The barn was even bigger than I expected it to be, with each story around the size of a four-unit apartment. Over thirty pigs lived there, oinking and squealing away. I realized this world had no sense of hygiene—the barn was damn filthy, with flies buzzing all over the place.
It was a crap job (har har) that I wouldn’t want to touch with a forty-foot pole, but if I wanted food, then I had to get scooping.
The lady watched me for a bit. Once she seemed satisfied, she wrung out one of the cloths in her wooden bucket and began wiping down the pigs.
No matter how clean you make them, they’re just going to get dirty again when they lay down in the muck, I thought, piling the last of the pig manure into the barrels. That’s when I got my next job.
“No slacking off, you. Go gather up the dirty hay and toss it outside.”
“Hay?”
“Did I stutter? Hay! Replace it with new, clean hay. Don’t just stand there, move!” the lady snapped. I scrambled to do as she said.
✦ ✦ ✦
As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve done all sorts of part-time jobs. You usually got these older ladies from hell in smaller, family-owned workshops. They were as strict as could be and wouldn’t stop nagging. I wouldn’t really know what I was doing at first, but they wouldn’t waste time giving me an earful at the slightest newbie screwup.
One time, I landed a job making school uniforms in a downtown tailor shop. They were looking for people with experience, but since no one else applied, I ended up working alongside a bunch of housewives and other ladies who lived near the workshop. They all had some experience working at that shop, making me the only newbie.
I wasn’t the most skilled person with my hands; nothing I made was sellable, and I got reprimanded for pretty much everything. All this after the old guy running the place had gone out of his way to ask me for help since they were swamped.
After a week, though, the complaints stopped. Turns out that a factory full of mostly older ladies likes having someone like me around to do the heavy lifting.
It seemed like the lady in the barn was treating me about the same, making me do all the physical labor like shoveling the pig dung and cleaning out the dirty hay. The only thing she didn’t make me do was actually take care of the pigs.
I remembered reading somewhere that pigs were actually pretty smart animals. Even smarter than dogs, some people say. Maybe that’s why they gave me the cold shoulder, since I was at the bottom of the village’s social totem pole. Kept under watch by Gimul and constantly chastised by this older lady, I was lower than anyone who took care of them. Hell, the pigs probably had it better than me.
For the record, we’re not talking the soft and smooth pigs back home. I’d describe these guys more as a mix between a pig and a tusky, thick-and-bristly furred boar.
Me? Well, I had a loincloth. Lucky pigs.
Just as the lady told me, when I started hauling out the dung barrels, I found the “mound” right off the bat. It was a mass of mud, dirty hay, and poop fused into one giant hill of compost. I was afraid I’d get another walloping from the lady’s stick if I didn’t hurry, so I dumped out my barrel and diligently went back for the next one.
My back started pleading for mercy after about seven trips, so I stretched out and gave myself a few raps on the back to try and alleviate the pain.
“No slacking off!”
“Sorry about that, ma’am.”
“Who’re you calling ‘ma’am’?! I’ve got a wonderful name, and you better use it! It’s Gintanen!” she shouted, and gave my arms a quick, sharp whack.
“I’m sorry, Gintanen!”
That’s gonna bruise. I knew this kind of pain from all of my years of karate. It felt like the aftermath of blocking a middle-kick to the body.
✦ ✦ ✦
Lunchtime was still my one shining light. I worked more muscles in the barn, and I was all the hungrier for it. Instead of being taken behind the village chief’s manor to eat like usual, Gintanen appeared with a basket of food.
“You’re allowed to eat eggs from now on, so you better be grateful.”
“Thank you!” Now I got both baked potatoes and boiled eggs for lunch. “Thank you so much!”
I couldn’t even remember the last time I had eggs. I wasn’t big on them back in my old world because, you know, all the cholesterol. I think I remember reading that it actually didn’t really matter how many eggs you ate a day, but who knows with these things? Eh, whatever. These were going to be my first new-world eggs, so I couldn’t give a damn either way.
There were a total of three boiled eggs and three potatoes. I must be in heaven.
“Hey, you,” Gintanen suddenly spoke up. “What’s your name? Even the pigs have names. You must have one too, yeah?”
The pig who was related to most other pigs in the barn was called “Pampi,” in case anyone was wondering. That’s a pretty cute name you came up with there, Miss Gintanen.
I told her my name when I introduced myself, but it seemed like she didn’t remember.
“I’m Shuta.”
“Shooter, huh. Humph! Think you’re all that, do you? Hurry up and finish eating!” Her mood suddenly took a turn for the worse, and she gave me another hard whack on the head with her stick.
Dejected, I wolfed down my last egg, which promptly got stuck in my throat from trying to eat it too fast.