山路上的野猪山路上的野豬

Food was scarce in the mountain village that year, so the village head had everyone plant sweet potatoes on a flat patch halfway up the mountain. Below the field was a sheer drop of five or six metres, and a narrow mountain path was the only way to reach it. Partway along the path, right at the edge of the drop, was a small ledge where people could sit and rest. Everyone praised his choice: thieves would have trouble getting up there, and now they had some hope of having enough to eat that year.

One summer morning, the village head found some sweet potatoes rooted out of the soil, with wild boar tracks beside them. Only then did he realize that the field was right where the boars roamed. He went to see the old hunter, the best shot in the village. They had been schoolmates, and the village head knew that whenever his friend shot a boar, a single bullet struck it between the eyes. But the old hunter said, “Nobody hunts boars anymore, and I don’t want to either. Just chase them away.” So the villagers took turns guarding the field at night, first shouting and later trying all sorts of other ways to frighten the animals away. Each time, though, the boars soon learned there was no danger and returned. The village head had to plead with his old friend again. “For everyone in the village, help us this once. Otherwise we really will go hungry.” At last, the hunter agreed.

That night, the old hunter waited on the mountain and killed a large red boar. Two nights later, he killed a female whose young were still beside her. Both shots struck between the eyes. The villagers were delighted, but the hunter could not forget those young boars.