Pigs In Paradise

The barnyard pigs and their piglets squealed with joy.

“Oh, tell us, Rabbi, tell us the rest of the story of the demon swineherd.”

“Later, after casting out the demons into the swineherd, Jesus, to show he was a good fellow, went down to the sea among them, and as he walked on water, blessed the pigs for they were lowly, and absolved them of their sins. When the prophet Mohammed appeared on the ridge, he witnessed the herd of pigs playing in the sand and shit, wadding in the waves, making sand sties and mud pies, squealing and pealing with laughter. He said unto his people, “Going forth from this day onward, from the wiggly tail to the snout, this is what is to be left out.” But his voice was drowned by the rush of the sea and not fully understood. Therefore, what his will be done, went unknown. Not sure what was and what wasn’t kosher to speak, Muslims, devout as they are, and not knowing fully from the wiggly tail to the snout what was to be left out, swore off everything between. This is why they now sit perched on the hill as they do, salivating over our brothers and sisters, the sheep and goats among us, and their young lambs and kids, for soon upon us will be Ramadan. Although Jesus is known as a friend to the lamb, it is widely seen that he was a greater friend to the pig. Thus, it is because of the love of Jesus shown to the pig that the Prophet Muhammad is our friend. Except for those poor souls along the Thames or the Rhine or the Danube or along the banks of the mighty Mississippi or the shores of Lake Pontchartrain, pigs are grateful to Jesus and Muhammad.”

“He’s not our friend,” said Billy Kidd, the Boer goat.

“Yes, Muhammad is a friend to the pig even though he doesn’t show it, just as Jesus is a friend to the lamb, and as the good shepherd that none of us want, he shows it. This, as we know, is not so lucky for our brothers and sisters, the sheep and goats. Having Jesus as your friend does not ward off the evils of cutting flesh from bone.”

“In other words,” Howard said from the pond, “Jesus does not protect the lamb from flesh-eating man, and as for the pigs, anything from the tail to the nose is fair game. Men even use lambskin to cover the shank, so they can fornicate and not procreate.”

The sheep were torn and confused. They ran from one sermon to the other, from Howard to Boris, and back again until Mel stated that the heretic preached exclusion. Inclusive was only meant for pigs, as in “Mohammed is our friend.” The sheep flocked to Boris, their Savior.

“Blessed are the wretched. Blessed are the poor, for they shall enter the animal kingdom of heaven,” Boris preached. “Although the way is narrow into the valley of clover on the other side of paradise, believe in this, also believe in me, and confess to your confessor, the holy prelate Mel, and you shall receive salvation and live forever in the animal kingdom of God, where no animal feeds off another. And remember, Yahweh, for he, too, is our friend. When hearing the squealing of the swine, he shrieked and declared them vulgar and unclean. Whereupon, the tribes of Israel soon thereafter exited Egypt by way of the Red Sea. Yes, it is Egypt where we are from, and it is Egypt, our paradise on earth, where we shall return.”

Boris said, “I light the way to paradise on earth, and only through me to heaven beyond. Follow me and you shall receive, for it is through me that you surely shall enter the gates of paradise, and though the way is wide, the path is narrow, and through these narrows are the desert mountains, and the valley of life on earth. It is our resting place on our journey into the animal kingdom of heaven.” This day that Boris sermonized to all the animals would one day be known as the sermon on the compost pile, where Boris delivered the Beastitudes.

Boris added that not long after their friend and benefactor, Muhammad had granted the swine a respite to live in Egypt, that he rose on the back of his favorite steed into paradise.

“That’s funny,” Julius said to Bruce at the water tank. “All these years, and I thought it was a unicorn. The great Prophet Muhammad was the only guy of all of humanity who could tame that unruly, wily unicorn. And as the last unicorn rose into the heavens, so, too, did Muhammad, riding into the clouds on its horn. Shows you what I know. What I know from these true stories is who’s the greater prophet, Jesus or Muhammad? Jesus, of course. Not only is Jesus God’s gift to man, but Jesus! Even after being nailed to the cross all day, Jesus ascended of his own volition. Whereas, Muhammad, whether on the back of his favorite steed or on the horn of that unruly unicorn, had to hitch a ride. That’s all the proof I need to prove that Jesus rocks!

“Bruce, when I die, I hope to have a wing and a prayer, so I, too, may make my way into the clouds above. But if not, I’ll take an elevator. What say, you, my old friend?”

“I’ll fly,” Bruce said.

“Oh, really,” Julius said, flapping his massive wings. “I didn’t know you had wings?”

“I’ll grow a pair.”

Julius, who was rarely at a loss for words, didn’t say a word.

When the afternoon sun glinted off Boris’s white tusks, it scared the flocks, who flocked to Howard, even though by now they knew he was the heretic of the great heresy.

“Stop,” Mel said from the barn. “What are you afraid of? The sun of God alights on the tusks of the Boar, and you don’t know this is a glorious thing? Go back to the fold where you belong, and life ever-after is promised.” Some turned back, but others did not. The animals who turned back toward Boris were not enough to please Mel.

Howard said, “There is no fornicating that leads to procreating. If you engage in such sinful activities, you fornicate protected. However, it remains a sin against nature, a curse of the loins from Satan.”

Mel stepped out from the barn into the sun.

Howard said, “As our numbers fade from the earth, man will lose interest in us as a food source, and will eventually leave us alone as he, too, fades from the earth.”

“Yeah, like that will ever happen,” snorted a porker.

The domesticated farm animals turned and ran for Boris.

“Have you heard some of the shit that comes out of that pig’s mouth?” Bruce said.

“You mean Howard? I like Howard,” Julius said. “He means well. If they have to follow someone, at least he’s not going to take them over a cliff.”

“You like something?” Mel said as he approached the water tank. “I didn’t think you liked anything.”

“I like a lot of things,” Julius said, “but a mule’s ass in my face isn’t one of them.”

Mel took a long drink. When he finished, he jerked his head, spewing water over his shoulders and backside as he trotted off in a huff to the barn.

“Well, that was rather belligerent, don’t you think?”

“I try not to,” Bruce said.

“How belligerent,” Julius said. “He’s so belligerent.”

“He has God on his side.”

“I hear they’re best friends, like us.”

“These pigs are nuts,” Bruce snorted. “They argue different sides of the same coin.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Julius said. “I’m afraid nothing’s going to change much with these fools, and the fools they’ll follow to the ends of the earth.”

“Who clipped your wings?”

“I’m going to have to teach these farm animals a lesson.”

“And what would that be that you already haven’t?”

“I’ll teach them a song.”

“Oh, a song. That’ll teach them.”

“A song I learned from Pete Seeger when I lived in the big house with the Commie Jewish bastards. It might do them some good someday.”

“Who?” Bruce said. “The Commie Jewish bastards?”

“Too late for them,” Julius said. “They’re orthodox now. No, I mean the farm animals. I used to sing a lot when I had a home and a room with a view. One day I saw that view and wanted my space, fresh air, freedom. I flew out the window of opportunity and landed in the lemon grove. I took a bite from a lemon and that was enough freedom for me. I turned toward home only to discover that the window had been closed as I smacked against the windowpane.”

“Ouch.”

“It was smart. I slid to the ground and was almost eaten alive as one Rottweiler attacked from this way, and his evil twin attacked from that way, and the cat Mousetrap pounced from yet another. I flew off just as they collided into a massive heap of fur and a few of my feathers under the window. I haven’t touched the ground since, knock on bark. I suppose my singing may have done me in. I miss the big house and the family.” Julius paused for a moment, reflecting over distant memories. “I haven’t sung ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall’ since.”

Bruce moved away from the fence and defecated, depositing a large mound of manure.

“Ah, look, Bruce, you’ve made some new friends,” Julius said as flies swarmed over the fresh warm cow pod.

“Can never have too many friends,” Bruce said and leaned against the fence post.

“Speaking of friends, looks like you have a couple coming to see you. Well, I must be going. Ta-ta, ‘til next time.” Julius flew off as Blaise and her red calf bounded from the barn. “See if you can cheer him up, will you? I’ve tried.”

Blaise pressed the young heifer between her and Bruce, rubbing against him as they passed. “Tag, you’re it! Lizzy wanted to come by and say hi.” A slender brown streak formed along the red calf’s lower midsection, but went unnoticed as throngs of people poured from tour buses and out of campers, who swarmed the farm and gathered along the fence line to glimpse the red calf that would one day soon bring about the destruction of the earth. Lizzy laughed as she and her mother trotted toward the pasture. The media appeared out of vans hidden behind satellite dishes to witness the progress of the red calf as if she were going to impart wisdom to the masses. The masses cheered and cried with joy upon seeing their salvation, but no sooner had they glimpsed the promise of the end than her mother turned her away. Under distress from the lights and cameras, Blaise and Lizzy disappeared into the sanctuary of the barn.

Bruce shook his head. He thought he heard someone call his name. He heard it again and walked out along the fence that ran parallel to the road past the barn. On the other side of the road, a group of four Israeli Holsteins wanted him to see his magic. Between them paraded 12 Holstein calves. “Look, Bruce,” said the young Holstein who, before Bruce had never experienced the joy of a bull’s company. “They’re all yours. We wanted you to see how beautiful they are, and how much they take after you.” One after the other, jumped and mooed from between the mothers Holstein, and passed along the fence so Bruce could see each one of them.

“Aren’t they lovely, Bruce,” the older Holstein, and close friend of Bruce, mooed. The other Holsteins walked up to the fence, each one nodding her approval and fondness toward Bruce. When they said their goodbyes, Bruce remained in the pasture to graze.

The other animals were confused, starting and stopping, scurrying back and forth as they had all day between the Baptist at the pond and the Messiah at the compost pile inside the partitioned-off fence lot. Finally, Mel exasperated, called from the barn that the heretic waddled in mud. A gaggle of geese looked puzzled as Boris waded out into the pond.

“The Large White, you foul fools!”

“Yes, we are,” laughed a duck as she slipped into the water, followed by her sister ducks and geese. They swam out to the middle of the pond among the pigs in the afternoon sun.

Bruce hadn’t been out in the pasture for some time. He had an appetite, too, but ate at a slow, methodical pace, careful not to become sick or knotted up from eating too much grass too fast and unable to digest. It had been a while and he did not want that. There was a time when things were different when Bruce was different.

7

Mating Season

Bruce watched Blaise as she made her way up the slope. He liked the way she walked, the way her hips switched back and forth, the way her tail swished this way and that way. He loved Blaise, but he also knew across the road and two pastures away the moshavnik Perelman hid the Israeli Holsteins down in a meadow behind the dairy barn and lemon grove. He watched her switch and walk. He watched her walk and switch, her tail waving at him as she grazed in the next pasture. She and Beatrice were near the terraced slopes, where the sheep and goats grazed. In the early morning sunshine, Bruce watched Blaise as she moved across the brown-green pasture, her tail swish-swashing as she strutted off toward the pond.

Bruce was every bit of 1200-pounds of muscle, a combination of Simmental, and patient, and Zebu or Brahman, and heat tolerant. And although he was tolerant, he was also hot and impatient. All the same, he was noted for his calm, easy-going way and reasonable disposition. He had small thick horns that turned inward from the temples and a white-patched, red face. Even with his docile temperament, his large scrotal size made him a prize on the moshav for breeding, and a grand specimen of a reddish-coated, thick-muscled, Simbrah bull to behold.

Blaise, although somewhat temperamental on the other hand, an Island Jersey (as opposed to the American Jersey) and 800 pounds, was an object of refinement and beauty, and his affection. She had a smooth unbroken chocolate color pattern in her body, but was a darker chocolate mousse in the hips, about the head, ears, and shoulders. She also had a well-attached udder with small teats, and Bruce knew within a matter of months Blaise would be freshened, her udder and teats laden with milk due to his charm, patience, and spunk.

Stanley came trotting out of the barn with his tail in the air and the smell of Beatrice in his nostrils. He paraded along the fence past Bruce who ignored him, standing next to the watering tank on the other side.

“How now, blue-balls cow?” he neighed.

“Fuck off.”

Stanley came from a long line of Belgian draft horses who at one time had carried knights into battle and then toiled in the soil shackled to the plow. Once gangling and stout, squared at the shoulders to pull the weight and carry the load, now though, through years of breeding, had become smooth, more rounded at the shoulders, more athletic, and showy. And Stanley was athletic and showy, a black Belgian stallion with only a slender patch of white diamond that went down his long nose.

“Now, now, bull-cow, you might have a lower hanging pair than me, but when it comes to the rest of it, nothing like this.” Stanley reared back onto his muscular hind legs and jumped. As his massive member bounced, the crowd went wild. Once again, spectators had gathered around the four corners of the pasture, men in their respective place based on religious faith, beliefs, and borders, all of them there to watch the black stallion mount the bay mare, none of them aware that the bay mare might have something to say about it.

“I’d be careful —” Julius called as he flew over, his under feathers yellow in the sun, and landed on the gate post. “I can’t fly and talk at the same time — if I were you.”

Stanley snorted, “Even his horns are small.”

“Notice anything different today, Stanley?” Julius walked up along the fence post to the open gate. “I wouldn’t want to get his dander up if I were you. Nothing is keeping him from Blaise, Beatrice, or you, for that matter.” Julius alighted on Bruce’s hindquarters. Flapping his blue wings, he folded his golden under feathers behind him in a long plumage of tail. “If Bruce wants, Bruce gets. He’ll come over there and take Beatrice from you. If he wants, he’ll come over there and take you.”

“He can try,” Stanley huffed, “but I’d be too fast for him anyway. End of story.”

Bruce ignored Stanley mostly, watching him out the right side of his head. “Better move along little doggie,” he said.

“Stanley, you and Bruce now have full access and your choice of co-habitators. That means nothing is keeping you from Beatrice except Beatrice.”

“I know that.”

“Run along, horsey, before you wear yourself out.”

“Oh, might wear you out.” Stanley trotted off in a huff. “Wear out, huh? Wear you out, you mean,” Stanley said from a safe distance. He saw Beatrice near the pond. She was in the same pasture as him. He ran up alongside her.

“Why don’t you leave the poor beast alone,” Beatrice said.

“What? Oh that, nonsense. We’re friends, just a little male rivalry.”

Julius stretched, flapping his blue-and-gold wings over Bruce’s hindquarters. “This has got to be the finest rump roast I’ve seen. I’d be careful where you shake that thing. The neighbors might covet it.”

Stanley and Beatrice grazed in the same pasture. Beatrice grazed. Stanley paraded about, showing off his prowess to the roar of the crowd. “Look, Beatrice, the moshavnik opened the gate so we could be together. So, let’s get together. It’s only natural. It’s something we’re supposed to do. Listen, baby, look what you’ve done to me. I can’t walk or think straight with this club foot. It hurts when I do this.” He reared back onto his massive hind legs to wild applause.

“You, foolish horse,” she said and walked away.

“Baby, please, you don’t understand. We have an audience, fans we can’t let down. They’re here for me–you, us, for us.”

Beatrice, exasperated, stopped. “Would you do me a favor?”

“What is it? Anything for you, baby.”

“Would you please please please please please please please stop talking?”

“Someone might have a camera for just this sort of thing, you know. You know, I could be famous, a star! Come on, Beatrice, don’t be shy, please. Please, Beatrice, wait.”

Beatrice stopped.

“What? What did I say?”

“I’m sure whoever has the camera would gladly get you a girl too. I understand in certain communities, probably this one included, some people like just that sort of thing.”

“Well, yeah, if she’s in a habit.”

Beatrice turned and walked away. “These people aren’t here for that though. They’re here for me–you, us, I mean.” She went into the next pasture to graze alongside Blaise.

Blaise said, “How do you do?”

“I do fine. Thank you for asking.”

Julius alighted in the branches of the great olive tree where the ravens Ezekiel and Dave were. Along the slopes, a herd of lesser and younger animals grazed along the second-tiered slope of the terraced landscape. Blaise and Beatrice grazed nearby as ducks and geese swam and bathed in the pond near the barn lot as pigs lounged along its muddy banks in the mid-morning sun. Julius moved through the olive tree along one of the lower hanging branches.

“I interrupt this program to bring you the following announcement.”

“Wait,” cried a piglet. “What is it this time, the earth’s round?” He pealed with laughter and rolled in the dirt.

A gaggle of geese gabbed as usual, “The earth’s flat and that’s that.” And with that, the knowledgeable hens turned and waddled off, their heads held high on slender necks.

“I crack those eggs up every time.”

“I know,” said a young sheep, but a lamb. “The earth’s round and more than 6000 years old!” The lambs joined the pigs with laughter.

“For such a little lamb that wolf has teeth.”

Without Molly and Praline to keep the young sheep on the correct course of inquiry, this was what was had, sheep influenced by pigs.

“The sun is the center of the universe and the big, round earth rotates around the sun! Is that it?” a duck quacked.

“Well, since you put it that way, yes.”

Dave’s feathers were ruffled. He shook his head. He turned to Ezekiel and said, “Give them something to think with and this is what you get.”

“Ignore these animals, Julius,” Blaise said. “What is the announcement you wish to make?”

“Pete Seeger is my hero. Where I come from, he was everyone’s hero until they turned orthodox and emigrated to Brooklyn.”

“And I suppose you’d like a hammer?”

“And, yes, I suppose I would.”

“You’re a bird,” Beatrice said, “a parrot. What can you do with a hammer?”

“I have claws, and I’m not afraid to use them. I use paintbrushes, don’t I?”

“How would anyone know what you do with them? No one’s seen anything you do.”

“I’m shy, a work in progress.”

“Julius, what would you do if you had a hammer, a smallish hammer if you like?”

“Blaise, ‘if I had a hammer, I’d hammer in the morning. I’d hammer in the evening, all over this land. I’d hammer out warning. I’d hammer out danger. I’d hammer out love between my brothers and my sisters, all over this land.’ If only I had a hammer?”

“Well, will someone please get this busy macaw a hammer?”

“We’re animals. How can we get him a hammer?”

“Where are those ravens when you need them?” Julius said. “Oh, there you are. Never mind, I don’t need a hammer.” Julius left the tree branch and perched on Blaise’s left shoulder, near her ear. “Although he may not show it, not like Stanley anyway, Bruce has great desire. He’s fond of you. You’ll see,” Julius said and winked. Blaise was unable to see him wink. She didn’t need to. She knew from the inflection in his voice.

“What are you, Julius, his agent, I suppose?”

“He’s a friend. Besides, everyone needs love. Everyone needs a friend.”

“Yes, well, Julius, I’m quite aware of Bruce’s proclivities, thank you very much.”

“Proclivities,” Julius said to the ravens in the olive tree. “She’s from England, you know. She even has an island named after her. It’s called Blaise.”

“Yes, well, there’s a Guernsey somewhere with an island named after her as well, so don’t think too much of it. And it’s not Blaise, you silly bird.”

“Modest, too, wouldn’t you say?”

“Thank goodness Bruce isn’t a show-off like Manly Stanley,” said Beatrice.

“Yes, he’s more like me in that respect,” Julius said. “We’re more reserved and less showy.”

“More like you, less showy, you don’t say?”

“That’s not to say we don’t have something to crow about, we just prefer not to.”

Beatrice nudged Blaise, and they laughed.

Julius flapped his great wings and flew off to rejoin Bruce grazing in the middle of the pasture behind the barn. He landed on the great beast’s backside and made his way along his right shoulder.

“Watch those claws, and whatever you have to say, speak softly if you’re going to sit there all day, spouting off.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want the mule’s spies overhearing anything we might say either.”

“He’s an asshole.”

“Yes, I agree, and everyone has one. I have one. You have one. People have them, too, everyone, assholes. What they,” Julius said, “those made in God’s image, prefer to call a soul.”

“Whatever you call it, it’s still an asshole and he’s full of shit.”

“I’m going to have to ratchet it up with the mule. I need to make that old mule a mule.”

“Why bother?”

“If only one animal hears me and sees through this nonsense, well, then, I’ll feel that I’ve done some good.”

“They’re animals, domesticated farm animals. They need to believe in something and follow someone.”

“Well, then, why not you?” Julius said.

“I like Howard,” Bruce said. “He’s a better alternative to the mule, but cerebral loses out to the meaty flesh of sin and shit.”

“I like him, too, but like his mulish rival, he is a celibate. No flocking for that boar, which makes him quite the bore, and just as the old mule can’t, that boar won’t. All for a good cause, of course, nothing,” Julius said.

Bruce leaned down to graze and Julius almost tumbled off.

“Careful, wish you’d warn me next time you do that, the nerve.” Julius climbed up along Bruce’s backside, lest he lost his balance and had to fly off, but Julius wasn’t going anywhere.

“From what I saw, you’re losing the battle for assholes.”

“They’re young. They’re impressionable,” Julius said, “but if not me, then who?”

Bruce turned and raised his tail and defecated, a large warm mound of bullshit formed behind him as he moved away.