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Yes. The mind-bag. The secret, unseen place where Sherry stuffed all her dark thoughts, her absurd worries, the unprovoked hunches she’d felt most of her life, the premonitions of Pearl.
Why? Because Pearl made me do it. But Jeff knew it was worse than that. Pearl made him want to do it.
The farmer sang for Pearl as the pigs fought over his powerless body. Peter sucked the nose straight from the old man’s skull.
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And in the end, smarter than the farmer, too. When Pearl lifted his head again some of the others stepped back. The face of the farmer rose once more, slack now, hanging loose from the pig’s smiling snout. In a way, it looked like the farmer was yawning. After a while, Pearl slowly swung his head side to side. No more, he seemed to be saying. No more. The gate is open, he seemed to be saying. And I’m the farmer. Like he was saying I’m the farmer now, too.
WHAT
The single vision, the one look inside the barn, was enough to erode the dynamics of their original mission. No longer was Susan humoring two boys she considered burnouts. No longer was Mitch thinking of how this could
Because of a fucking… …pig.
Always a bad feeling. Like something worse than a storm was coming. Like a tornado. Or something even worse yet.
This was Pearl’s first lesson, as he would later come to call it: You couldn’t just act on the farmer. You had to make the farmer want to act on himself.
