Mister Igor needed to settle soon the situation of the lands that would be inherited by his family, at least as long as there was a breath of life in Mrs. Rute, the nearly hundred-year-old great-grandmother.
The story that the family had always heard was that when Mrs. Rute was young, charitable as she was, she had decided to donate half of her land to the city of São Paulo, in order to favor the poorest population in a housing program so massively promised by the government in constant television advertisements.
However, as the real estate agent responsible for the sales at the time did not wait for the regulation of the dismemberment projects with the city hall, (that would still take decades to finish) the buyers of the lands owned by Mrs. Rute ended up being forced to use simple off-the-record agreements, but without any tax value.
Distressed by such a delay to solve the issue of her lands, during the following years Mrs. Rute was very concerned about all those people who had deposited their resources, maybe of a lifetime, without, however, receiving the security that only a public deed could provide.
This question became her main dilemma. From then on, the old woman's greatest wish was to be able to leave the documentation of the lands organized so that when her lifetime was about to end, she could leave this world in peace.
After passing on these responsibilities to her great-grandson, who was a lawyer, three months later he got to the end of that strenuous work, under a blazing sun with many walks between city hall, notary offices and banks.
But there was still one last customer to visit: a couple who had bought a farmland with about twelve hectares of land for cultivation, also with an area of pasture and vast forests.
"Thank God this nightmare is about to end!" celebrated Mr. Igor, as he deflected the truck's tires from the potholes that popped in the road.
Arriving at the spot, the lawyer parked the van in front of the gate and turned off the engine. While he looked around, a sepulchral silence took over the place. Only now and then the silence was broken by the noise of the wind that stirred the treetops and by the gaggling of a few birds flying over the horizon.
"HELLO THERE!" the lawyer screamed from outside.
A while later, as there was no answer, Mr. Igor started clapping his hands and shouting louder and louder: "HELLO!", "IS ANYONE THERE?".
The insistence of the screams lasted until his voice faltered and his palms ached. But that's when he realized the gate was unlocked.
Inside the farmland; and a few steps ahead, soon the lawyer came face to face with a small hut that had been built with rustic wood, tall trees all around it, in which, after them, he could see the background: a beautiful orchard blooming its fruits as far as the eye could see.
Suddenly there was a very loud bang that broke out just over the side of the orchard; right after the noise, Mr. Igor was startled by a herd of very large pigs that was sprinting up towards him.
"FUCKING SHIT!" shouted the lawyer.
Unfortunately, the cabin was locked, and the lawyer was forced to break one of the windows to get inside. Meanwhile, outside the hut, through the window, Mr. Igor saw a grunting pig, jumping around, flashing its angry eyes in a grotesque attempt to, at any moment, break the hut's door with violent bunts.
Soon the lawyer remembered the words of his deceased father:
“Pigs are treacherous animals, my son! If you doubt it, they may even eat us".
to be continued
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