The wub stood sagging, its great body settling slowly. It was sitting down, its eyes half shut. A few flies buzzed about its flank, and it switched its tail. It sat. There was silence. It's a wub, Peterson said. I got it from a native for fifty cents. He said it was a very unusual animal. Very respected. This? It's a pig! A huge dirty pig! Yes sir, it's a pig. The natives call it a wub. A huge pig. It must weigh four hundred pounds. Franco grabbed a tuft of the rough hair. The wub gasped. Its eyes opened, small and moist. Then its great mouth twitched. A tear rolled down the wub's cheek and splashed on the floor. Maybe it's good to eat, Peterson said nervously. We'll soon find out, Franco said.