SHORT FICTION: “The Mind of a Pig” by Ekaterina Sedia by Ekaterina Sedia A first shock of Joel’s life came when he saw a mirror for the first time. That elaborate affair of glass and wood was delivered to decorate Cassie’s room, and Joel approached it to investigate. He had not given much thought to his appearance, but assumed without ever considering that he looked like the people around him. He was conscious of some slight differences between himself and others, such as he walked on four legs, and did not speak. Still, he did not expect his reflection to be quite so grotesque. He twitched his snout, discomfited, and the creature in the mirror did the same. A real snout with a flat fleshy circle surrounding his nostrils. Joel surveyed slack ears, nothing at all like Cassie’s, the small eyes hiding in the folds of fat, a long corpulent body supported by four stubby hoofed legs, and a comma of a tail. Joel had seen enough picture books to recognize the image. A pig. He turned his back to the mirror and trotted away, his cloven hooves clacking on the hardwood floors of his home. He moved his legs carefully, afraid that an abrupt movement would shatter his heart, already aching as if from a blow. Joel pushed a door open with his forehead and lay in the straw bed of his pen. The pen took up most of the open porch of a great, old house, and Joel had a view of flowerbeds, bursting forth with blue of irises and red and black of tulips, and a vast green lawn. He needed to think. His discovery, as unsettling as it was, explained much. He now knew why Cassie and her father talked about him as if he were not there, and why newspapers were often snatched from under his nose. Most importantly, he realized why Cassie never acknowledged small signs of affection he offered. At least, it wasn’t about his personality. It was about him being a pig. His ears pricked up, and he raised his snout to inhale the smell of gas and hot metal. Cassie’s Dad came home. Normally, Joel was not very interested in the old man – he seemed more of an aged barnacle appended to Cassie’s loveliness than a being in his own right. This time, Joel watched him. Cassie’s Dad heaved his old body up the steps with the help of his cane, and spoke addressing a young man with a tape recorder in hand, who followed close behind. “I hope the tour of the farm assuaged some of your and your readers’ concerns. As you could see, it’s a perfectly scientific and humane operation.” “Yes.” The young man stopped and cocked his head. “But did you have any issues with patients being squeamish about their transplants? About these organs being grown in pigs?” The old man rasped a laugh. “You have to understand that people who need a transplant do not have the luxury of being squeamish. And think of the alternatives – would you rather receive a liver extracted from a human corpse?” The young man made a small non-committal sound and looked away. “You’re too young to remember it, but back in the day… ” Cassie’s Dad looked over the flowerbeds, his fingers tapping on the railing of the porch. “There was a lot of controversy over human cloning – human rights activists feared that people will be cloned only to harvest their organs. That never happened, of course – it is much easier to grow human organs in pigs, and there’s a whole lot fewer ethical questions. Animal Righters, of course, made a fuss, but they always do. Most of them don’t even know what they believe in.” “Why pigs?” “They are similar to us.” The old man smiled, and snapped his fingers at Joel. “Joel, come here, boy.” Joel trotted up, obedient, hoping that his dark unease did not reflect on his face. “Joel, here,” the old man said, “is a miracle pig. He has a human brain – he’s the only one of his kind. A real innovation. Hope your paper will enjoy this little factoid.” The young man rubbed his face. “A brain? Forgive me, Dr. Kernicke, but a brain transplant reeks of a bad joke. Why would you need a brain?” Cassie’s Dad rolled his eyes, and petted Joel’s sagging head. “Not a whole one. But you know that people suffer injuries, or – God forbid! – tumors. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a replacement frontal lobe in case you lost one?” The young man nodded. “I suppose. But what about personality?” Cassie’s Dad shook his head, impatient. “What personality? He’s a pig. He’s just keeping this brain warm, in a manner of speaking. It’s a blank slate. A person who receives Joel’s frontal lobe will eventually develop connections between his brain and the transplant, and gradually claim it as his own, regaining function as the time goes by. Brain tissue is just tissue until a human mind shapes it into something grander.” The young man turned off his tape recorder. “Doctor,” he said in a hushed voice, and gave Joel a sideways look. “How do you know that this pig is not sentient?” “Because pigs did not evolve with this brain!” Cassie’s Dad struck the boards of the porch with his cane for emphasis. “It’s like sewing albatross’ wings on a pigeon – it won’t make him a better flyer, and chances are that he won’t fly at all. Every animal is made by evolution, and all parts should fit together to function. Joel’s DNA says that he’s a pig, and thus he will remain a pig forever, whether we furnish him with a different brain or not. He has no other human equipment, such as neurotransmitters and sensory system, and thus he cannot make use of the brain. Interview is over.” The young man ran down the steps, traipsed across the lawn, and disappeared behind the bend of the driveway. A part of Joel wanted to run after the man, to seek his help, while the rest of his soul reeled, as if an abyss had opened in front of his hooves. Betrayed by the very people who took care of him and pretended to love him – surely, Joseph did not feel worse after being sold to Egypt! If Joel could speak, he would’ve called anathema upon the old man’s aging, balding head. If he could cry, bloody tears would have stained his face. Joel did the only thing he could do. He ran. The gravel of the driveway exploded from under his hooves in small, angry fountains, and the greenery of the hedge melted into a green smudge. He careened around the turn, just in time to see the young man’s car exhale a pungent cloud of exhaust and disappear behind the gate. Joel’s heart pumped harder than ever as he kept running. The metal bars of the gate came into motion, sliding, silent, smell of grease and black metal radiating from them. Through the opening, Joel could see a grey snake of the road, he could hear honking of the cars, he could smell an unfamiliar world that he had previously seen through the gate but never entered. Until now. Joel’s face thrust into the street, into the warm shimmering air filled with asphalt fumes, just as the gate slid into his flank. He could feel the pain of bruised flesh, followed with a jolt the likes of which he had never felt. Every muscle twitched with the searing shock that radiated from the metal grid of the gate. Then, it ceased. Joel planted his front hooves in the pallid grass that separated the gates from the sidewalk, and pulled. The pain renewed – another jolt, then another pause. Joel thought that he could smell burnt hair, but it seemed too inconsequential in the face of the necessity to free himself. He pulled and strained, until the next shock set his flank afire, radiating across his back and down every nerve. Joel looked outside, at the traffic that flowed by, oblivious to a pig stuck in the gates. The next shock exploded in his eyes, in a shower of white stars, and Joel saw no more. * * * * Joel woke up in hell. Before he even opened his eyes, he realized that he was paralyzed. He sent his muscles a signal to move, to close his mouth, but they would not obey. His throat and tongue felt dry as felt, and he could not swallow. His ears hurt. Joel opened his eyes. The white light sliced across his retinas like a knife, and he squeezed his eyelids shut. Cautiously peering into the whiteness through his sparse eyelashes, Joel discerned the shapes of people around him. They were dressed in white, and blended with the white walls, the instruments in their hands the same color as the chrome fixtures. The chrome fixtures that held his mouth open, thrust into his throat far enough to scratch it and make him want to gag. Steel shafts penetrated his ears, holding his head immobile. This is it, Joel thought. They’ve found someone who wants my brain – wants me. He swiveled his eyes around, half-expecting to see the perpetrator. He imagined him reaching greedily for Joel, an unholy gleam in his eyes. Cassie’s Dad came into Joel’s field of vision, moving his face closer. “You gave us quite a scare, Joel,” he said. “What were you doing, getting stuck in the gate? Did you want to get out?” Joel would’ve nodded if the mechanical gear did not prevent him. “Silly boy,” the old man cawed. “You got quite an electric shock, you did. Now, you just relax, and we’ll make sure that you did not damage anything.” Despite his discomfort, Joel breathed easier. It wasn’t the time, then. If he was lucky, the time would never come. With all his heart he hoped that the old man would find something wrong. Some imperfection that would let Joel live. The old man gave a signal, and his helpers, white-gowned people with their faces hidden behind white cloths, wheeled Joel’s table into a large, humming tunnel. Joel closed his eyes, and in his mind repeated the words he heard Cassie whisper before going to sleep. “Please Lord, have mercy on us all.” He thought a bit, and added, “Especially Joel.” Lord did not listen – perhaps, because Joel was a pig, and not a young girl with curly hair and eyes like blackberries. Af...
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