Long Pig
Lo-Ihi swallows and strides along the path up the hill. The porch groans under his weight. I’m not that fat. Healthy body mass. Not too lean, but with more muscle than fat. Still, he feels like a fattened pig. Long Pig.The house looks tiny, perched over the vast fields where soldiers once slaughtered each other; in the war between the settlers and the cannibals, who lived here before the British came. But it is huge and old, way out of town. Stuffed full of history. Dark history.
He checks his reflection briefly in the window and fixes his hair before pressing the bell. In the rural silence, the ringing sounds like a death knell. He feels anxiety tickling in his bones and was about to leave when the door opens. There he is, tall and lean, standing in the doorway. With that smile on his face. That smile, that made Lo-Ihi swiftly swipe right back then.
“Please, do come in.” He extends a soft, yet strong hand.
Inside it is dim and cool and sterile. Everything sits neatly on the shelves, like soldiers before the slaughter begins.
“Can I offer you a drink?”
“Maybe some champagne if you have.” Lo-Ihi needs something to loosen his nerves. Nobody can blame him for being anxious, standing here in the hallway of a stranger in the middle of nowhere.
But is he really that strange? They had been chatting for six months now. Fergie139 and Lo-Ihi104. He had been charming. Far too charming to say no when he invited Lo-Ihi over for dinner, on their first date, back then. Of course, Lo-Ihi wouldn’t go to him right away. He wasn’t reckless like that. Ferguson had chosen a nice public place for them. Porkie’s Steak and Grill. Not too posh, but not one of those greasy fast food joints either. Lo-Ihi ate a burger, Ferguson pork chops. Long Pig.
But now Lo-Ihi is here, in the house above the killing field, looking into Ferguson’s eyes, who smiles and holds out a glass. Lo-Ihi takes it and gratefully sucks in a deep sip to calm his nerves. Today he wants it. I will allow it. I will let him.
It had been hard to resist Ferguson’s soft lips as they trailed up his neck when he had driven him home after their dates. They had found their way to his earlobe, nibbling, licking.
“You’re so sweet,” he had whispered in Lo-Ihi’s ear.
Lo-Ihi had smiled sheepishly, politely pushed Fergie away, and kissed him on the cheek, goodnight. These cheeks!
Now He stands so handsomely in front of him and blurs before Lo-Ihi’s eyes.
“Huh, I think I need to sit down.”
“Are you all right?”
“It’s okay. I am just a little dizzy. Give me a moment.”
“Here,” Ferguson kneels in front of him and takes off his shoes. “Just lie down.” He lifts the other man’s feet onto the armrest of the flowered sofa. Lo-Ihi gratefully falls onto the throw pillow and closes his eyes. He still feels Ferguson’s lips on his forehead before he drifts into the darkness from which Ferguson’s voice comes:
“Sleep, it’ll be over soon.”
The scent of a festive meal awakens Lo-Ihi. Potatoes. Fresh vegetables. Fat sauce. Roast pork. Long Pig. He opens his eyes. The golden glow of countless candles penetrates his innermost being and wraps itself warmly and comfortably around his heart. From somewhere far away, it seems, soothing music reaches his ears.
He sits at a long table, richly decorated with sparkling silver and fine cloth. Next to him is Ferguson, smiling charmingly, as always.
“Glad you’re awake.”
Lo-Ihi wants to answer, but his lips are numb and only a hoarse sigh comes out.
“It’s okay, let’s eat first.” Ferguson turns Lo-Ihi’s head, which had fallen to the side, so that he can see the feast. In the middle of the table lies a lonely, tangled white lily that seems so familiar and so loving that it brings tears to his eyes. Not tears of sadness. Fear had settled bitterly in his gut. Something is wrong here.
It lies in the center of the place setting. The roast. A long roast. The crispy baked crust removed on one side and draped over to reveal the cooked muscle tissue.
Ferguson begins filleting the meat just below the rubber strap that separates Lo-Ihi’s elbow from the roast. It looks tasty and smells tempting and yet Lo-Ihi’s tears are streaming with disgust and anger. Ferguson places a slice of pink cooked meat on the gold-rimmed porcelain plate, where tubers, sprouts and a layer of sauce await.
Unable to move, Lo-Ihi watches him cut off a piece with silver cutlery and bringing it to his nose. He tastes the meat as one tastes a wine. He looks at the color. Inhales the scent and finally puts it on his tongue.
“Hm.” He chews and nods. “Oh, please excuse me.” He turns to Lo-Ihi’s plate and slices up the meat. He places a piece in Lo-Ihi’s mouth. It is salty and tender. Pork. Long Pig. It tastes too good. Lo-Ihi plays with his tongue, chews tentatively and closes his eyes to swallow.
Understand German? Read the German version here.
