It is past midnight. Before going to bed, I get out to the terrace to stare at the moon a bit more. It is full tonight. The air is clear, and the sight is fabulous. But then I hear a loud snort coming from the bottom of the garden beneath the terrace. The hair on my head stands up at once. And then there is another snort. They become regular. Although the moon is offering quite a bit of light, I cannot see anything in the garden. I give up in the end, but I assume it is a wild boar. It must be digging for something with its snout and snorting between digs. I have heard from several hunters in town that boars do come very close to the houses. At night, the Motovun hill must be theirs, but this is a first for me. Judging from the sound, the one in my garden must be on the large side, too.

Addendum I (April 4, 2007)

Not long ago, a middle-aged couple living in a small house within the old town walls asked me whether they could use the bottom part of my garden. They had nowhere else to grow vegetables. I told them I would be most happy if anyone got anything out of my garden, which is of no interest to me for the time being. I also offered them to collect all the fruits that grow there, which I rarely touch. And so they started working in earnest. Every now and then they offer me something they have grown, but I always decline their kind offers with profuse thanks. Anyhow, this morning I went to check their plot at the bottom of my garden. As I expected, it was full of holes. The sure signs of the wild boar, and no doubt about it. But I have not seen the two gardeners yesterday and so I have no idea what has attracted the beast. Onions? Potatoes? Whatever it was, it must have been buried quite deep under the ground. Whence the loud snorting, I guess.

Addendum II (April 12, 2007)

I have been waiting for days to see the couple working at the bottom of my garden. In fact, I have been looking for them all over town, but in vain. They must have been away for a while. At long last, I saw them late this afternoon. “Have you noticed that something is wrong with your garden?” I asked. “What?” “Those big holes all in one long row!” I explained. “Where?” I went for the clincher: “A wild boar made them a few nights ago!” “When?” When I repeated my story from the beginning, there was laughter: “Didn’t you see the tomatoes?” “What?” As it turned out, it was they who made the holes. For the tomatoes, of course. My evidence gone in a puff of smoke, I returned to the sounds I had heard: “The snorting was so loud, it must have been a boar!” “Right, right.”