Liberty (2 page)

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, it's all very well to know about the wider world. Escaping from a pigsty is another matter. Penelope and Santiago talked about escape every night, but they had no idea how to get out of the sty. They couldn't climb over because pigs can't climb; they couldn't dig under because pigs can't dig.

“Be patient,” Penelope advised. “We'll figure it out.”

The only bright spot in their days was the farmer's wife reciting poetry while she worked. She was memorizing Coleridge's “Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” a story of tragedy on the high seas. The stirring words hardened Santiago's and Penelope's resolve. “We will sail.”

Yet Penelope was also having second thoughts. What would the wider world be like? All she knew was this farm. Sometimes when Santiago talked about leaving, a shiver of fear ran down her spine. The outside world was a vast unknown. If they could leave tonight, would she go? It's one thing to know you have choices; it's another thing to make the right choices.

Meanwhile, lunchtime became a torture. The grandchildren loved to play cruel tricks on the pigs, especially the oldest grandchild. Skinny Yates liked to climb on the sty's fence posts, then balance and walk the cross-pole to the next post. The other grandchildren shouted their approval. For each successful trip from post to post, Yates rewarded himself by stopping and throwing things at the old boar. Small sticks, old corn cobs, clumps of dirt, or acorns.

He just wallowed deeper in the mud and ignored Yates, so Yates switched to throwing things at the piglets. They squealed and ran about, making the grandchildren squeal and run about, too.

But one day the farmer caught Yates throwing a corncob at a scared piglet. He whipped his grandson and told him to leave the piglets alone. But the farmer didn't say anything about yearlings.

Penelope at least had a larger pen to run around in. Or she could lie amongst the piglets, and Yates couldn't try for her. Santiago, however, had no mud in which to wallow and no place to hide in his tiny corner sty. While Yates played, Santiago stayed alert, dodging the inevitable missiles. And Yates grew madder and madder as his throws missed.

One day, the grandchildren laughed and teased Yates. “What's wrong? Can't you hit him?”

Yates disappeared into the woods and came back with a stack of bigger sticks to set beside Santiago's sty. He picked up one in each hand and climbed the fence post.

Santiago backed as far away as possible, but he couldn't escape.

Yates threw.

“You got him!” one grandchild yelled.

Santiago charged at Yates, slamming into the sty poles. Yates had nothing to worry about; the sty was sturdy and would hold against even the old boar's charges. Santiago lapsed into a sullen anger. He turned his back to the children and buried his head in the corner of his sty.

The grandchildren laughed, and Yates threw more sticks. At least ten sticks were direct hits on Santiago's back.

Penelope hated Yates's smile of triumph. She didn't know how Santiago took it all so calmly. He just sat and took it until the sticks were all spent. Because he refused to react, eventually the children became bored and left.

That night, Santiago refused to sleep. “Not till I find a way out of this sty,” he muttered to Penelope.

He worked on the fence, shoving poles up, then down, banging them around in his frustration.

Penelope studied the poles, trying to figure out how they worked. Tilting her head, she suggested, “Try pushing that pole toward my father.”

Surprised by her suggestion, Santiago said, “You understand things, don't you? Together, we will figure this out.”

Pleased with the comment, Penelope urged him on. “Try it.”

Santiago braced his hind legs and shoved the cross-pole in the direction Penelope had indicated. “It moved!” he cried. He pushed and pushed until the pole almost fell out of the fence posts. “Look! If I can do that to the top two poles, I'll be able to escape.”

Astonished, Penelope whispered, “We're going to sea.”

But the old sow pushed Penelope down and studied the fence poles herself. “I've been watching you. I know what you're planning to do. You think you want adventure?” she said to Santiago.

Penelope worried; she wanted her mother's approval, but she was determined to leave, no matter what.

“Of course, we want adventure,” Santiago said.

“It'll make you happy?”

“Yes.” The white blaze on Santiago's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“And you want to take Penelope with you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Santiago stood straighter. “Together, we'll have a life of adventure.”

“Come here,” the sow commanded. “I don't see very well.”

Santiago walked closer, but the sow waved her foreleg for him to come even closer. He finally stopped a nose-length away.

Penelope held her breath. The night sounds were familiar: her father's snores, the barn owl's hoots, and the crickets' chirps. Would she get to leave it all behind?

The sow squinted. Her dark eyes wrinkled with the effort, leaving dark furrowed shadows, like a mask of suspicion. “You're so confident,” she scorned.

“No. So desperate,” Santiago murmured so low that Penelope barely heard.

“Ah.” The sow's face cleared. “That's why you'll succeed.”

Penelope felt like dancing across the cross-pole herself; her mother approved of Santiago. Penelope put her front hooves back on the top pole, so she was shoulder to shoulder with the sow. Together, they studied the Berkshire pig. Did her mother see what she saw? To Penelope, Santiago wasn't just another pig. She liked his new ideas, his sense of adventure, and his willingness to go new places. And she understood his desperation because she felt it, too. “We'll be okay, Mother. The wider world will be—well, more than life in a sty.”

“Much more,” Santiago said with confidence.

The sow nodded. “Excitement alone might be enough at first. But in the end, you know, you'll want more. When the excitement wears off, remember this: how you live your life is more important than having adventures.” At their skeptical looks, she broke off. “Ah, but you won't listen to me.” She dropped down from the fence, waddled back to her piglets, and lay down again.

Penelope whispered to Santiago. “Let's go. Right now.”

“No. I want one more showdown with Yates.”

“Why?”

“When I escape, they'll look for me—for us. If we can make it look like Yates' fault, they won't look so hard for us. Instead, they'll just fuss at him.”

Against his black hide, Penelope couldn't see the bruises from Yates stick throwing, but she knew there were many. It was only fair that Yates took the blame. “Escape. That's the important thing.”

“Yes,” Santiago agreed. “I'll be free.”

“We'll be free,” Penelope echoed.

Penelope couldn't shove the sty poles from her section because they were longer and heavier. She had no choice but to wait for Santiago to choose the time. But she worried about Santiago's desire for revenge.

The next day, the sun was so brilliant and hot that even Penelope was forced to squirm into the muck to keep cool. Santiago had only the thin shade of the fence, so he paced around his triangle first from east to west, then west to east. As the heat grew, the biddy-hens settled in dusty spots, and the lambs dozed in fitful morning naps. Only the angry drone of bees filled the farmyard. It was like the entire farm was watching, waiting. Mud caked and cracked on Penelope's back, and still Santiago paced, hot and miserable and determined. Finally, when the sun was directly overhead, Penelope heard the kitchen door slam.

Santiago positioned himself by the sty post, his front legs fixed and stiff. The grandchildren lugged four buckets of slops to the sty. Yates wasn't carrying a bucket. Instead, he pranced ahead and leaned on the fence to study Santiago.

“Today, pig,” he said, “I'll get you good.” He patted his pockets, which were bulging.

Dark eyes glittering, Santiago gazed steadily at the boy.

The other grandchildren poured lunch into the troughs and watched the piglets erupt from the mud. Then they waited for the real show to start.

Watching Yates pull a pine cone from his pocket, Penelope felt a sudden tenderness. For all their talk, she and Santiago might never have made the effort to escape without Yates. They had needed his goading to get past their fears of the outside world. In an odd way, he'd done them a favor by mistreating Santiago. And now, the—what did Mrs. MacDonald call him?—the “dear boy” would get what he deserved.

Yates wiped his hands on his overalls and climbed up the sty post. His bare feet were dusty, but his skinny toes clung to the narrow cross-pole. He held his hands out for balance and danced lightly to the middle of the pole. Then he hefted two pinecones.

Santiago rose on his hind legs and put his hooves on the cross-pole.

Yates drew back an arm and took aim.

Santiago shoved the pole. It fell, toppling Yates.

“Get out!” Penelope yelled. “Go!”

Santiago shoved the second pole and it fell, too, right on top of Yates. The young boar dodged Yates, who was struggling to sit up, and then stepped over the bottom pole. Santiago turned back to Penelope. “Look for me by moonlight.”

“By moonlight,” Penelope promised.

By the time Yates managed to stand, Santiago was off and running. He led Yates and the grandchildren on a merry chase. Through the chicken yard—Squawk!—where white feathers flew. Under the sheep fence—Baa!—scattering the lambs around their pasture and back out again. Finally, Santiago dashed for the woods and disappeared.

Penelope was left to worry. She hung over the sty fence, trying to see what was happening, until her legs ached and her chest was sore from rubbing the pole. Where was Santiago?

About mid-afternoon, Yates and the grandchildren trudged back, empty handed, to the farmhouse. The kitchen door slammed—Bam, Bam, Bam, Bam, Bam—as each child took their turn going inside.

The wind stirred the trees and bushes at the edge of the woods. Where was Santiago? Was he safe? Penelope's gaze darted from bush to bush.

At last she saw his head poke out of a bush, nod once, and then disappear. Penelope sighed with satisfaction. When the moon rose that night, she would be free. Suddenly, Penelope realized she'd been so worried she hadn't eaten lunch. She dropped down and trotted over to snuffle at the scraps the piglets had left.

A few minutes later, Farmer MacDonald stomped out to stand and glare at the empty triangle of the pigsty. “You'll have to find him.”

Head hanging, Yates stood barefoot beside him. “He's long gone by now.”

“Maybe the old sow and boar still have a couple more litters in them,” the Farmer said. “They've never caused me any trouble.”

Penelope caught her breath. Maybe their escape would gain her parents a longer life.

Yates said nothing.

“Berkshires are the Queen's breed, you know. Expensive,” the farmer said. “Find him. Or, you'll pay.” The farmer slapped the boy's back.

Yates could do nothing but nod. When Farmer MacDonald went back in the house, Yates went back into the woods. For several hours, she heard him yelling and stomping about, but Santiago was well hidden.

When Mrs. MacDonald called Yates for supper, he went inside and stayed.

Night came softly. Penelope watched for Santiago, and he came for her by moonlight. But Penelope hung back, worried.

“Did you see Yates crying behind the hen house?” she asked.

Santiago hung his head. “Yes. I'm sad for him, but it was the best way to get free. You heard the farmer. He'll make Yates pay, and that means they'll stop looking for us.”

Was that right or wrong? Penelope didn't know enough about the world to decide. For now, she was just ready to leave this old sty behind.

Together, they shoved the top cross-pole out of her section of the sty. It fell with a clatter. A thrill of fear shot through Penelope. It would wake the farmer! Or the dog! Or her father!

But her father's grunty snores held steady. The farmhouse and farmyard were still.

An owl called from the woods. Penelope flinched, but said steadily, “Try the next pole.”

Santiago shoved at the second pole, but somehow it caught.

“Climb over,” Santiago urged.

“Pigs don't climb.”

“Sailors climb up and down ropes. If we're going to sail, we've got to learn.”

So Penelope gritted her teeth and put her front hooves on the second pole. She heaved, but fell back. Oddly, she felt something under her rump, pushing. She scrambled until her back legs found the bottom pole. Then she shoved hard. She fell over the sty poles, onto her snout. Her eyes teared up in pain, but she shook it off. She was out of the pigsty for the first time in her life! Free!

Turning, she saw Runt looking through the bottom poles. Maybe all the piglets weren't as silly as they sounded.

“Thanks.” Impulsively, she whispered to Runt, “There's a wider world, and we're going to find it. Make sure you escape before the red wagon comes back in the fall. Ask the birds. They know where to find the wider world.” It was hard leaving her family behind knowing their fate, but warning him was all she could do.

“I'll find the wider world,” Runt said confidently. “If you can do it, so can I.” With that, he scampered back to the pack of piglets.

“You'll have to learn to climb better than that,” Santiago said. “We can practice while we cross the countryside and find the ocean. Come.”

“Wait.” Penelope turned back to the sty one last time.

The old sow rose, shaking off the piglets. Like a boat in heavy seas, she listed from side to side as she waddled to the edge of the sty. “You're leaving me, then, dearie?”