Short story – The farmer’s warthogs
The khaki-shirt farmer wiped the sweat trickling over his pencil-thin nose like a waterfall, while his cat-like eyes journeyed to the warthog’s carcass under a barbed-thorn tree. This was the sixth warthog poached in two days, and he crafted a trophy by glueing the tusks onto a plank. This pet-like warthog was playing in front... The post Short story – The farmer’s warthogs appeared first on New Era.
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The khaki-shirt farmer wiped the sweat trickling over his pencil-thin nose like a waterfall, while his cat-like eyes journeyed to the warthog’s carcass under a barbed-thorn tree.
This was the sixth warthog poached in two days, and he crafted a trophy by glueing the tusks onto a plank.
This pet-like warthog was playing in front of the farmhouse when a straying arrow struck it. The farmer couldn’t hear the yapping dogs as the water pumping engine had been roaring nightlong.
With a full-cocked revolver draped over his shoulder and a half-cocked pistol on his hips, the pink-faced farmer marched along the jackals’ fence. In response, the poachers peered through the window-shaped branches and chuckled as the farmer chalked crosses over their footprints.
Minutes later, he spotted bloodied overalls men chewing chunks of pork stew and gurgling buttery bone marrow.
“Why killing without a permit?”
The farmer quizzed the poachers napping with their knees upward like balloon-tummy lions.
“Did you ear-tag your warthogs?” asked a skilful poacher, chewing pork chilli bites. The mocking question surprised the pink-faced farmer, and he dropped his jaws, while spraying warning shots at the giggling poachers.
Now, he jaywalked home with the warthog’s leather belt tucked between his legs.
Later, the moon shone like the evening sun, while the farmer’s consoling shadow joined him on the stoep. Then he puffed cigarettes and rubbed his chin. Soon, the water pump machine roared, while a yellow flame mocked him that the salivating poachers were about to fill their tummies.
This time, he twisted his tongue on a two-way radio, and a taxidermy van delivered a battery-powered warthog.
The toy warthog was escorted towards the poachers, and they worshipped the trotting meat by tearing twigs for toothpicks. Afterwards, they simmered water and sprinkled salt and pepper over the bubbling water.
However, the calf-sized warthog made their hearts skip, and the arrows were fired at the pot-bound warthog before it swung its plastic tail. As soon as the farmer removed the batteries from the remote controller, the warthog dropped like a bag of medium-cooked rocks.
Then the perfume of boerewors from the farmer’s grill drooled the sniffing poachers’ saliva, and they skinned the cottoned warthog, while quarrelling that the yellow mattresses inside the warthog were rubbery meat.
First, they pulled out the carton liver, and mined a 2l plastic bottle of tomato sauce from the belly of the taxi-dermied warthog. Instantly, the salivating poachers popped their eyes at the stuffed nylon warthog.
In a blink, the hunting spot lamps dazzled their eyes, and the rangers crammed them at the back of a van like pilchards inside a tin.
That long night, the car’s sirens became their lullabies, as they squatted into the police cells.
-Mungambue@gmail.com
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