Good Days
Some days are better than others. DouDou knows it is going to be a good day if she sees the enormous statue of Jesus Christ on Monte Urgull overlooking the bay of San Sebastian as we emerge, blinking at the sunlight, from the mile-long Belabieta tunnel. The statue was built by Franco but it’s not nearly as impressive as Christ the Redeemer on Rio’s Corcovado which it’s supposed to emulate.
I know it’s going to be a good day if I see the family of wild boar in their pen on the side of the hill on the way down into Leitza. The boar is huge with a big bog-brush ridge of bristles down his back. The sow and her young are harder to spot. If you’ve read Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time then you’ll recognise the symptoms. Hearts are lifted and lottery tickets bought.
For some time we have not seen any sign of life in the pig-pen. Nor have we won the lottery. Last night, our landlord, Bautista the Bodger, revealed why. The boar family belongs to a farmer, leader of a local hunting clan. One night, a gang broke into the pen by cutting through the huge padlock on the gate. They enticed the parents out of their sty with maize, shot them both with silenced rifles and stole the six little piglets. One youngster escaped and was being bottle-fed by the farmer’s wife. The rest have disappeared. Chief suspect is the town blacksmith because he owns bolt-cutters powerful enough to cut the padlock and belongs to a rival hunting clan.
Yesterday, a small wild boar piglet was spotted rooting around in the muddy pig-pen. A lottery ticket was bought from Miguel.
It’s going to be a good day.
