I pour the first beer into Cheeky’s trough. She guzzles it and burps a big, long burp. I can’t help but laugh at her glazed eyes.

Sabelo comes out of the house holding the machete against his leg. Mister Bhele is shouting after him, “Be strong, my boy! Shoot true!”

I pour the next bottle into Cheeky’s trough. She throws herself against it and sucks up the beer loudly. Then she stares blindly at Sabelo as he returns with my father’s machete. She utters an even longer, louder burp than the first one.

Sabelo laughs softly and tickles her ear.

Cheeky eyes the last beer on the edge of the feeding trough. She tries to jump up at it, but loses her balance and tips onto her bum. She seems to grin up at us, her eyes golden from the frothy alcohol.

“Nolu,” Sabelo says, frowning. “I just thought of something. What about the gunshot?” He points at the other four pigs behind the zinc. “Won’t it upset them?”

I’m also worried. “My dad usually does it all very, very quietly, so the other pigs don’t panic,” I say. Then I check the time. Six thirty seven. “Can you put your music up?” I ask him.

Sabelo takes off up the hill for the third time tonight.

I shout after him, “Make it super loud!”

I lean over the wall of the pen and lie to Blackie, Pinkie, Grumpy and Spot. “We’re going to dance, my dears,” I say.

The music turns thunderously loud. Incha incha incha …

‘I thought you were enough, but I wan’ another lover …’

I pour the third bottle of Omo beer into Cheeky’s trough. She tries to walk straight, but swerves off to the left. I carry her tray to her. She guzzles it and sighs. Her eyes are like the eyes of the men I’ve seen stumbling from Bra Radebe’s shebeen.

Sabelo appears at my side and watches Cheeky drink. She gets halfway through the beer, but can’t finish it.

“Aha,” Sabelo says. ‘I thought so. A hundred kilograms only needs two and a half. But … I wasn’t sure about pigs.’

Cheeky stares at the two of us with drunken love.

Sabelo is on his cell phone, tapping his screen.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“Googling where to shoot.”

I lean over him, breathe onto his cheek. “Here, try this one.”

How to kill a pig painlessly.

Sabelo scrolls down and finds a diagram of a pig’s brain. He reads aloud, “One finger width above the eyes. Aim towards the tail.”

“That’s easy,” he says, sighing with relief.

As he slides the gun carefully from his pocket, I duck.

“It’s fine,” he reassures me, but I notice that he is panting with nervousness. He slips the safety latch off.

‘You’re not good enough, not good enough …’ his music mix thunders down the slope.

***

Tell us: Why do you think Sabelo is nervous?