The Truffle Hunters
For Duroc, who complained that there aren't enough stories with pigs in.
The 2CV bumped and skidded along the farm track, past olive trees and fields of lavender. Brioche trailed a paw out of the window and sniffed the smoky autumn breeze.
"Aupres de ma blonde, qu'il fait bon, fait bon, fait bon! Aupres de ma blonde, qu'il fait bon dormir!"
Choufleur, trotters resting lightly on the wheel, rolled her eyes but said nothing. The dog gave an exaggerated shrug to indicate that he cared not a jot for her opinion, and sang louder.
Today I'll say something, definitely, he vowed. Well - if we have a good day. Then she'll be in a happy mood. If we find...if we find ten truffles, I'll ask her. Ten. No! Twenty.
"We're here!" Choufleur broke in to his thoughts. Brioche bounded from his seat and ran round to the other side of the car, but she had already opened her own door and exited without his assistance. She shook her head at him.
"Too slow, my chivalrous knight!" she snorted.
An old donkey was shuffling towards them across the cobbled farmyard.
"You must be the truffle-hunters. Welcome! I have heard good things of you."
"We're a good team," Brioche said, shaking himself so his ears flapped.
"I'll take you to my orchard." His pace was agonisingly slow for Brioche, but Choufleur walked patiently beside the donkey, hearing the history of his family's farm, the no-good brother who had run away to sea, and the big storm which had destroyed half his vines two years ago.
The orchard was really just a small field with a few elderly cherry trees providing shade. Pig and dog surveyed it with the eyes of experience. They made for the back of the field, where the trees were oldest and the ground least disturbed, and tossed a coin to choose sides. Brioche won and picked the sunny end.
"You're generous," she said. "Truffles like the dark and damp, remember?"
"I'm just confident," boasted Brioche.
"Is that so? Well. Last to find one walks back to the farmhouse to fetch the drinks."
"You're on!"
Brioche commenced by looking for spots bare of plant life, where the ground appeared burnt. He found a likely patch and tested the soil with his feet to see how soft it was. Crouching, he used a small trowel to lift a clod, which he sniffed, then tasted. Was there a faint tang of cocoa there? He turned the earth over with his fork, his nose wiggling constantly.
He was interrupted by a squeal of triumph, and turned to see Choufleur brandishing a black lump of truffle. He rose stiffly, with one paw on the small of his back; it was hard work, all the stooping and bending.
"Drinks are on you!" Choufleur crowed.
"Fine! I wanted a break anyway!"
Brioche threw down his fork and marched off towards the farmhouse in mock dudgeon. The donkey, in shirt sleeves, was working on his tractor, but straightened up when the dog approached.
"Water, is it? I can do better than that. Sit on the bench there and I'll fetch you some wine."
The wine was red and vinegary. After his first swig, Brioche added water from the jug.
"Sit by me a minute," the farmer said. He took a pipe from his pocket and lit it, after some noisy sucking and sputtering. "Now. I've seen truffle-hogs before, of course, but you're my first truffle-hound. Tell me, why d'you do it?"
"My father and grandfather..." he began, but the donkey shook his head.
"I mean, what do you get out of it? Sows, you know, they do it because the scent of the truffle reminds 'em of a boar when he wants some," he said, resting his hoof in his lap and making a thrusting motion. "But it's not that way for dogs, surely?"
Brioche jumped up and grabbed both carafes, the water and the wine, tucking two glasses under his arm.
"I must get back to my friend," he said. "She'll think I'm being lazy!"
Choufleur had found another truffle by the time he returned. They paused to drink together, Brioche mentioning neither the wine he had already had nor his conversation with the farmer. Digging was hot and thirsty work, but now they had stopped they noticed the chill in the air. Choufleur's bare shoulders were ham-pink with cold.
"Here, let me rub some salve on you," Brioche offered. She submitted willingly, pulling her dress down at the back so he could slather her almost hairless skin with petroleum jelly. She stretched like a cat under the touch of his pads.
"Your skin is like silk," he told her.
"Don't forget your nose." Pulling away, she dabbed a blob of salve on the end of his muzzle and rubbed it in.
"What about my other delicate bits?" He angled his hips forwards.
"They're never exposed to the air! Or to a bath! Now get back to work!"
It was always like this: she'd flirt up to a certain point, then close herself off when he went too far. Four years they'd been working partners, for three and a half it had all been fine, then Brioche's fondness for Choufleur had changed out of nowhere into something more and the last six months had been torture. Four years and she had never given a hint that she liked him. But she hadn't gone out with anyone else in that time, never for more than a date or two. So he had a chance. Hadn't he?
Brioche retreated to his own corner of the orchard. Choufleur had dug up a third truffle by the time the dog found his first. Then her luck ran out for a while, and he caught her up. By lunchtime they were on four each, neck and neck.
"One more before we eat?" Choufleur called over.
"And I bet I find it first!"
No sooner had Brioche said the words than he caught a faint scent. He cast around and dropped to his knees, sifting the soil with his bare paws.
It was small, but it was definitely a truffle. Brioche carefully lifted it, and glanced across to Choufleur, digging intently with her back to him. He cupped his palms and thought. Win the wager? Or...
Quickly and furtively, Brioche held the truffle to his armpit and rolled it around against the skin, then transferred it to his left paw and did the same under his right arm. With another backwards glance, he slipped his paw inside his overalls and gave his groin the same treatment.
He examined the remains of the truffle. Not much use to the farmer now. He popped it into his mouth and crunched it down, uncomfortably aware that several euros' worth of profit was disappearing down his throat.
They ate their bread and cheese in the sunlit farmyard. Choufleur supplemented her meal with a few radishes, which Brioche refused.
"For four years I've been offering you my radishes, and you always turn me down!" the pig chided.
The first answer to pop into Brioche's head, he would never have dared utter. The second was "I would if you'd feed them to me."
He knelt at Choufleur's feet. Tutting, she held a radish to his muzzle, and he took it gently between his front teeth. He chewed twice and swallowed.
"You look very sweet, down there," said Choufleur. Brioche put his head on one side and stretched his neck, his lips shaped for a kiss. To his surprise and delight, the pig leaned down and brushed her mouth against his.
"Choufleur." He hugged her knees. "I've liked you for a long time."
"Oh, Brioche. You should have said."
"I thought..." But the dog didn't get to complete his sentence, because Choufleur was kissing him, her arms around his chest. They knelt together in the straw-strewn yard, Brioche's tail wagging wildly as the sow's snout pressed his cheek and her teeth clicked against his own. He threw six months' worth of passion into his kiss, passion stored and hoarded against the cold like a harvest. He moved closer, rubbed his chin against her neck, and reached to nibble her ear.
Then Choufleur was pushing him away, shoving his chest with both trotters, and the smack of the cold cobbles under his bottom stung less than her rejection. Her eyes were so bright with anger, he lifted a paw in case she was going to hit him.
"That smell!" Her snout twitched. "What have you done? You tricked me!" She stamped her foot. "To laugh at the pig! The way everyone always laughs at the pig. Because pigs aren't allowed to be sexy...pigs aren't allowed...to fall in love..." Her ears were crimson with anger or embarrassment, and her eyes welled with water.
"No - it's not like that." Brioche clambered to his feet. "You always brushed me off when I tried to make a move. The old farmer told me about the scent of the truffles, how they smell like a male pig, and I thought it might make you like me."
"I thought you were just fooling around, you...you fool. Why would you like me?"
Brioche thought desperately. He didn't know what chemical had turned fondness to attraction for him.
"You're kind," he said, "and funny. You put up with my nonsense. You're practical." The more he spoke, the clearer it became that there could be nobody other than Choufleur for him. How could there? "You're strong, and you're beautiful, although you hide the shape of your body, and you have a warm heart, but you shut yourself off as if you've been hurt in the past."
"I have been," Choufleur said quietly. "More often than you can imagine. But you mean it. You really mean it. Don't you?"
Brioche, still panting with the effort of his speech, nodded without getting up from where he lay sprawled the cobbles.
"I like you too," she said softly. The old twinkle had returned to her eyes. "But I think we should find out whether that's just the truffles talking. Don't you?"
Before Brioche could move, she had grabbed the hosepipe from its coil on the wall and turned the tap, aiming the nozzle at her friend. Normally Brioche would have dodged out of the way, but today was not a normal day. Today he stood meekly and allowed himself to be drenched. He deserved it for the sneaky trick he'd tried. He rubbed under his arms as if showering, removing the alien scent of truffle from his skin. Choufleur was so taken aback that she stood still, playing the water over him for several moments before cranking the tap closed again.
"You fool!" she said again. "You'll freeze!" Being Choufleur, she carefully drained and replaced the hose before running to him. She put her arm around his shoulders and hurried him to the 2CV, wrapping him in the old blanket from the back seat and turning on the ancient heater with its smell of summer dust.
"You wait there while I give the farmer his truffles and get our pay," she told him.
"No problem," Brioche replied through chattering teeth. "I've waited this long - I can wait a little longer."