Chapter 3
Meanwhile, Back at
the Pig Ranch
Frank tuned into the minute details
of his beloved home—the Cloning Farm. This morning at daybreak, he heard all
115 cows mooing. The cows wanted to alert the farmers to the collective empty
state of each cow’s quad-stomach. Yes, the volume was set at exactly 1154
stomach decibels (sd) by cow standards.
The other animals
tried their best to compete, even though they were outnumbered. With differing
pitches, they harmonized. The rooster, singing with the highest note, crooned
as the lead soprano. The pigs’ snoring added the percussion, and Old Red, the
favorite dog—the one they let in the house—barked to the beat. The sound was
symphonious, and Frank concentrated on burning the cantata into his memory,
refusing to forget the farm’s spiritual awakening at dawn.
He read the sign
above his pen: Surrogate Frank #28064105A, cloned, human brain. Even though 2
microchips with the same ID had been implanted under his skin—microchips identifying
him as property of Chetley Takes—escape might be possible before the officers
came to take him away, but it would be short-lived.
Frank’s memory
jarred, and he recalled watching the interview on OneNews with Katharine Moore
from the Cloning Institute. Much of Moore’s
dribble angered him, but one statement in the documentary caused his hackles to
raise above all the others.
She said, “The
brain in question belongs to Chetley Takes because he commissioned me to create
it. A surrogate, like FrankenPig, is like a storage unit. The storage unit
doesn’t own its contents, and Frank doesn’t own the brain he has kept for
Takes.” I may be transgenic, Frank thought, but the people at the Cloning
Institute are missing segments of DNA if they equate a living being with a
storage unit.
A buzz filled his
head. Last night along with his siblings and friends, he drank a bit of
homemade corn brew to help say “so long.” It was the first time Mr. Benjamin, his
caretaker, known as MB to friends, had given him any alcohol. MB said they all needed it and deserved it.
The feeling in Frank’s head this morning told him differently. Human vices are
not expedient for intelligent pigs.
Frank relished
every detail of his home. The hay smelled fresh, as always, since only the most
meticulous farmers worked at the cloning farms. Through the air vents the
sugary sweetness of the corn blew in along with the cool morning breeze. The
fragrance of a sugary, woody scent added to the breeze indicating that someone
on the farm had felled a sap tree. The chug-a-chug of the wood chipper in the
distance told Frank a woodsman proceeded to chip the wood. Frank could taste
these scents; combined they tasted like honey poured over thick, hot wheat
bread from the oven, bread like the farmer’s wives made and sometimes added to
his pig pellets.
Although the
morning breeze felt chilly, Frank was not cold, since the concrete floor was
warmed with radiant heat to a comfortable temperature. Through the open barn
door, the orangish eastern sun rose beyond a hazy fog. MB carried Frank’s
breakfast of pellets in one hand, and a suitcase in the other.
“Morning, Frank, I
think I packed everything for you.” MB said with a sadness reserved for such
days, “You’d best eat and take your bath.”
Frank measured the
whiff of alcohol emanating from his friend, and calculated his ally had just
started drinking. Frank walked over to the thermostat on the wall to set the
water heater temperature for his tub in the corner of his pen. While there, he
poked his nose through the rails to greet Miss Lou, his girlfriend. She nudged
him in return, showing only delight in the encounter. Lacking the ability to
understand human developments, she only understood it was morning—time to eat
and to bathe. She felt none of his sorrow.
Pigs, in general,
love baths, and Frank often considered grooming the best part of the day. Anticipating
the sun’s rays would soon beam through his window, Frank hoped he and Miss Lou
could snuggle and dry together on the fresh hay one more time. Dread chased
away the buzzing in his head with the realization this might be the last time
he’d stretch out in a warm puddle of light with his love.
While Frank waited
for warm water for his bath, he began to eat. Between bites, he murmured “I am
happy as a pig, and I wish to die a happy pig, but not anytime soon.” He eyed
Miss Lou gobbling her feed. How he loved her, and the thought of separation
from him took all joy from the best part of his day. MB scratched behind
Frank’s ears while watching his friend eat, and MB bowed his head with his eyes
closed, as if praying. Frank pretended to ignore the warm tear that made its
way through the hairs on his back and settled on his skin, but yet he felt
every bit of its lovable regret.
Frank checked the
temperature of the water with the tip of his snout and stepped down into the
bath while MB cleaned the stall. Another farmer attended to Miss Lou
accordingly.
After MB returned
with fresh straw, he knelt by the tub to apply the soap and worked the brush
around the Duroc’s svelte body. MB preferred the muscular, nimble Duroc to the
fat, flabby pink Hampshire breed, like Miss Lou.
MB worked soap
into Frank’s thick, brownish-red hair.
Wanting to break
the silence, the only thing Frank could only think to state the obvious. With a
quavering voice, he said, “Tomorrow in court I fight for my right to keep my
brain, not to keep a cloned brain, or a human brain, my brain.” He spoke with a
broken voice, “Thanks for all the baths together, man.” Sobs halted the next
thought, but then he said, “Like I said before, you must be a Roman
descendant.”
MB chuckled
despite his wet eyes. “Toga, toga,” he choked out an old joke they’d shared in
happier times. “Sorry, Frank, my emotions are muddled in my mind. Words lurk
dangerously—like poisonous mustard plants amidst the tall spring lettuce. There’s
just no way to digest the meaning of today’s events. Perhaps we should consider
this: If you don’t win in court, you will be one fine human.”
Frank winced and
said, “Please don’t mollify me. Even if I survive—if my brain survives the
experimental transfer—I don’t care to be that greedy hog.”
MB applied a warm
rinse in slow, circular movements “I
know. I just want you to understand there is no way to share understanding when
I can’t begin to understand. Understand?”
“Yes, I do,” Frank
said
The whine of the
blow dryer, the whoosh whoosh sound of the back-and-forth motion, and the hot
air vibrating coarse hair all worked together to quench the conversation. MB
dressed Frank in a suit for the drive to the city. No time to dry in the sun
today. They took that one last pleasure from him.
As MB straightened
the tie around Frank’s neck, Frank’s pig ears heard the vibrations of manly
footfalls which sent shock waves from the dirt path up his hooves and through
his pig body. His human brain fully comprehended the seriousness embroiled in
tomorrow’s deliberations, and he knew who had arrived.
One of the police
officers mockingly called, “Here pig, pig, pig.”
“Soooey, Frank
screamed through wet eyes. “Soooey, right back at you.”
MB chuckled and
wiped tears. He opened the gate connecting Frank’s pen and Miss Lou’s pen to
let her in for a visit one last time. The young sow trotted to Frank and
nuzzled him from his nose and all along his side, and then she playfully poked
him in the ribs. Then she stepped back and seemed to consider the suit. She
stared. Since she had proved herself to be, other than himself, the most
intelligent pig on the farm, Frank wondered if she understood on some level.
His heart felt a
swift stab, a new kind of heartbreak. He recalled the deep and intense pain
when they took his mother away to remove her heart for her commissioner, who
happened to be Chetley Takes’ uncle. In Frank’s thirteen years of life, he lost
other friends for like-wise purposes. This time, this intensely, horrific pain
magnified itself, not because he was scheduled to die, but because he alone
couldn’t bear the grief. He knew Miss Lou would miss him dearly. He hurt for
her.
The other pigs who
had been led away to die didn’t know what to expect. Frank understood. As he
prepared to go to the city, a surgeon sharpened his blade to dissect Frank.
Takes’ surgical team reviewed current information to harvest his brain. A
butcher intended to package his remains for Take’s dinner after his recovery. He
knew what they planned.
As knowledge
intensified his sorrow, a smirking, young police officer invaded his home, humming
and swinging a leash. Miss Lou darted to the back of the pen. MB stood beside
Frank and scratched Frank’s ears.
Theocop moved
beside Polease to shake MB’s hand. “I’m Theocop,” he said.
MB snappily
engaged in the human gesture and released himself quickly, squinting hard in an
effort to force back tears.
The young officer
did not offer his hand. “I’m Polease,” he chimed in with youthful discord,
folding the leash and slapping it on the palm of his hand. “Why aren’t the
farmers wearing air tanks?”
MB smiled at
Theocop. “The air is different in the country. We’re used to the odors, here.
You probably couldn’t handle it.”
Theocop shot the
youngster a stern look, and turned faced MB. The oxygen tank clicked and
exhaled between the officer’s words. “This is official business, so we are
using our One names for this operation. Allow me to introduce myself as
Theocop, Sergeant of district 5, and as the boy said, his name is Polease.”
Polease shrugged
at the sergeant and pulled folded papers from his jumpsuit pocket. “We’re from
the Dayton Police department, we’re and here to escort you, surrogate # #28064105A,
to the city for court tomorrow under the direction of a subpoena.” Polease
tried to hand the subpoena to Frank, but blushed slightly at having tried,
realizing Frank had no hands. Although Frank could have taken it in his mouth,
he had no intentions of making the young jabber’s job easier.
Theocop
stepped forward and stood behind MB. The sergeant’s eyes scrutinized every sty
around the perimeter of the room, and his fleshy, long ears twitched at every
sound.
Polease took a
microchip reader from his jumpsuit pocket. He moved it across Frank’s ribcage.
Just as Polease nodded an approval at the read-out, Frank read his girlfriend’s
intentions.
Miss Lou took a
step back, and only Frank noticed the look in her eye. Before Frank bothered to
say, “MB you better grab Miss Lou.” Frank stepped aside, not wanting to muss
his attire, and Miss Lou charged at the rookie.
As if she knew
where to direct an effective blow, she hit Polease in the back of his knees.
The young officer caught himself with the palms of his hands just before his
pointy nose met the straw-strewn concrete floor. He cursed, sat up, and picked straw
from his skinned palms. Noticing the sow had stopped on the other side of the
pen near MB, he inspected the hole knocked in his overall leg, stood, and bent
down to hold his bleeding knee.
MB said, “I got
her; oops, no I don’t.” Miss Lou charged a second time hitting the
lad in the rear sending him down again. MB called to nearby farmers, and
they scurried from nearby pens to help. Theocop pulled Polease to the far
side of the pen, and farmers shooed Miss Lou into her adjoining pen and shut
the gates.
Theocop failed to
hide a smirk. “Sheize, brush it off will ‘ya. Have a handkerchief.”
Frank squealed a
little squeal which MB understood to be Frank’s pig laugh.
“Uh,
sorry,” MB said while wiping away perspiration with his handkerchief.
Miss
Lou squealed several times loudly as if she were answering her piglets’ cry.
Her
mothering cry—directed at Frank—caused his tears of laughter to turn to
plain-old tears.
Polease stood up,
but upon noting that the finely dressed pig took two steps toward him, he
jerked his hands in front of his face, scooted back a few inches, and cringed.
He peeked at Frank between his fingers.
Frank kicked at
the leash—now laying on the ground—and grunted to clear his throat. He
protested with conviction, “You may put the leash to your pocket, now. I may be
a pig, but I have a human brain. Fully grown pigs do not walk with a leash
attached to a collar. It simply is not dignified.”
Polease
kept his distance and looked down at Frank. “Hey. The pig wants to look
dignified. Is that why you’re wearing a suit?” Polease asked while forcing a nervous
chuckle that sounded like a corn grinder with a bad motor.
Theocop folded his
arms across his chest and tried to explain their course of action to Frank.
“Look, we have orders, and they direct us to keep you safe and under control
while moving you from the farm to the city. Normally, we would handcuff you.”
“Yeah,
but, hey, you don’t have hands, do you FrankenPig?” Polease taunted while
licking his sketchy lips and squinting.
“And
you realized that when? When you tried to hand me the subpoena?” Frank asked to
embarrass him all over again.
“Look,
FrankenPig,” Polease began with as much authority as his shrill voice could
muster.
MB interrupted
with a teary chuckle, “His name is Frank. The press dubbed him Frankenpig like
some kind of software development, like a thing, or perhaps to play with the
idea of Frankenstein.”
Polease ignored
the explanation and waved the microchip wand over Frank’s head. While reading
the screen on the device he said, “I’m just surprised you’re not covered in
mud. But, hey, didn’t you clean up real nice for the trip to the city?”
Theocop stepped
sideways next to MB and mumbled, “Since the pig talks, I’d think he could
assume we has the right pig, sans electronic device to verify it.” MB nodded,
shook his head, and winked.
Frank
cleared his throat. “Allow me to educate you. Wild Boar, being the direct
relatives of various breeds of domesticated pigs, do not wallow in the mud, but
go swimming instead. Both pigs and boar are fine swimmers capable of great
distances. Swine, pigs, boar, whatever you want to call us, all love to be
clean.” Frank had walked to the end of the pen and turned to face Theocop. “Farm
pigs only wallow in the mud when they are not given access to large tubs or
bodies of water. Since pigs do not have sweat glands they use the mud to
protect their skins until you decide to make pork rinds.”
“I
love pork rinds,” was the only comeback Polease could concoct while turning off
the microchip reader. “Unfortunately, this is our pig.”
Theocop
placed his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you give up? Haven’t
you been raked enough today by the Little Miss Piggy?” He drew a deep breath
through the tubes in his nose and blew air from his mouth.
Theocop directed his attention to Frank.
“You’ll have to excuse Polease. We rarely move criminals or protect witnesses
in this day and age of PoliceRobots. He is a little excited. Look, they wanted
me to bring an animal control vehicle and put you in the cage. Honestly, I pled
extenuating circumstances to keep you out of the cage.”
Frank
cleared his throat. “You expect me to thank you for the humane removal? To play
along with your police posturing, I will agree to wear the leash once we arrive
in the city. However, since I’m willing to walk from the barn to the car
without any trouble, I don’t understand why you want to demean me in front of
my friends here on the farm.”
“Hey,
before we can even put the pig in the car, pork chops claims his rights as a
human. The jury’s out concerning your rights,” griped Polease. He breathed
sporadically from the tubing.
“Okay,”
Theocop agreed as he put the leash in his suit pocket. “Frank, have you said
good-bye to everyone?”
At
the word “good-bye,” Miss Lou let out another mothering call. She charged at
the gate, and the entire metal pen rattled all around from the force.
Frank
put his nose between two rails in the gate. He nuzzled his girl’s sexy, wet
nose and said, “I go to fight so we might both live and die of nothing other
than old age. No one dies alone, even if he dies solitarily.” After more
nose-rubbing, he said his beloved, “Parting is all sorrow.”
Frank turned from
his girlfriend who now sat with her head down. He answered the officer, “I said
my serious good-byes last night in private.”
Polease pulled out
the car keys. “More information than I want—way too much information. But a
pig-love video for MeTube might be fun, though.”
Theocop said to
MB, “We’ll let you two say one last good-bye. Meet you in a minute at the barn
door.”
Polease slid his
microchip reader into his pocket. He sneered at Frank and added, “But we are
watching.” Passing the gate, Polease postured with a clenched fist in front of
the trapped sow. Polease and Theocop walked out of ear-shot and stopped by the
open barn door.
Frank said to MB,
“These are temporary good-byes. I fully expect to win this court case and
return to my home. I intend to prove that animals should be granted rights,
too.”
Polease called,
“I’m certainly ready to return to the city,” he announced jingling the car
keys. “C’mon, FrankenPig, don’t be a pig in the poke.”
MB
walked toward the officers with Frank, shaking his head and rolling his eyes
toward the young officer. Theocop whistled his low whistle and said “Son, ‘Pokey
pig’ and ‘pig in a poke’ aren’t the same thing.”
“Actually,” Frank
shouted while moving in his direction, “I’m too real to be a pig in the poke,
and I do most things with alacrity.”
“Hey,
who is Alacrity, your other girlfriend?” Polease asked.
Theocop shook his
head at MB who kicked at the ground, smirking.
Frank joined the
officers, but turned look at MB and Miss Lou one last time. Frank yelled across
the barn, “Send the boy a dictionary from me, please!”
Squinting with
misty eyes through the open barn doors, Frank’s tears broke the sunrise into a
spectral work of art. He blinked to capture the swirls in the bluing sky as
they emerged past the green horizon. Would this be the last time he’d take in
the splendor of a morning on the farm, his home?
Walking through
the door, Theocop muttered to Polease, “Quit being such a swellhead and take it
down a thousand. If you think your going to bag on the pig in the car, you can bump
that! Understand?”
“Maybe,” Polease
said as he brushed some straw and dust from the torn pants leg.
MB and Frank
paused mid-way to the car, and he said to Frank, “Thanks for being a good
friend. Come back just as you are, okay, man?”
“Good plan from a
good man,” Frank replied quietly.
The
officers opened the car’s back door, and Frank jumped on the seat. In the
front, Polease and Theocop removed their oxygen tanks. Polease drove the car
with uneasy turns. Classical music meandered from the radio serenading the
trio.
For Frank, a car ride would have been pleasant
under different circumstances, but the back seat was too narrow for him to sit
like a human, facing forward. Frank’s suit felt particularly tight around his
crotch and neck, and the material made traction on the leather seat almost
impossible. He had to dig his front hooves into the seat to maintain a seated
position.
At every turn,
Frank was thrust forward and had to push with his snout against the back of the
front seat to scoot back into his place. Frank refused to get on the floor and
ride like a lesser being.
Theocop
looked irritated that the pig hadn’t settled down, and Polease grinned into the
rearview mirror just before he came to a turn or a curve in the road.
“He’s
gonna start askin’ how much longer pretty soon,” Polease cracked.
“You’re
just mad because his girlfriend dusted you. Quit before the referee counts to
ten,” Theocop said.
Eventually, Frank
realized sitting side-ways both helped to stabilize him and make the trip quite
enjoyable because he could look out the window.
They arrived at
their destination, the city’s only hotel. Theocop and Polease strapped on their
oxygen tanks. As the car door opened, Frank breathed in a stench that burned
the hairs inside his nose and dried the lining of his lungs. He began to
wheeze. His throat caved in, and from his throat he heard a sound like high
wind rushing through a crack in the barn. The thought crossed his mind that he
would not make it to trial. The sidewalk began to warp, jolted from one side to
the other, and it wove a strange pattern as he attempted to walk. The next
thing he knew, he saw at a bright light, even with his eyes tightly closed. The
backs of his eyeballs felt as if they might not ever move again, but then he
heard them move inside his eye sockets.
He thought he saw
his mother fly past and call his name.
Even now, he
couldn’t relate to his dad—a breeder who Frank thought of as just another boar.
Inside his head,
Frank shouted, “Tell Mr. Benjamin ‘thanks.’”
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