It was a mask of a pig’s head, “No. A boar.” said the bloke on the stall. “See. It’s got tusks.” It was the colour of sickly verdigris, shabby and worn except for the gold leaf on its undeniable tusks and dark bottle-green in the depths of its carved fur. The eyes had lost, or had never had, their irises, so were a staring blind sky blue, its teeth could once have been painted silver and, from one side of its mouth, hung a once crimson tongue like a panting, rabid dog. From the tusks hung an aluminium bucket – “for plants” – and there was a hole in the top of its head for another. "Shabby chic." Said the man.
It looked hideous, but she liked it anyway.
It looked hideous, but she liked it anyway.
She took it home and hung it outside her front door to scare away the children that taunted her, “Pig.” she said and put a fern in its head. Its mad blank eyes stared through its new green dreadlocks like a psychotic old English sheepdog / boar hybrid trapped in a jungle.
The bucket filled daily. The postman preferred feeding the pig to putting her post through the letterbox, and, if she left one thing in there by the time she came to collect it had multiplied. Mostly it was litter; junk mail and plastic wrapped plastic bags for clothes charities, but one day she found Pig in there sleeping, curled up tightly on a bed of chocolate wrappers. It mystified her as to how he got there; she couldn’t imagine him climbing up the wall himself, he was tiny. She could only imagine that someone had found him and, for want of any better place, left him to her. She took him in, fed him and loved him and in time he became a full-grown cat.
The pig outside continued to deliver refuse and letters. On Halloween she put chocolates in the bucket. They disappeared, but she didn’t discover into whose mouth. At Christmas she took out the fern and replaced it with a poinsettia, but the boar missed his dreadlocks so she put the fern back and put a sprig of holly in his mouth.
On Valentine’s morning she watered the fern and hung a lonely heart over the rim of the bucket. Fat blobs of water dribbled from the tips of the fern. That evening there was another heart hanging from the bucket together with hers, their strings were intertwined. Mildly curious, she wrote ‘Who are you?’ on the back of one of the hearts. There was no answer by the morning so she took them both back into the house.
There was nothing else momentous until two weeks later when she found a piece of A4 paper neatly folded inside itself and addressed to ‘Madam of the Green Boar’. She assumed that this person could only be herself and so she took it inside and opened it. It said: ‘Do you need a part time job? Evening hours only, and at your discretion. Please reply via the boar.’ It was otherwise blank; no name or number.
She did need some extra cash. Her flat badly needed new furniture and the curtains were old. But she was hesitant about accepting a job from an anonymous stranger who approached her in such a way. There needs to be more information, she thought. So under the message she wrote: “What terms?” Then refolded it and on the outside crossed out ‘Madam’ and wrote ‘Leanne’, and under that ‘To whom it may concern’. Then she put it back in the bucket and turned on the telly and began to make herself pasta with tomato sauce for supper.
She’d eaten just half her pasta when the doorbell rang. Not expecting any visitors and not wishing to rise to the challenge of the neighbourhood’s children she waited until she had comfortably finished her meal.
When she finally went to the door there was nobody there, but, just before she shut the door she looked down, and found at her feet on the doormat a wicker basket; the type that might comfortably be used to go shopping in a quaint country village at some point in the previous century but one. A basket that required one to wear a bonnet in order to look appropriate in its company. In it was another boar’s head, and she could see that it had been carefully positioned so that it would be looking at her as she opened the door. She was in no doubt that it was for her because there was a note tied to the handle upon which was drawn, in large deliberate letters, ‘Leanne’. She picked up the basket and took it inside.
This boar’s head had no hole in its head for a flower pot, there was no bucket included to hang over its tusks and it was decorated with a far more meticulous hand than the other, but though they were not a pair she could see they were from the same family.
Thinking that there might be a clue underneath it she cautiously lifted it out of the basket with both hands, but no sooner had she done so than its mouth moved and it began to speak. She was accordingly so surprised and horrified at this that she shrieked and dropped it and therefore missed the first few words it said.
The head rolled away from her into the kitchen part of her apartment and stopped on the floor by the sink. As she watched, it righted itself to face her and rose up gently, mellifluously growing from the neck downwards a body that soon exchanged foggy ambiguity for the solid form of the body of a hirsute green boar, pulsing with the certainty of life. It stood on hind legs as high as the window with one front trotter placed on the kitchen counter, possibly as support. It ducked its head slowly towards her, as if it were bowing and said, in a resonant, and slightly nasal, voice, “Thank you, Leanne of the green boar, for welcoming me into your abode. Please allow me...” at this he eyed her quizzically with small black eyes, his whiskers quivering questioningly around a large and glistening trembling snout, and she heard herself say, as if she was listening from behind a wall, “Yes, go on.”
It is worth saying, at this point, that the part of her that was doing the listening was afraid, very afraid, but it was split away from her and tucked away like a shadow behind a bone china plate. But because it was there, not here, and although the plate could be smashed at any time and her fear dash out and declare itself, it was currently controlled, and the part of her that stood in the kitchen with the boar was able to show not one ounce of fear.
The green boar began his sentence again “Please allow me to introduce myself.” His voice changed slightly and she got the impression that this next bit was well rehearsed. “I am the Green Boar, royal porcinerry to the Queen and defender of this realm. I have come to ask you for your most valued assistance, should you be willing to bestow it upon us, to help with a mission that is of the utmost importance.” He paused, and looked at her quizzically again, but this time she had nothing to say. “It is a dangerous task, which, of course, it is entirely under your discretion to undertake. Of course, if you refuse to take part nothing further will be said and I will depart in the manner under which I arrived, and we will, of course, reimburse any costs that were incurred in the manner of my arrival.”
He paused again and it seemed that she was required to reply, “What do you want me to do?”
“We need you to act as a courier.”
“A courier?”
“To make deliveries.” That seemed, to her, the usual description of a courier’s duties.
“Oh.”
“And sometimes to make collections.”
“Right... Is that it?”
“There will be others who don’t want us to complete our deliveries or our collections, but you won’t have to worry about them; I will take care of them.”
“How?”
“I will deal with them; I am highly skilled in hand to hand combat and several martial arts. I am feared across the land and I have not failed yet.”
“And how are you expecting us to courier things? I only have a bicycle, and I can’t drive a car.”
“The bicycle is fine. In fact, it is perfect.”
“Oh. Okay.” That was rather disappointing, she’d hoped that there might be a car. A car would have been useful. But it wasn’t a problem; she liked cycling and she frequently weighed herself on the bathroom scales and said to herself that she should ride more. This could be a good way of doing so. She asked, “What are we going to deliver?”
“Things that are vital to the safety of this country and the Queen.”
That sounded too important for the likes of her. “But why are you asking me, surely we have armies and the police, or the post office, to do that.”
“We have tried the police and the armed services, many times, but our needs are specialist. As you have already seen, we do not operate in the normal realm of experience, and as such, they are not adequately bold, nor clever enough, and the post office has been privatised.”
The boar drew a breath, and looked beseechingly at her, well, she felt it could be a beseeching expression, but he could simply have been keeping in a large fart. He continued, “So far, only you have proved brave and clever enough to be able to do this.”
She opened her mouth to question this statement, but he quickly said, before she could utter a word, “But if you are not willing to help us, we understand. It is a lot to ask. We know that. You should not worry.” He looked what she thought could be sad. “We will simply continue our search for someone yet more courageous, even though the date of the first delivery is very soon.”
With a hand on her heart and a shake of her head she said, “But I don’t understand how I have proved myself to be so bold, or somehow clever.”
“How could you not know?” The boar seemed genuinely shocked. “The chocolates you left to foil them. It was a master stroke. We were all so very impressed. You cannot know how much. It is a technique that has been entered into our textbooks. We’re all doing it now.”
She couldn’t help but feel flattered by the boar’s admiring tone of voice; nobody had ever spoken about something she had done in such a way before. And she couldn’t help thinking, that if chocolates were all that it took to frighten away the Green Boar’s enemies, then she could probably handle whatever else they threw at her. So she decided, right there and then, that if the money was right she’d take the job.
“Okay, the job description sounds manageable. Tell me more about the money.”
“Okay, the job description sounds manageable. Tell me more about the money.”
“We will pay you thirty-five pounds an hour with any part hours rounded up to the full amount. If you can provide the details we can pay it straight into your bank account for you. And we will also pay you half your first job in advance to cover any costs.” He paused, then added: “We believe this is a fair amount for the work you will be asked to do, but of course, if you don’t, then we can negotiate.”
It was a very generous amount, much more than her meagre clerk’s wage, and, though she still wasn’t exactly sure what the job would entail, she already knew that the money would come in very handy, so she said, not wanting to quibble, but at the same time wanting to leave room for serious quibbling later on, “I think that would be okay to start with.”
“Do you mean to say that you will help us?”
“Yes, I do.”
The Green Boar tapped the sink with his trotter in delight. Then he bowed to her again, more gravely this time, and, in a tone of declaration said, “Then I am delighted to welcome you, Leanne, as one of our number. I declare you to be an honorary porcinerry.” His whiskers twitched three times and he wiggled his snout and, with a porcine squeal exclaimed, “I’m delighted you said yes. We’ll show them won’t we? You and I!”
Leanne said, politely, a little awed by his excitement and hoping, suddenly, that she hadn’t bitten off more than she could chew, “Well, I hope so.” And allowed herself to fear, just a little bit, about what she’d got herself into.
“Oh! And before I forget, because that wouldn’t do, if you could kindly write your account number and sort code on the letter in the basket. I would be most thankful, you see I find it hard to write with the trotters.”
She carefully printed the numbers on the letter and refolded it, and placed it back on the bottom of the basket.
“Thank you kindly.” Said the Green Boar, nodding a little bow of thanks. He seemed very polite, but she assumed this was required when one was in royal service. “Well, that’s wonderful. Such good news!”
Then he walked towards her on green and hairy, but very sturdy, hind trotters, until only the basket on the floor remained between them and his quivering and wet snout was nothing but a few inches from her face. He fixed her with his beady black piggy eyes and said, in a low and more serious voice this time, “Thank you again for agreeing to help us; you will be doing a great service for your country. Now, let me tell of your duties: I will return here on the evening of our first assignment, in the same manner as this evening. You shall receive, via my brother on the wall, notification of the time of that assignment. Meantime you should make sure that your bike is in top working order and that you have some warm and waterproof clothing to wear.”
Having imparted this important information he twitched his snout quite violently. “Now, I must go. It doesn’t do to stay too long in one place. Please return the basket back outside to where you found it but turned outwards, so that I am looking away from your door and towards the passageway. Please then close the door and let me leave by my own path.”
The instant this last word passed his lips his body began to lose consistency, turning firstly transparent then shrinking downwards. The mask floated gently down his body as it liquefied and disappeared and settled softly back into the basket in the same position as it was before, looking up at her, but this time with what could have been a smile on its piggy chops and an aura of expectancy.
She put the basket outside on the doormat, carefully turning it so that the mask faced outward, and closed the door. She heard a rustling, but even though she opened the door shortly after it stopped, bearing in mind the boar’s extortion that he wanted his mode of transport to be unknown, there was nothing to see. She looked in the bucket hanging on the tusks of the boar on the wall but there was nothing there either.
So she went back inside and curled up on the sofa with her cat Pig, poured herself a large glass of white wine, and watched reality television for the rest of the evening. By the morning she had convinced herself that she had simply dreamt up the whole thing.
But then, absently checking the boar’s bucket on her way out, she discovered a fat envelope containing a wad of cash. ...to be continued.
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