Going in for a Kill
My excitement gave me no sleep the night before the big day. It was going to be my very first hunt. I flounced around in bed, restless, like a dog chasing a cat in his dreams. When the alarm rang, I was already up. Vincenzo, my hunting mentor, had knocked on my door earlier to tell me that he was waiting for me downstairs. I got dressed for the occasion; proper boots and other hunting gear. I ran down to the garage to help Vincenzo, I didn’t want to miss a single detail. He threw me an apple and gesticulated that I should hop in the truck, “Andiamo al bar”. For a minute I got confused, hunting under the influence of alcohol didn’t sound wise. My brain must have been still asleep at that point, since normally I know that ‘bar’ means a coffee shop here in Italy.
When we pulled over by the bar, it dawned on me. The rest of the hunting gang was already there, eating sweet puff pastry, drinking strong black espressos and talking wild boar talk. The vivid conversation came to an abrupt halt when I stepped in. A girl! A Finn! What? Why? I definitely created confusion in the highest degree. What a comical scene is was. An icebreaker was badly needed, so cracked a few stupid jokes with my mediocre Italian skills. It worked. I felt that most of the elderly men came around and accepted my presence. First test passed. I could enjoy my cappuccino with extra foam with comfort.
In a flash, we were back in the truck, driving on little curvy countryside streets. The air smelled of smoke and the fog characteristic for the region covered the whole landscape in its gauze. Vincenzo lit up his first cigarette of the day. No words were spoken – a moment of soothing tranquility. Just as I sat back relaxed to take a bite of the beautiful red apple that I had tucked in my pocket, Vincenzo made a sudden turn and drove off road onto the field. He had spotted five deer and was ready to get them. Before I knew it, there was a riffle horizontally right across my lap, “Can you shoot?” he asked me. My nervous laugher spoke for itself, “I can try”, I answered pathetically. Vincenzo laughed. He was only pulling my leg. We had been too slow anyway, I understood, the deer had already lifted their heads. I assure you, I was now wide-awake.
For a while I felt bad, worrying that I had brought bad hunting luck. We had walked around for hours and there were no wild boars insight. Maybe the others had caught them all during the time I was taught the ABCs of hunting. I was about to express my sincerest apologies, as the half time report echoed from the walkie talkie in Vincenzo’s pocket. It was something in Piedmontese, the local dialect with a slight French sound to it, but I understood that it was coffee time.
Again, the whole gang reunited at a roadside bar for a hot energy booster. It seemed that I hadn’t been the only one half asleep earlier on. The magnitude of gestures and volume of conversation had at least tripled. Many were also curious about why there was a Finnish girl tagging along. My reasons were simple, “I’m here because I want to learn everything there is to know about the food here and all details related to it. I love to eat and I’m extremely curious”. For a second, the elderly men looked at each other in silence. And then they all clapped my on the shoulder, “BRAVA!!!”. I believe it was the second test passed.
A few hour later, still no wild boars. I could feel the hunters’ disappointment. Honestly, I was pretty bummed out too. I had prepared myself for a kill, physically and mentally. Nevertheless, I felt content. I had experienced something very special. It became clear to me that these Saturday early morning hunts were much more than just that. Being the inquisitive observer I am, in the end, I didn’t really mind just taking the experience as an anthropological inquiry. To perceive the different moods, roles, phases and routines within the group were utterly fascinating. Unfortunately, most of the dialogues didn’t open up to me as they were spoken in the dialect, but somehow I still understood. It wasn’t about what was said, it was the atmosphere and the experience as a whole that moved me.
As we hopped in the truck and drove toward Bra again, Vincenzo looked at me at asked “same thing next week?”. My response was positive. He smiled, I smiled. I got home, dozed off on the couch and dreamt of killing wild boars.