The Woman Who Loved Pigs

[Cord Hurn]

This Reave the Just and Other Tales short story was one I enjoyed, though it may be lacking a "theme" or a "point". I'll consider this possibility later on in this post.

This "woman who loved pigs" is named Fern, a person too simple-minded to form words (even mentally), to make a living in business, or to keep herself regularly clean. She would be homeless as well if not for the generosity of Yoel, one of the two village alemen, providing her with an unused shed to serve as her shelter. Fern's village, Sarendel-on-Gentle, is within a fertile valley rift of the River Gentle. Life there basically consists of work, raising families, and drinking ale.

Fern makes a living there scavenging through scrap-piles of food and makes a dedicated hobby of caring for any pigs that come to her for medical care or affectionate attention before leading them back to their owners. Also, she goes out of her way to find lost pigs and to help farrowing sows give birth as easily as possible. Nevertheless, she owned no pig herself, because she was thought not to be capable of raising one, and even if she could do so it would probably be at the cost of starving herself. Her long-dead parents (a scrubwoman mother and a farm-laborer father) were able to just barely feed, clothe, and shelter her--couldn't teach their poor half-wit daughter how to make a living. No one in the village of Sarendel-on-Gentle would be all that shocked to find her dead in the countryside one day. Nevertheless, kindly Meglan farm-wife will often make sure Fern doesn't go hungry.

But things changed for Fern when she found a dying pig that came to her hovel.

He was not a handsome pig, or a large one. Indeed, she saw as soon as she looked at him that he was dying of hunger. His bridled skin showed splotches of disease, as well as of scruffy parentage. Stains and ashes marked his grizzled snout. One eye appeared to be nearly blind; the other was flawed by a strange sliver of argent like a silver cut. In the early dew of dawn, he shouldered his way into her hovel as though he had traveled all night for many nights to reach her, lay himself at her feet, rolled his miscolored eyes at her weakly, and began at once to sleep like the dead.

But images of rueweed, pigsbane, and carrots form in Fern's mind while looking at this pig, and she begins foraging for these plants without questioning the wisdom of doing so. This was because the feeling she got from the images was not unlike the intuitive feelings she'd gotten which told her when the village pigs required her help. An hour later, she returns with the items, cooks them, and feeds them to this pig (a pig that doesn't seem to belong to anybody in Sarendel-on-Gentle).

While resting from this task, Fern dreams of a thin sliver of argent rising over her like a crescent moon, and of being surrounded by colors that represent different emotions. Somehow she knows these colors/emotions are coming from the mind of the pig she has just saved. Fern feels bound to this pig, and goes to stingy tavernkeeper Jessup (Yoel's competitor) to beg for bread and sausages. She then goes back to her hovel, where the awakened pig stares at her while sending non-verbal mental direction (through images) that she must eat. Fern becomes beggar for them both, and as this pig recovers, that's when the story gets interesting. At first she calls the pig "Mythanks" in her mind, because that is the first verbal message the pig mentally sends to her. The pig soon sends her a message that his name is Titus, and goes with her on her begging rounds, compelling Jessup to give them more food with a commanding stare. Soon after, Titus announces a decision to Fern.

It is time we began. Bread and sausages will feed your body, but they will do nothing to nourish your intelligence. I MUST have intelligence. Also you are filthy--and filth wards away help. There are many lessons that a pig could teach you. Today we will make a start.

So Titus has her bathe and scrub in the Gentle, and has her hold out her hand to stop some of the village boys so Titus can send them mental commands to pilfer food for them and stop by Fern's hovel regularly. With the supplies gained, Fern is instructed by Titus to make a broth that will increase her mental capacity, along with a paste that will enable her to stomach the broth.

The pig rewarded her with a vivid display of pleasure and satisfaction, as bright as the sun on the waters of the Gentle and as comforting as dawn on her face. Well done, he breathed, although she did not know these words. You are indeed willing. The fault will not be yours if I fail.

Titus's improvement of Fern is interrupted one day by the village boys bringing news of the arrival of a messenger (Roadman) of Andoval's Prince Chorl, who seeks to give news of the kingdom and to hear any news of change in the villages. Titus is fearful of this development, especially because he hears that the Prince's Roadman told the villagers the tale of Suriman the warlock, who violated the code of practicing magic on others. Suriman placed herbs in the food of the Prince's daughter Florice to make her more intelligent as well as to compel her to want to marry him. When Prince Chorl learned the truth of this through an investigation by Suriman's chief warlock rival Titus, he and warlocks in opposition to Suriman declared war on Suriman. The Roadman relates that Suriman was at first thought destroyed when hit with a blast of magic while hiding on a farmstead, but the discovery of texts and apparatus in Suriman's castle revealed that he had been studying transfer of intelligence (the soul) to other bodies. Now it is not sure Suriman was killed, for he may have transferred his soul to another person or even to a farm animal. So the Roadman asks the villagers of Sarendel-on-Gentle once again, has there been change seen or anything unusual going on? The pig "Titus" infers that the villagers shuffled their feet nervously at that, not wanting to betray Fern, but that the Roadman must have noticed.

So, Fern and "Titus" have to work frantically to prepare for a coming showdown with the Prince's warlocks.

Perhaps this story's theme, if it could be said to have one, is that you shouldn't improve other adults against their will with warlock magic. Oh wait, what am I saying? That theme won't work in our "real world", will it? But this short story was written between books three and four of the Gap series, a series that has enough great character interaction so as to prove themes are unnecessary.

But this story has a happy ending in its own way, theme or no theme.

Spoiler

Fern saves Suriman by permitting him to share his soul with hers in her body, and she retains her intelligence, though this is apparent to no one else.

And I found it to be VERY entertaining. It's told in kind of the classic fairy-tale style with some humorous Donaldsonian twists in the narration.

[Cord Hurn]

One thing I like about this SRD short story is that there is a nice rhythm, which is almost melodic, in the sentences and clauses used to tell the story. I can feel it from early on in the story, such as this passage describing Fern's efforts to care for the village pigs that stray into her life:

Yet she took nothing which was not granted to her, and so she returned them. Before she returned them, however, she pampered them as best she could in the brief time her honesty allowed her, tending their small sores and abrasions, offering them the comfits and comforts she was occasionally able to scavenge for them, scratching their ears when she had no treats to offer. She wept for the porkers and flattered the sows. Since she had no language of her own, their throaty voices were articulate enough for her; she knew how to warm her heart with their snorts and grunts of affection.

[Cord Hurn]

Meglan, the kindly neighbor who runs a farm with her husband Wall, is an especially well-drawn character in this story, though she is still only a supporting character. She seems very real to me as she comes to give thanks to Fern for saving her husband from what was likely a fatal illness.

"Enter."

Expecting children, she was filled with chagrin when she saw Meglan come into her hovel. Only the strength of her love for her pig--or the strength of his presence in her mind--enabled her to rise to her feet instead of cowering against the wall.

Meglan herself appeared full of chagrin. Fern could look at the farmwife because Meglan was unable to look at Fern. Her gaze limped aimlessly across the floor, lost among her pallid features, and her voice also limped as she murmured, "I know not what to say. I can hardly face you. My husband is saved. You saved him--you, who speaks when none of us knew you could--you gave no hint--You, whom I have treated with little concern and courtesy. You, who came in rags to offer your help. You, whom I have considered at worst a beggar and at best a half-wit. You and no other saved my husband.

"I cannot--I do not know how to bear it. You deserve honor, and you have been given only scorn.

"Fern, I must make amends. You have saved Wall, who is as dear to me as my own flesh. Because of you, he smiles, and lifts his head, and will soon be able to rise from his bed. I must make amends." Now she looked into Fern's eyes, and her need was so great--as great as Titus'--that Fern could not look away. "I will tell the tale. That I can do. I will teach Sarendel to honor you. But it is not enough.

"I have brought--" Meglan opened her hands as if she were ashamed of what they held, and Fern saw a thick, woolen robe, woven to stand hard use and keep out cold. "It is plain--too plain for my heart--but it is what I have, and it is not rags. And still it is not enough.

"If you can speak--if you are truly able to speak--please tell me how to thank you for my husband's life."

Fern, who had never owned a garment so rich and useful, might have fallen to her knees and wept in gratitude. To be given such a gift, without begging or dishonesty--! But Titus' need was as great as Meglan's. He did not let her go.

Instead of bowing or crying, she answered, "Thank you." The words stumbled in her mouth; they were barely articulate. Yet she said them--and as she said them she felt an excitement which seemed like terror. "I helped Wall because I could. I do not need tales."

That is safe, Titus commented. She will talk in any case.

"Or gifts," Fern went on. Belying the words, she gripped the robe tightly. "Yet it would be a kindness if I were given an iron cookpot and a few mixing bowls."

Damnation! Titus grunted. That came out crudely. I must be more cautious.

Ashamed to be begging again, Fern could no longer face the farmwife. Because Titus required it, however, she gestured at her fire and her few bowls. "My knowledge of herbs is more than I can use with what implements I have. If I could cook better, I could help others as I have helped your husband."

Tears welled in Meglan's eyes. "Thank you. You will have what you need." Impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed Fern's cheek. Then she turned and hurried from the hovel as though she were grieving--or fleeing.

There. Titus sounded like Jessup rubbing his hands together over an auspicious bargain. Was that not easier? Did I not promise that it would be less arduous? Soon we will be ready.

I find it funny when Titus realizes he's overly eager in the way he frames that request for Fern to voice, and that he can sound a great deal like the village's uncharitable tavern owner Jessup when he's succeeded at a ploy. I guess because it comes from a warlock pig is what makes it amusing for me.

Maybe I can't make it clear why I like this story, but can only make it clear that I do indeed like it. A lot!

[Avatar]

Its been a long time, but I don't think I enjoyed it much. Maybe the suspension of disbelief was too hard.

--A

[Cord Hurn]

There was just something that was classic in how the story was told that got me to like it. And there was something classic in the moral lesson of finally letting Fern make her own choice being the key to Suriman's success. And the first time around, the ending REALLY surprised me!

[Linna Heartbooger]

Oh, I loved it too, Cord Hurn... I think a lot of it is in the feel and the fabric of the weaving of the story.

Also, much of its value is in it having humble people. Some of Donaldson's best is when he's writing about humble people, showing beauty... sometimes where it's unexpected.

I don't remember all of how "The Woman Who Loved Pigs" went, but thanks for your reminders of it. (read over most of them just now, this morning.)

[Cord Hurn]

Also, much of its value is in it having humble people. Some of Donaldson's best is when he's writing about humble people, showing beauty... sometimes where it's unexpected.

The humble people do add a lot of charm to the story, yes. All of them are very likeable, except for Jessup the greedy barkeep.