Pa Johnson claimed to be of a certain denomination, which made it all the more strange that he should keep pigs. Such a technicality was lost, however, in the envy some neighbours felt towards Pa Johnson who boasted of having the largest “boar-pig” in the village.
The creature was awesome, measuring almost six feet long from snout to tail. Its flanks were lean and strong-looking, the forehead narrow, the eyes small and glinting. Two long tusks protruded beyond the hairy snout.
As far as appearances went, Pa Johnson and his animal had much in common. The man was long and lean; his small eyes glinted with pride especially when villagers spoke about his prized possession. The two remaining teeth he had protruded from his mouth.
Man and animal also shared a special quality of malevolence. Small children grew fearful on those evenings when Pa Johnson had not fed his boar-pig on time. Long bellows of rage would resound throughout the village and echo through the nearby gully.
There were some villagers who felt convinced that this animal was the lone survivor of the biblical herd of swine into which the demons had been cast. The belief was that the boar-pig had been the biggest of the lot and had therefore had the capacity and resilience to house the beings who were as yet unwilling to meet their demise. Every last one of them had found a lodging in Pa Johnson’s animal.
Meanwhile, Pa Johnson’s shouts and curses were almost as loud as the animal’s cries, and some again wondered if the man himself were a reincarnation of the Gadarene who felt some compulsion to keep up his association with familiar company.
Anyway, Christmas was coming and Pa Johnson had fallen on hard times. Pork was a popular Christmas dish and would be in great demand.
Pa Johnson would ask the men in the village to help him butcher the animal. He would give them a generous share of the meat.
During the days following, the question on the lips of the villagers was the same: “How anybody gwine kill dah big-able brute?” This question seemed only too pertinent particularly on the night before the proposed slaughter, for the animal’s vehemence had surpassed all previous record. Men who had agreed to dispatch the creature fled to their rum bottles for courage.
Early in the morning on Christmas Eve, the men prepared themselves for the task ahead. Several had drunk a good deal more sago and linseed than usual. Most had swallowed an early snap of rum.
It was five a.m., the time arranged for the butchering. After a tormenting hour, the men had managed to tie the animal down. Now the sticking would be done. It was only right that Pa Johnson should have that honour. Some of the men disappeared as Pa Johnson, with the utmost concentration, brought the knife down.
There are still several versions as to what happened next. The most common is that the boar-pig, eyes glinting with outrage at Pa Johnson’s intended treachery, had bounded for its owner’s throat, knocking him down instantly and pinning him under its weight. Pa Johnson’s shouts after a while became intelligible to the terrified men peeping from behind the paling: “Tek ’e off! Tek ’e off!”
A death-struggle was well on the way between master and animal when somewhere in Pa Johnson’s mind sprang the memory of the envy which the men had felt regarding his prized animal. Out of his mouth flew a last-minute appeal: “Tek ’e off and tek ’e!” and indeed, though it was certain that no one now wanted the beast, the note of generosity seemed to have galvanized the men into action.
With big rocks, sticks and whatever else they could lay their hands on, the animal was prevailed upon to halt the destruction of its master. The crazed boar-pig bounded towards the nearby gully, fell down a ravine and broke its neck.
No other animal in the village ever took on quite the same characteristics as Pa Johnson’s boar-pig. It was felt that the hapless spirits, provided they had escaped in time, had either left the village for good or had been converted to better ways.
Pa Johnson was, however, never able to extricate himself from the nickname which he kept to his dying day: Tek ’e off and tek ’e.
Esher Phillips is head of the Division of Liberal Arts of the Barbados Community College. She is also a poet and editor of BIM: Arts for the 21st Century. Email [email protected]
