The first word is VERRACO, but instead of settling for the flesh and blood pig, we choose the totemic wild boar carved in stone. And because we like to keep things in the family, the other two words are BERREAR (bellow) and BERRINCHE (tantrum).
There is a little boy crying his head off. But no one tries to console him. Because his bellows are necessary to keep the stone carvings that surround him well fed. He is too young for his tears to have a reason. The little boy cries because his body tells him to do just that. But his tears don’t taste of sadness, they don’t taste of anger. Those tears have no flavor because he doesn’t own them.
The stones that surround the little boy have been carved to resemble wild boars. They have been carved to protect the tribe. Because stone lasts where flesh rots, but stone needs someone to breathe life into it. And the tribe discovered a while back that flesh is the only one that demands blood. Stone demands cries, it demands bellows.
Years go by, and the boy returns home to those stones that have never left. Now he owns his tears, he owns his voice. The boy has a tantrum. And this time he knows why he is angry. The boy breaks the stone carvings, he breaks them into pieces with a cry trapped in his throat. A cry he won’t let escape. Because he refuses to put an end to it.
The boy is furious. Because they used his voice to breathe life into those wild boars that will always belong to the stone. Into those wild boars that protect without being allowed to move. Without being allowed to cry.
Waaaaah! Waaaaah! Waaaaah!
Leave me alone. This is my home. I can’t leave. But you can. So, don’t rub it in my face and just run away. Please.
You used me. I was just a child, and it couldn’t be helped. But don’t think for a moment that I will let you keep the prize. You fed my cries to the stones. You just stood by as I broke into tears. And even if it is the last thing I do, I will break every single stone into pieces.
How could you? Even if you no longer have a heart, don’t you at least have some instincts left? If you see a child crying, if you hear him, you soothe him! You don’t take advantage of those cries! You put that child’s wellbeing before your own! And I just hope that those wild boar carvings never stop protecting you. You deserve to grow old. And spend forever being just wrinkled skin and brittle bones.
Ungrateful child. Who kept you safe while you were growing up? It certainly wasn’t your flesh and blood! That honor was foisted on stone carvings like me. Do you really think that love is free? Think again! Everything has a price, and ours was just your cries. We did what we were paid, what we were fed to do. We protected you. And you had no right to take a hammer to us, when they were the ones that took your money without your permission, you ungrateful child!
Why do I have to put up with this noise? Why couldn’t I just breathe air like I have seen so many other creatures do? Maybe then I would actually be grateful for this gift I have been given.
Look at that stone carving over there. It doesn’t look like a wild boar. Not at all. I thought that wolves only went for sheep’s clothing. Is that supposed to be the stone carving equivalent of a poetic licence? Are they implying that we aren’t ruthless enough? That we aren’t doing a good enough job? If they want to see more blood on the ground, why don’t they just say so? I don’t like being threatened. Let them replace me. See if I care!
Why can’t they just coin a new name for us? I don’t care if I was carved in a wild boar’s image, I am not a wild boar. I am not flesh and bone. Not even air and blood. I am all stone. I couldn’t be further from the word wild. I will never be free. I won’t even get a taste. Referring to me by that name is just cruel. I have never failed to fulfill my duties, and the least I deserve is not to be mocked.