Excerpt: One Summer in Tunguska

When the Cossack Captain ducks out to use the latrine, Ilya sits back with his face in his hands. He is mortified and too unsure of what comes next. His mother scowls and grumbles to herself, trying to eat a little of the strew while she can. The only words that he can make out are “idiot” and “son”. Ilya’s father just sits at his end of the table babbling the same incoherent English word salad that he has been for the last ten minutes. What am I going to do? Ilya wonders. How am I going to get out of this?
He feels a tugging at his leg and looks down. Sybil has nosed her way into the house and has been hanging out under the table. The big old sow grunts sympathetically, bites his pant leg again, and tugs. She starts to waddle toward the door, glancing back over her shoulder every few seconds. It takes a long time for Ilya to realize that he should be following her. He slips from his seat, noticing how his mother and father pay his fleeing no mind. How long, he wonders, before the Cossack Captain returns from the latrine? Certainly he will notice his absence from the dinner table.
Just outside the door, Sybil rears up, bucking a bit like an angry wild horse. She heaves her fat body up into the air a couple of times, coming down almost as fast as she has come up. Sybil also keeps nudging Ilya in the leg, nodding her head, sweeping it down toward the ground over and over again. Ilya stares at her, wondering what all the contortions are about. Eventually she squeals loudly, wildly. Concerned, Ilya gets down low to the ground, crouching scratching her behind the ear. “Poor old girl, what’s wrong?”
“Listen,” Sybil says in a stern gravelly voice. “Listen, some weird stuff is going to happen. Just go with it.”
Ilya stares into the old sow’s dark eyes. “Uh… Umm… Whatever you say?”
“Don’t give me this pig shit about being surprised. Did you really think I couldn’t talk? All the signs and symbols scratched into the dirt are just part of the act. Better showpigship that way. Didn’t you learn anything from the Colonel?”
Ilya realizes that Sybil is speaking in some mangled, strangled, pig English.
“But what do you mean by ‘weird stuff’?”
“You know, strange. I’m not sure what it is about these Cossacks but they are hooked into something quite out of the ordinary. Watch your step around them. But go with it, let it happen—see what you can take away from the experience. Maybe think of it as an opportunity to do some personal growth.” Sybil snorts again and starts to wander off.
“But…” Ilya’s voice catches in his throat. “Wait! How will I know? What do I do now?”
Sybil turns her head back to look at Ilya. “I may be a fortune telling pig but I don’t have all the answers. Now get your ass in there and do what you need to do. You’ll play your part when the time comes. But right now the part is playing you.” Sybil grunts and squeals and trots off, shaking her massive old sow body.
Ilya lets himself back inside, more paranoid than ever.