The Boar Hunt - Ernst Jünger

Part Three

“Die Eberjagd”

1952

First published in the journal Story

Translated by Bruno Zimmer

Now everyone surrounded the prey in an oval, the marksmen with their rifles around their necks, the beaters with their axes shouldered. The boar lay on the white bed as if asleep, its little eyes looked at the conquerors almost mockingly. The men admired the impressive head that lay as if on a pillow. The rifles gleamed in a fierce curve like old ivory. Where the broad neck set in, the (fore)legs, which Moosbrugger called the front hammers, stared stiffly into the air. The dark, bristly coat was shot through with rust, with only a single pure black streak running down its back. A large bloodstain still remained, fading around the edges.

At this sight Richard felt anguish; it seemed almost inappropriate that eyes were feasting on the hunted. Never had a hand touched him. Now, after the initial amazement, they grabbed him by the ears and legs and turned him back and forth. The boy tried to defend himself against the feeling that was growing in him: the boar was closer to him at this moment, more kindred than his hunters and stalkers.

After admiring and groping the prey, they remembered the lucky shooter who had brought it down. The count broke off a spruce branch and dipped it into the wound, then placed the bloody branch on the butt of his rifle, while Moosbrugger blew the hunting horn. The young man stood among them with modest pride, pinning the twig to his hat. The eyes rested on him with benevolence. At court, in war and among hunters, one appreciates the happy coincidence and attributes it to the man. This is a good start to a career.

They held out a round bottle filled with fruit water, from which the Count took the first sip and then, after a shudder, handed it to the student. Everyone tried to have a word with him, and he never tired of telling how he had met a boar. A very good shot, one must admit, an enviable one. He told how he heard the sow and how it jumped at him. How he didn't fully hit the chest, but slightly behind because it disappeared at a sharp angle into the wood. But he could clearly see that it was hit. Moosbrugger praised him to the skies.

Only Richard was hesitant; he thought he was the only one not up to the occasion. He was astonished to hear that Breyer had understood it quite differently and had to believe him, for the boar lying before him testified to this. Here for the first time he learned that facts change the circumstances that led to them - it upset his ideal world. The rough shouting of the hunters made him feel uneasy. And again it seemed to him that the boar was highly superior to them.

Moosbrugger took the knife out of its sheath and checked its sharpness by rubbing it on his thumb. Even in harsh frost, the boar could not be left in the rind, its blood was too hot for that. The hunter's countenance now became antique, lit by a sort of solemn grin, that stretched the deeply tanned folds vertically . He knelt on one of the boar's hind legs and grasped the other with his left hand. Then he cut the stretched rind with his knife and slit it open to the breastbone. First he removed two formations that looked like mirror-blue goose eggs and tossed them behind him while the beaters laughed approvingly.

"The fox gets them for dinner."

Then he followed the trail cautiously. The mist that enveloped the beast became biting, and the men retreated, cursing. Moosbrugger searched the abdomen with both hands and penetrated the chest cavity, pulling out the red and blue cloth and separating the precious innards. The heart had been ripped open by a bullet; with this wound the boar had done another ninety steps. A hunter's boy cut the rumen open to wash it in the snow; it was filled with crushed beechnuts. Soon the mutilated body turned into a red bath, from which blood continued to gush out into the frosty air.

Moosbrugger tied a noose around the upper jaw behind the tusks, and the beaters set to work dragging the bristly carcass away. The hunters lit the pipes and joined the procession, chatting quietly. The hunt was over.

It was the first night Richard had fallen asleep without thinking of the guns, now the boar found its way into his dream.

.