At the center of the table lay the remains of the suckling pig, by far the most gruesome reminder of the evening’s progress. The bones had been completely stripped of meat, the entire spinal column visible. Little gobbets of fat were collected on the platter, mixed with the wilted pieces of parsley.

The only part of the creature that remained untouched was the face. The red cheeks, the empty eyes, the folded ears—all were just as they had started, lying on the cold metal, attached to a few bones glistening with fat.

Tom stared at the pig. He wondered about the rest of the litter, whether the brothers and sisters had survived, and if so, what had become of them. He wondered about the mother, too. What a life, he thought. Only a few weeks long, at best. Born to be devoured and nothing more.

He sipped his drink. A cloud moved and the pig’s face brightened. The image was ghastly, but it didn’t bother him so much. It made him think about the outlines of his own time on earth. On either end of his consciousness the edges resolved. The past tapered to nothing, the future tapered to nothing, and his hours became like a bright, tented wedge in the blackness. His boys, Elaine, Lana, all of them were there. And soon a new one would be coming, too, starting its own path from darkness to darkness. He and the new one would overlap only briefly, though. He was so far ahead he’d barely catch sight.

The moon dimmed and the shadows deepened in the pig’s eyes. Tom sat perfectly still. He could tell he was entering a new country now, a solitary country, and up ahead the devouring maw was almost in sight.

The pig’s remains gleamed in the darkness. Tom bowed his head and raised his glass. An ice cube popped.

It was late. The birds would be waking soon. He drank.

Words and Things

WORDS AND THINGS

AFTER TWO INTERVIEWS, neither of which were recorded and both of which took place at frowsy, dimly lit old-man bars, Jen still couldn’t tell whether David, the critic, was gay or what. It didn’t seem like it, although by all indications he probably was: good listener, well-groomed, verbal. But somehow, the way he looked at her and nodded and encouraged her to keep talking, drawing out all her best stories, it felt like something more than just professional interest on his part, maybe even more than just being friendly and well-bred and gay.