It wasn’t that long after I’d entered the seminary
Back then they let you go in at thirteen, fourteen
If it seemed to be God’s will
I was still getting used to waking up to the morning prayers
The hard kneelers, the Latin, the soft music
The serene face on the wooden crucifix
Suspended from the chapel ceiling
Between the stain glass windows
My stomach still growling at waiting until after Mass for breakfast
My knees just starting their calluses
It wasn’t that long, maybe a month or two in
That I was first assigned to farm duty
During the manual labor period
That time after lunch when we all did the jobs that kept the place going
I remember bouncing down the dirt road in the back of the truck
Quite an adventure for a kid from Peekskill
The farm was on the property
You could see the chapel up the hill
Brother Thomas ran it
His way of serving the Lord was to raise the pigs we ate for supper
We were all assigned our jobs
Some to dump what looked like a mix of bad apples and kitchen garbage into the food troughs
Some to shovel the shit out of the muddy pens
I’d never seen pigs up close before
They were loud and messy
But seemed basically satisfied with their lot
I stood around for a minute while the others got their tasks
Then Brother Thomas said “Come with me”
I followed him into a small cement building with a wooden roof
It really stank in there
Right away I saw why
In the middle of the room, hanging by its two hind hoofs from a pair of hooks
Was a pig
A large slash ran down its belly from top to bottom
And red gloppy stuff was still oozing out of its insides
Into a big tin pail underneath its head
Which was where the stink was coming from
I’d never smelled anything like it
Not all the stuff had hit the can and the floor was a bloody mess
I could tell it had just been killed
Because smoke was still rising from its insides
Nobody paid much attention to me for a minute
They all knew their jobs
Two of the bigger guys lifted the pail and took it out to dump it someplace
Then another of the upper classmen
A guy I didn’t know
Picked up a long hose with a thin metal nozzle
And sprayed the pig inside and out
He did the floor too
I saw the clumps of blood go down a hole in the cement
The whole room filled up with steam
Probably from the cold water being shot into the pig’s hot insides
Then Brother Thomas handed me a short knife
It was an old knife
Not rusty, but old
Wooden handle, metal blade
Seen a lot of use
And he gave me my task
Which was to shave the pig
He’d picked me for the job because I was tall
And could reach as far as the tail
If I stretched a bit
Pigs, in case you’ve never noticed
Are covered with pale, bristly hair
Kind of like Brillo but a lot thicker and longer
It was important, he explained, to shave the pig while it was still wet
He took my hand in his
And guided me through a few preliminary strokes
The hair resisted for a second, then gave
If you went against the grain
Which he showed me how to do
I remember his hand
Rough and hard
Then he stepped back and said “Now you try it”
I did, and after a few false starts
When it seemed like I was never going to cut anything
The hair gave and I started to get the hang of it
“Try not to cut into the hide” he said
“The meat will keep better if it’s not cut”
Then he went out into the sunlight
Leaving me alone with the pig
All the light in the room came through a pair of dirty windows
But I could see well enough to manage
So for the next hour or so I worked my way around the pig
Getting better at it as I went
It wasn’t that different from shaving myself
Which I was also just learning to do
I only made one cut that I remember
Up by the tail
Probably because I was stretching
And my arm was getting tired
By the end of the job I had pretty much forgotten about the pig
Or the fact that he’d been alive at lunchtime
And just focused on it as a job
I wanted to finish
The pile of hair on the cement floor kept growing
And I kept wiping off the knife
And my shoes too, which were a real mess
I had to clean up in the slop sink later
When the chapel bell rang
Signaling the end of manual labor
I wasn’t quite done
One last patch down near the throat
That I’d kept putting off because it was easier to stretch than to bend
But Brother Thomas said I’d done fine, he’d finish
And I went back to another truck ride and a shower and religion class
Where I sat at my desk in a clean white shirt
And black tie
And took notes for the exam
And learned about the merits of the crucifixion
The glory of Jesus’ suffering
And God’s mercy.
Back then they let you go in at thirteen, fourteen
If it seemed to be God’s will
I was still getting used to waking up to the morning prayers
The hard kneelers, the Latin, the soft music
The serene face on the wooden crucifix
Suspended from the chapel ceiling
Between the stain glass windows
My stomach still growling at waiting until after Mass for breakfast
My knees just starting their calluses
It wasn’t that long, maybe a month or two in
That I was first assigned to farm duty
During the manual labor period
That time after lunch when we all did the jobs that kept the place going
I remember bouncing down the dirt road in the back of the truck
Quite an adventure for a kid from Peekskill
The farm was on the property
You could see the chapel up the hill
Brother Thomas ran it
His way of serving the Lord was to raise the pigs we ate for supper
We were all assigned our jobs
Some to dump what looked like a mix of bad apples and kitchen garbage into the food troughs
Some to shovel the shit out of the muddy pens
I’d never seen pigs up close before
They were loud and messy
But seemed basically satisfied with their lot
I stood around for a minute while the others got their tasks
Then Brother Thomas said “Come with me”
I followed him into a small cement building with a wooden roof
It really stank in there
Right away I saw why
In the middle of the room, hanging by its two hind hoofs from a pair of hooks
Was a pig
A large slash ran down its belly from top to bottom
And red gloppy stuff was still oozing out of its insides
Into a big tin pail underneath its head
Which was where the stink was coming from
I’d never smelled anything like it
Not all the stuff had hit the can and the floor was a bloody mess
I could tell it had just been killed
Because smoke was still rising from its insides
Nobody paid much attention to me for a minute
They all knew their jobs
Two of the bigger guys lifted the pail and took it out to dump it someplace
Then another of the upper classmen
A guy I didn’t know
Picked up a long hose with a thin metal nozzle
And sprayed the pig inside and out
He did the floor too
I saw the clumps of blood go down a hole in the cement
The whole room filled up with steam
Probably from the cold water being shot into the pig’s hot insides
Then Brother Thomas handed me a short knife
It was an old knife
Not rusty, but old
Wooden handle, metal blade
Seen a lot of use
And he gave me my task
Which was to shave the pig
He’d picked me for the job because I was tall
And could reach as far as the tail
If I stretched a bit
Pigs, in case you’ve never noticed
Are covered with pale, bristly hair
Kind of like Brillo but a lot thicker and longer
It was important, he explained, to shave the pig while it was still wet
He took my hand in his
And guided me through a few preliminary strokes
The hair resisted for a second, then gave
If you went against the grain
Which he showed me how to do
I remember his hand
Rough and hard
Then he stepped back and said “Now you try it”
I did, and after a few false starts
When it seemed like I was never going to cut anything
The hair gave and I started to get the hang of it
“Try not to cut into the hide” he said
“The meat will keep better if it’s not cut”
Then he went out into the sunlight
Leaving me alone with the pig
All the light in the room came through a pair of dirty windows
But I could see well enough to manage
So for the next hour or so I worked my way around the pig
Getting better at it as I went
It wasn’t that different from shaving myself
Which I was also just learning to do
I only made one cut that I remember
Up by the tail
Probably because I was stretching
And my arm was getting tired
By the end of the job I had pretty much forgotten about the pig
Or the fact that he’d been alive at lunchtime
And just focused on it as a job
I wanted to finish
The pile of hair on the cement floor kept growing
And I kept wiping off the knife
And my shoes too, which were a real mess
I had to clean up in the slop sink later
When the chapel bell rang
Signaling the end of manual labor
I wasn’t quite done
One last patch down near the throat
That I’d kept putting off because it was easier to stretch than to bend
But Brother Thomas said I’d done fine, he’d finish
And I went back to another truck ride and a shower and religion class
Where I sat at my desk in a clean white shirt
And black tie
And took notes for the exam
And learned about the merits of the crucifixion
The glory of Jesus’ suffering
And God’s mercy.