My first recollection of an innocence lost

It involved the slaughtering of a pig. I was probably four or five years old, and it must have been summer because school was out and I was out of town. (I was actually in the rural village where my mother grew up.)

It was the first time ever that I saw an animal being killed. First the folks tied the pig's legs and mouth with a rope--it was quite a battle, for the animal sensed right away that these men were out to hurt her. The men cut a slit in the pig's neck, then out gushed blood: Splash! went the pungent, bright red fluid. For hours and hours the poor pig wailed and wailed, on and on and on and on, until she was out of breath and out of blood and out of life.

I watched the pig die. I watched her cry, too--her soaking-wet eyes wouldn't stop moving. Her eyes--the only part of her that could move freely--were quick and aware, confronting each human face that was there to witness her misery. I swear, the pig was looking at each and every human face her eyes could see; she watched us watch her as we killed her. There was even a moment when her eyes and mine met and locked--we both held our gazes there for a few seconds.

At that particular moment, she was not just some animal to me--she was a living being, with eyes. Her eyes were anything but dumb; they were intelligent and expressive. She was scared, she was in pain, she was hopeful, she was begging, she was fighting, she was speaking. Speaking to me. Speaking to me with those brave, teary eyes.

That night, the pig was served to us in different meals. Pieces of her could be found in different pots and plates, either swimming in broth with rice and vegetables, or fried golden brown and moistened with thick gravy. Her eyes were nowhere to be found; they must have been thrown away as garbage, or squished and fed to the dog.

I couldn't eat that night.