The Hollowed Tree

by R. K. Johnstone

  A great boar from this section of the city had stopped on one of the wider trails and was urinating from beneath a raised leg into the ditch which ran alongside. He wore a comfortable expression of satisfaction upon his face and hardly noticed at all the other warthogs who were passing by on the crowded trail and jostling up against him from time to time. Finished, he lowered his leg and moved on.

  He plodded on along this path until it ran into one of the city's wide boulevards. Here the noonday traffic was so heavy that the roadway appeared to be a solid, undulating mass of porcine flesh. There was no organization whatsoever to the directional flow, and so the hogs proceeded with much bumping of snouts and grunting and snorting. A cloud of yellow dust pervaded the air so thickly that visibility was severely impaired, and the respiratory faculties of the wheezing hogs operated only with great difficulty. The boar stuck his snout into the moving mass of traffic and joined it, turning to the left and heading away from the center of the city. He continued on this main thoroughfare for only a block or two before he detached from the heavy traffic onto a somewhat less crowded and narrower trail. He followed this a short ways until he arrived before a great mound. The elaborate architecture of this structure exuded an atmosphere of expensive luxury and newness. Over its entrance a fashionable sign declared its name: THE HERITAGE. Here our boar turned and entered. Inside, a good sized sow presided at the end of a well appointed lobby. Our boar paused, standing for a moment and surveying the scene. A couple of boars sat on their haunches in some plush straw to one side, conversing in low tones. Another, standing before the sow, turned and disappeared through an open entrance to one side, a towel over his shoulder. Seeing no familiar faces, our hog proceeded to the sow.

  "Good afternoon Mr. Swinson," the sow said with a prim smile as he approached. "The mud is an excellent consistency today. We did have some overflow runoff earlier, but the Routers have taken care of it. Only minor residual now. You shouldn't notice it much."

  Our boar frowned and snorted with displeasure.

  "I don't see why you can't keep the runoff out. If the Routers get here promptly, there should be no problem," he said petulantly as he counted out on an extended hoof some money, which he had drawn from a wallet worn about his neck. "It looks like poor design to me."

  "Oh," the sow hastened to reassure him, "it's hardly anything at all. You would never have even noticed it if I hadn't mentioned it."

  "I should hope so. I pay good money to come in here. I don't expect to wallow in filth off the trail!"

  "Certainly not!" said the sow, her mane bristling in a show of sympathetic indignation.

  Our boar took his ticket and went inside the locker room where he gave it to an attendant and received a towel. Having deposited his wallet in a locker, and donning a pair of dark sunglasses, our boar then stepped outside into a blinding sun. He stood for a moment on the hard-packed dirt pavilion. Perhaps two acres of yellowish mud stretched out before him, baking in the unobstructed sunlight from a clear sky. Twenty or so hogs wallowed either in small groups, speaking in low tones, or solitarily, half asleep. A low murmur of unattributable grunts and snorts rose generally from the scene. Three or four young attendants kept their eye on the wallow for any signs of drying. Periodically, they would run some water into the mud and then jump in themselves, mixing it to the desired consistency by means of vigorous movements of their great snouts.

  Our boar carefully scrutinized the patrons of the wallow, searching for a familiar form. His eyes came to rest finally on a solitary hog, the dried mud caked on his mottled back indicating that he had been there for some time. Our boar smirked. He lay down his towel and stepped off the pavilion onto a kind of walkway around the wallow. He plodded slowly along this walkway to where the hog lay and wadded out into the mud.

  "Well, well, Billy boy," he said sarcastically, "looks like you have indeed come along over at Cornfed & Bull. Is this one of the executive perks?"

  The enormous warthog lifted a languid eyelid, looked at our boar, and snorted contemptuously.

  "Who let you in?" he said. "I pay good money to come in here. I don't expect to have to associate with your kind!"

  Our boar guffawed gruffly and wallowed over in the cool mud to come face to face with the other, who had both eyes halfway opened and was staring somewhat sleepily down his snout between two curved tusks.

  "How's the commodities business? Made a million lately?"

  "Not this week," Bill said with a snort. "

  "Oh? They're compacting the Westside again. Should be looking up for you soon."

  "I won't hold my breath. You know as well as I do, Bort, that they never compact enough to counteract the competition that comes right along with it. What we need is a faster consumer base expansion. More warthogs. Without more warthogs we're just going to stagnate."

  This practice of "compacting" consisted of an abrupt increase, by two fold or more, in the number of burrows and mounds in a section of the city. Since the only vacant land was the uninhabitable, polluted savannah outside the city, this was accomplished by the expedient of dividing equally into halves or thirds each of the already small plots upon which the dwellings stood, and installing new ones. The warthogs looked most favorably on compacting due to its stimulating effects upon the growth of the Hawg City economy.

  Bort, for so our boar was named, sighed regretfully.

  "It just seems like the ignorant buggers down in Central City who're having seven or eight litters. They're going to take us over before it's over with."

  "Hawg Hoppers," Bill grunted with contempt. "I'll be glad when they get that new wing on the penitentiary put up. That'll take a lot of 'em off the street."

  Bort laughed. "Seems like you've done some Hopp'n yourself, if I remember correctly."

  "Propaganda!" Bill said in mock protest and drew his great snout back into his neck. "Pure, unmitigated, unadulterated, propaganda!" Despite these protestations, it was evident that this allusion to a wild youth pleased the middle aged hog immensely.

  Submerged in the cool mud, the two continued talking for a while, gradually ceasing and drifting off into half sleep. Some time later they were rousted from their somnolence by one of the attendants.

  "You're going to have to get out, Mr. Swinson. Routers are getting the ditches moving now. It won't be long."

  "What?" Bort grunted irritably and looked around the wallow. A variegated, oily sheen had spread over the surface of the mud, and hogs were climbing ponderously out all around the wallow. "Get out? Oh for crying out loud! Another overflow? Why can't these Routers get out here any quicker?"

  "They need to hire about twice as many of 'em," Bill observed pragmatically as they wallowed over to the side. "Have 'em out and looking for overflows. Get 'em proactive instead of sitting on their haunches chewing on old corn cobs and waiting for somebody to call them! They need to be moving about constantly, keeping these ditches flowing and draining out in the savannah."

  All around the wallow with much grunting and snorting the hogs stood scowling and stamping their hooves. Some began to drift towards the locker room.

  "Well, may as well call it a day," Bill said. "Check in at the office and head on home."

  "I hear you," Bort said with disgust.

  And the two hogs turned and proceeded down the walkway to the locker room.

  19. Young Warthogs Disporting in the Savannah

  In a clearing in the savannah grass some distance to the south of Hawg City a good sized crowd of adolescent warthogs congregated about a polluted wallow. In the center of the wallow lay an enormous hog, his tail erect, half-submerged in the soupy, variegated mixture. His snout lay as if floating on the surface, and the sides of his mouth were drawn back slightly in a smug grin. Now, as the rowdy young hogs crowded noisily about the wallow, there arose a great cheer accompanied by much whistling and stamping of hooves.

  Approximately an acre in size, the clearing gravitated gently on all sides to the depressed area in its center which formed
the wallow. The pollution general to the entire savannah was clearly in evidence, and the wet, soggy earth displayed a surface as colorful as a rainbow. Warthog dung, fresh as well as in various stages of decay, littered the soft ground, from which the grass had long ago been stripped away during frequent gatherings of a similar nature. The contents of the wallow itself comprised the combined effect of these ingredients.

  The crowd consisted mainly of young boars, although not a few sows were present as well. On its fringes the youths were engaged in all manner of vigorous social activities. Some--boars and sows alike--faced off in various combinations of twos and threes or more, butting heads and tearing and goring each other with their sharp tusks. Not a few bled from sizable gashes.

  Now, the young hogs directed their attention to one end of the wallow. Here the crowd had parted to form an avenue, at the end of which there stood a well built boar, flexing. A gold ring pierced his snout, flashing in the sunlight, and his mane was untrimmed and shaggy. With a cocky toss of his snout he shook his head, as if to settle his shaggy mane into place, and maintained with a carefully averted gaze an appropriately aloof air of detached superiority over the admiring crowd, especially the adulatory sows. Now, suddenly, this boar narrowed two beady black eyes in intent concentration upon the warthog lying in the wallow. The crowd hushed. Even the fighting hogs paused momentarily in their violence and strained to see over the backs of the heads of the crowd. Casting a single baleful glance upon the spectators, the boar grinned and pawed the ground. Then, with much grunting and snorting, he lowered his snout to the ground and made an abrupt and violent charge at the wallow.

  At the edge of the wallow the boar humped over gathering all his strength and leaped spectacularly into the air. From the crowd a roar of admiration arose; and when in mid-air the hog whipped his body so violently back and forth that his snout seemed nearly to touch his tail, the sows squealed with ecstatic delight. He descended easily at the opposite end of the wallow where he pranced vainly about, a cocky grin on his face, in an open area cleared for him by the respectful crowd.

  Meanwhile, another hog had already taken his place on the opposite side of the wallow. This second hog presented an appearance somewhat more well kept, thoughtful of mien, and though well formed, lacking in the heavy musculature of the first. The attention of the spectators devolved now upon this new participant. A tumultuous chorus of snorts and grunts, gradually increasing in volume, rose into the air. As this second hog pawed the ground and lowered his snout the grunting reached a crescendo and metamorphosed into a great cheer. Seemingly unaffected, the youth narrowed his eyes and gazed intently at the huge form wallowing in the mud. Abruptly, he charged. Like his predecessor, in mid-air this hog attempted to whip his body; it was evident, however, that he lacked the experience and expertise of the other, and he managed little more than an awkward wiggle, eliciting from the sows a response of correspondingly diminished enthusiasm. When he came down, moreover, awkwardly positioned now as a result of these failed acrobatics, he descended more heavily on one fore hoof than the other and somewhat off balance as well. The foreleg collapsed beneath his unbalanced weight, and he pitched forward, driving his grimacing snout forcefully into the mud. The momentum carried his rear hooves over his head in a full somersault, and he came finally to rest landing hard on his back in the mud, his sides heaving. Although he had some of the breath knocked out of him through the force of the fall, he quickly rolled over and staggered gasping off to make way for the next jump, for which a well appointed sow was just then setting up. A smattering of scornful snorts and some jeering laughter had cheered the inglorious conclusion of this jump, but the crowd almost immediately diverted their whole attention once again to the other end of the wallow. The injured boar stumbled painfully through them, ignored, wheezing heavily with the effort of regaining his breath.

  Some distance away he stopped and sat down on his haunches. Opposite him with his back to the crowd, the first hopper stood, watching, the shadow of a smirk playing about his snout. Squatting close beside him was a shapely sow. This pair had examined with the critical and unforgiving scrutiny of experts the entire sequence of events of the last hop, including its shameful denouement. Now this pair stood and approached the injured boar. With an air of casual superiority the boar with the nose ring addressed the wheezing youth:

  "Broke yer hoof?" this boar said as he approached.

  The injured boar, still wheezing for breath, looked up with sulking eyes.

  "Nearly broke it--" he said unhappily, "--I think."

  The other stood over him, the gold nose ring flashing in the sunlight. The sow maintained a respectful silence.

  "Now I can't make anymore jumps!" the injured youth said in frustration.

  The boar with the nose ring was unimpressed. With a supervisory air he swept the clearing with his eyes, as if ruminating over this remark. Then he looked down at the ground and kicked one hoof absently at a lump of mud. Glancing up, he said shortly:

  "Get up. Try and stand on it." Then he looked back at the ground, continuing all the time to work the mud clod with his hoof.

  Reluctantly the youth obeyed. He stood, careful not to place too much weight all at once on the injured hoof. He placed it gingerly on the ground, then leaned over on it slowly with his weight. He grimaced and snorted a bit as his full weight came to rest on the hoof. He took a few halting steps.

  "Looks okay to me," the boar with the nose ring said.

  The sow, whose entire attention was devoted to watching the boar with the nose ring, giggled.

  "I don't know, Slag," the injured hog said uncertainly. "My dad'll kill me if he finds out I been hawg hopping."

  Slag—for so this boar was designated—snorted contemptuously.

  "Worried yer going to get caught!" he laughed sarcastically. "Suit yerself. I'm make'n some more hops!"

  And with that, Slag and his sow turned and trotted back over to the wallow to set up for another jump.

  As the boar stood watching the departing pair, a diminutive voice addressed him from the side. He turned and observed a young sow approaching from the edge of the clearing.

  "Let's go, Bartruff," the sow said as she approached. This sow was a great deal younger than the others at the wallow. She had been sitting apart from the crowd all day, neither taking part in the events herself nor interacting with the others in any way whatsoever.

  "Aw, Betsy," the boar sighed dispiritedly. "What did you come for anyway? You got no business down here with all these hawg hoppers."

  "Neither do you," the sow retorted. "Dad'll kill us if he finds out we were down here!"

  "Go home then," Bartruff said harshly. "What I do is none of your business."

  "You're hurt, Bartruff. You can't jump anymore today anyway," his sister implored. "Let's go home."

  Bartruff looked away, ignoring the young sow, who had sat down on her haunches beside him and was staring patiently into the side of his head. He sat and sulked, watching the crowd, yet without comprehending the activities passing before his eyes. After some moments passed in this manner he became aware suddenly that some heretofore unnoticed activity was occurring.

  "Hey," he said, emerging from his preoccupation and lifting his head. "What's going on?"

  For some time now a second diversion had been competing with the hawg hopping events for the crowd's attention. At first a few of the warthogs on the furthest edge of the group had lifted their snouts high into the air, sniffing. Then others, further into the crowd, followed suit. A few, following the scent, began to drift absently towards the edge of the clearing, their snouts held high in the air. The activity had spread throughout the crowd until now nearly all of the hogs had their great snouts in the air. Even Slag, en route to set up for a jump, had halted and turned his back on the wallow, the jump forgotten.

  Bartruff and his sister lifted their snouts to catch the scent.

  "It's not warthogs," Betsy said with conviction, her eyes narrowed in concentration.


  Then, as if in response to this observation, a new development captured the attention of all the hogs. For at that moment the wall of grass towards which they were drifting parted suddenly and a boar burst forth unannounced into the clearing. So fast was the boar running, his snout held low to the ground, that he skidded to a halt before the advancing crowd only with difficulty, digging in his front hooves. He remained in a sort of half squat, rather than settling down normally on his haunches, as if to maintain a state of readiness from which to explode once again into a full speed run. He paused, gasping with excitement and looking wildly from one to the other of the gathered snouts.

  "It's a whole party of 'em!" he shouted breathlessly, his eyes ricocheting from one to another as if to address individually each of his assembled audience. "Come'n across the savannah! Lion, Bear--owl ride'n on an armadillo. Let's go!" And he appeared as if right then and there he would break into a full gallop.

  Slag shouldered his way to the front of the crowd.

  "How far away are they?" he said, directing a shrewd gaze of inquiry at the excited boar.

  "Just a few minutes' run, Slag! This way! Come on!"

  And then the boar, seemingly incapable of restraining himself a moment longer, spun about and burst into a run back the way he had come. Slag tossed his snout in the air and snorted.

  "Times wast'n!" he grunted.

  And with that, much snorting and grunting rose into the air as the entire crowd of hogs broke at once into a full gallop and charged into the wall of grass through which the excited boar had disappeared.

  20. An Assault

  It will be remembered that on the threshold of the savannah, Boston Bear had expressed a concern about the possibility of meeting up with warthogs. In fact, the somber but relatively optimistic tone of the bear's assessment did not do justice to the extreme anxiety which he felt at the thought of an encounter with these beasts. The last thing in the world he wanted was to meet up with a bunch of aggressive warthogs. It was not fear of any bodily harm he felt—between him and Percy they could easily run off a crowd of warthogs, and under other circumstances he might even enjoy doing so—rather, it was the delay such an encounter was bound to cause that disturbed him. For the presence of the litigious owl ensured that no incident, no matter how trivial or insignificant, would pass without prosecution to the fullest extent of the law. If an incident occurred, they would undoubtedly wind up wasting an enormous amount of time in the interminable deliberations and tedium of trying a case in Warthog Court.