: “No good, no good. Why didn’t you do as I told you?” “No—I opened all the windows and gave it the good parts of the cabbage. I have been meticulously ensuring it exercises for fifteen minutes each day.” “I see. Even after going to such lengths, it still isn’t working after all. Then this thing will just keep getting thinner. It’s nervous nutritional deficiency. There’s no managing it through conventional means. We have to decide before it becomes nothing but skin and bones—there’s no telling how far this’ll go. Hey. Close the windows. And let’s use the fattening device—force-feed it vigorously. Take two *shō* of wheat bran—then two *gō* of linseed and five *gō* of cornmeal—knead them with water into dumplings, divide into two or three portions daily, and process them through the fattening device. You do have the fattening device, correct?”

“Yes, we do.” “Tie this thing up and keep it tied down.” “No—before binding it, we must get that consent document stamped first.” “The Principal’s thoroughly incompetent.”

The Animal Husbandry Teacher hurriedly ran off toward the school building, and the Assistant followed out after him.

Before long, the Principal of the Agricultural School came rushing in a great hurry. The Pig, with nowhere to place its body, rooted through the bedding straw with its snout.

“Now then—we really must hurry.” “About that death consent document from earlier—today I absolutely need you to press your hoofprint on it.” “It’s nothing significant.” “Stamp it.”

“No! No!” The Pig cried.

The Pig cried. "No?" "Hey." "Don't get so self-important—that body of yours was wholly fashioned through this school's benevolence." "We'll still give you two shō of wheat bran daily—two gō of linseed and five gō of cornmeal besides. Now stamp it already—won't you stamp it?"

Indeed, when he started getting angry like this, the Principal was truly a terrifying figure. The Pig had become completely terrified, “I’ll stamp it. I’ll stamp it,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Very well, then,” said the Principal, finally regaining his temper as he briskly took out that death consent document—the yellow paper—and spread it before the Pig’s eyes. “Where should I stamp it?” The Pig asked through tears.

“Here. “Beneath your name.” The Principal stared intently through his glasses into the Pig’s small eyes as he spoke. The Pig twisted its mouth sideways with a twitch, snapped up its short front right limb, then pressed the seal down precisely. The Pig snorted. “Very well. This will do.” The Principal pulled the paper toward himself, scrutinized the seal thoroughly, then regained his composure and announced: That mean-spirited Animal Husbandry Teacher—who had apparently been waiting at the entrance—suddenly appeared.

“How did it proceed? Was everything successful?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that’s done.” “I’ll leave this with you then.” “Now—about how many days for the fattening?” “We’ll have to observe progress first. Chickens and ducks fatten reliably enough—but a pig this neurotic might not take kindly to forced fattening.” “I see.” “Understood.” “In any case, see that it’s done properly.”

And the Principal left. This time, the Assistant brought a strange canvas tube with screws attached and some sort of bucket. The Animal Husbandry Teacher remarked while briefly pinching and examining the contents of the bucket. “Then tie up the pig.” The Assistant, holding a Manila rope, jumped into the pen. The Pig thrashed about wildly, but in the end, both of its right legs were bound to two iron rings in the corner of the pen.

“Good. Now insert this end into its throat.” The Animal Husbandry Teacher said as he handed the canvas tube to the Assistant. “Now open your mouth. Open your mouth. Come on.” The Assistant spoke quietly, but the Pig clenched its teeth tightly and absolutely would not open its mouth.

“It can’t be helped.” “Make it bite down on this.”

The Assistant produced a short steel pipe. The Assistant gratingly twisted the pipe between the Pig’s teeth. The Pig shouted and cried with all his might, but once they finally fitted the tube into him, he could only sob from deep in his throat. The Assistant shoved the canvas tube down the Pig’s throat through the gap in the steel pipe. “That will do. Let’s proceed.” The Animal Husbandry Teacher transferred the contents of the bucket into the funnel at the end of the canvas tube, then used a peculiar spiral device to send the food into the Pig’s stomach. The Pig tried as hard as he could not to swallow, but his throat inevitably gave way, and as that paste-like substance entered his stomach, his belly grew heavier and heavier. This was forced fattening.

The Pig felt so sick that it spent the entire day crying in a frenzy.

The next day, the Animal Husbandry Teacher came again to check.

“Good. It’s fattened. “It’s effective.” “From now on, do this twice daily with the custodian.” In this manner, for seven days thereafter, the Pig remained completely unaware whether the sun was shining or the wind was blowing outside, its stomach growing unbearably heavy and its cheeks and shoulders swelling alarmingly until even breathing became a struggle, while students came in shifts to say all manner of things.

At one point, about ten students came noisily and said the following.

“It’s gotten really big. I wonder how many *kan* it must be now.” “Well, if it were the Teacher, he’d take one look and tell you down to hundreds of *me*, but we can’t really tell.” “We don’t know its specific gravity.”

“We do know the specific gravity—it’s most likely the same as water.” “How do you know that?”

“But that’s usually how it is. If you put this thing in water, it definitely wouldn’t sink or float.” “No, it definitely won’t sink—it’s sure to float.” “That’s probably because of the fat, but pigs do have bones. Plus there’s meat too, so the specific gravity is probably around one.” “If we take the specific gravity as one, how many *to* would this thing be?” “Probably five *to* and five *sho*.” “No, it’s nowhere near five to and five sho. At the very least, it’s eight to.”

“Eight to? That’s nowhere near enough!” “It’s definitely nine to.” “Well, let’s settle on seven *to*.” “If seven *to* of water equals five *kan*, then this thing amounts to exactly thirty-five *kan*.”

“That’s thirty-five *kan* for sure.”

While listening to such talk, how bitterly the Pig must have wept. No matter what, this was too cruel. They measured people’s bodies with measuring boxes. They went on about seven *to* this and eight *to* that.

And exactly seven days later, that teacher and the Assistant stood side by side before the Pig once more.

“That should do.” “Perfect.” “Once it’s fattened to this extent, I suppose this is the limit.” “This is the extent.” “If you push the fattening too far and it falls ill even once, that’ll just set things back.” “Tomorrow should be just right.” “Stop feeding it today.” “Then wash its body thoroughly with the custodian.” “And replace the bedding with fresh straw.” “Understood?”

“Understood.” The Pig listened to this exchange with every fiber of its being，ears strained. It’s finally tomorrow—so that’s what they meant by the death consent document. It’s finally tomorrow—tomorrow’s the day. (What on earth was going to happen? How awful，how awful.) The Pig—overwhelmed by anguish—bashed its head against the wooden boards.

That afternoon, the Assistant arrived again with the Custodian—the two of them. Then, having untied the Pig’s legs from those two iron rings, the Assistant spoke.

“How about a bath today? Please do take one.” “Everything has been prepared and awaits you.” Before the Pig could consent or even reply, the whip came cracking down. The Pig reluctantly began walking, but having grown so excessively fat, movement had become laborious—panting heavily after just three steps.

Then the whip came cracking down. The Pig nearly collapsed, yet somehow managed to drag itself outside the stable—where a large wooden tub filled with steaming water awaited. “Now, please get inside this.” The Assistant delivered another crack of the whip. At last, the Pig managed to tumble over the high rim and into the tub.

The Custodian scrubbed the Pig’s body clean with a large brush. Catching a glimpse of the brush, the Pig screamed like a fool. The reason was that this brush too was made of pig hair. While the Pig was screaming, its body turned completely white. “Now then, let us proceed.” The Assistant delivered another crack of the whip at the Pig.

The Pig reluctantly went outside. The cold seeped into its body with a shiver. The Pig finally sneezed. “This thing’s going to catch cold,” the Custodian said, widening his eyes. “It’s fine. It’s not like it’ll rot,” the Assistant replied with a wry smile.

When the Pig reentered the stable, the bedding straw had been neatly replaced. The cold stabbed through its body. Moreover, since it hadn’t eaten anything since morning, its stomach had apparently become hollow and roared like a storm.

The Pig no longer opened its eyes as its head began to ring with an intense, throbbing noise. The Yorkshire’s various terrifying memories from throughout its life passed through its head like images on a revolving lantern—brightening, dimming, brightening again. It heard all manner of terrifying noises. It had become impossible to tell whether those sounds were ringing outside the pig or inside it—even that much eluded comprehension.

Before long, morning came and the bell rang from the direction of the school building. Before long, a clamor of voices arose as a great many students arrived. The Assistant, too, came along as expected.

“Let’s do it outside.” “The outside does indeed seem better.” “Take it out.” “Hey.” “When taking it out, make sure not to let it squeal too much.” “Because that would spoil the mood.”

The Animal Husbandry Teacher had somehow changed into an unusual brown gown-like garment and stood at the entrance door. The Assistant entered with solemn purpose.

“How about it? “The weather seems quite nice as well.” “How about taking a little stroll today?” The Assistant struck with another sharp snap of the whip. The Pig offered no objection whatsoever, panting heavily with puffed-out cheeks as it shuffled forward. In front and beside it, the students’ pairs of black legs moved dreamily.”

Suddenly, everything flared bright. Outside, the sun shone on the snow, and the Pig squinted against the glare as it continued to shuffle along.

Where in the world was it being taken—a single cedar stood ahead—when the Pig briefly raised its head and suddenly saw a blinding white flash like fireworks scattering before its eyes. From that flash streamed sideways like water countless crimson flames. In the sky above rang out a piercing metallic keen. To the side roared surging water. As for what happened after that—well, I know nothing of it. In any case, right beside the Pig stood that Animal Husbandry Teacher gripping a large iron hammer, breathing heavily and slightly pale-faced. Again at its feet, the Pig indeed gave two snuffles through its nose and then fell utterly still.

The students were already in full swing; fresh hot water had been poured once more into the tub where the Pig’s body had been washed, and all of them stood waiting with their coat sleeves rolled up high.

The Assistant plunged a large knife into the Pig’s throat with a sickening squelch.

This story is indeed far too tragic. Let us end it here. In any case, shortly afterward, the Pig’s body was dismembered into eight pieces and stacked behind the stable. It was left submerged in the snow overnight.

Now then, students—that night's sky had cleared completely. The Taurus constellation blazed forth, while the twenty-fourth-day silver crescent moon, coldly gleaming like a bow of light, poured its bluish-silver mercury radiance across the drifting clouds. In that frigid white snow, beneath drifts piled like a battlefield cemetery, lay the Pig—washed clean and buried in eight pieces. The moon passed silently on. Night grew ever more piercing.