Roger Maxson - Pigs In Paradise

The pig population was not just a geopolitical problem but a numbers problem as well. For they were proliferate and produced large numbers of offspring, often stretching the boundaries and natural resources of the moshav where animal husbandry was a practiced art form. Among the general population, also lived the rather large and mightily noisy blue-and-gold macaw parrot who was aloof, and lived aloft in the rafters with Ezekiel and Dave, the two ravens with their shiny, shimmering black feathers. Rounding out the farm population, besides the old black and grey mule, were two Rottweilers from the farmhouse who spent most of their time attending the mule, and the flocks and gaggles of chickens, ducks, and geese.

Blaise went out to the pond. Howard the Baptist was now resting among the other pigs when it was at its hottest time of day. He stood when he saw Blaise approaching. “Blaise, you who are without sin, have come to be baptized?”

“No, silly. It’s awfully hot, though, won’t you agree?”

“I agree you should join me and become a priestess of the true believers of God, those who know the truth that every one of us is empowered with the knowledge that God lives within us all; thus, all is good and pure of heart. Ours is a battle between good and evil, light and dark. With me, you are a priestess, a Perfect, an equal. Blaise, others already love and listen and follow you. This is your place in the sun.”

“Oh, Howard, you’re too kind, but I have no following.”

“You will. Come, this is your time to shine. Here, the female is accepted as an equal and shares in the service of our fellow animals, great and small, female and male alike. All are good and equal in the true faith.” Howard poured muddied water over Blaise, and it ran down along her neck. “We do not discriminate, or need buildings built of brick and mortar to worship in, or seek a mediator to speak to God.”

“Howard, I came out for a drink of water.” Blaise lowered her head, and in a clear section of the pond, she drank as the mud along her neck trickled down and muddied the clean water.

“Mark my word, Blaise, his sanctuary will come down around you and all the animals that follow him to a dark abyss.”

“It’s a barn, Howard. I have a stall in the barn, as does Beatrice. It’s where his ramblings-on-about loll Beatrice and me to sleep.”

“Blaise,” Howard called after her. “Someone is coming, Blaise. A pig, a minion, to do the mule’s destruction.”

“He baptized you,” Beatrice said when Blaise returned to the pasture. “I saw him pour water over you.”

“Mud mostly if you must know. Pigs love it. It is rather soothing I must say on such a hot day when shade at best is fleeting.” They started for the olive tree where the others, mostly the greater of the animals, stood in its shade. They stopped when they saw the mule approaching, not wanting him to hear them.

“I have to say what Howard says about truth and light and having the knowledge of God in our hearts sounds more appealing than the fear-mongering from him,” Blaise said.

“Don’t know what that old mule’s talking about half the time. It’s all mind-numbing.”

The yellow chicken, dripping from mud and water, ran past. “We’re being persecuted! Better get your houses in order. The end is upon us!”

“He’s so full of menace and foreboding, doom, and despair.”

“Beatrice, is your house in order?”

“I don’t have one,” she laughed.

“That’s Mel’s audience, easy prey,” Blaise said, nodding toward the retreating chicken.

“Oh, what does he know? He’s a worn-out old mule. I can’t make sense of any of it.”

“Julius, on the other hand, is a good bird and a dear friend. He’s harmless.”

“Careless is more like it if you ask me.” Blaise nudged Beatrice with her nose as the mule approached to join the others in the shade of the great olive tree. Beyond the animals, on the Egyptian side of the border, the Muslim who had warned the two Jews of the pig population problem now was being chased through the village by his neighbors. Men hurled stones and boys fired rocks from sling-shots until he fell, and disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again.

“Did you see that?” Dave said.

“See what?” Ezekiel said. “I can’t see anything for the leaves of the tree.”

Julius flew out and alighted in the tree branches above the other animals standing in the shade. Large at thirty-four inches with a long tail, his bright blue feathers blended nicely with the leaves of the olive tree. He had a black beak, dark-blue chin, and a green forehead. He tucked the golden feathers on the underside of his wings into his outer blue and would not standstill. Instead, he continuously moved back and forth in the branches. “What a motley crew this is.”

“Holy macaw! It’s Julius.”

“Hello Blaise, how do you do?”

“I do fine, thank you. Where have you been, silly bird?”

“I’ve been here all along, silly cow.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Well, if you must know, I’ve been defending your honor and it’s not been easy. I had to fight my way out of Kerem Shalom, then fly all the way here. Boy, are my wings tired.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” she laughed.

“Blaise, you wound me. What don’t you believe, the fight or the flight?”

“Well, obviously you flew.”

“Did you miss me?”

“What mischief have you been up to now?”

“I thought I’d come out and join the intelligentsia of the higher animals–oh, Mel, you old mule! I didn’t see you.”

Blaise and Beatrice looked at each other and caught themselves from wanting to laugh.

“Blaise,” Julius said, “lovely day for a flock, don’t you think?” Julius loved an audience.

The chicken covered in mud caked to her bill and feathers ran toward them. “We’re being persecuted,” she cried as she ran through them under the olive tree. “The end is near! The end is near! Put your houses in order.”

“Where have I heard that before?” Julius said.

“There you go, Julius. She could stand a good flocking.”

“A good flogging is more like it. I’m looking for a bird of a different feather even though I hear she likes to cluck and is quite good at it.”

“Oh, Julius, you’re incorrigible.”

“Besides, what would my parents think? Well, not much, they’re parrots, but what would they say? My father was a babbling idiot who would repeat anything anyone ever told him. I don’t remember him very well. He flew the coop before I had wings to carry on. I remember, though, the day he left, dropping a trail of bird shit as he flew away.”

“What has it been this time, Julius, three days?”

“Why, Blaise, you remember, but who’s counting? I mean, really? Who can or remember back that far?”

“Doesn’t seem long at all,” Mel said. “Seems like only yesterday.”

“Mel? Mel, is that you? Everybody, in case you missed it. Mel made a funny.” Julius moved in the branches above Blaise. “Yes, dear, I’ve been away for three days, not far really, and having as much fun as one can while still so close to home. I dropped in on a covey of homing pigeons. They’re a feisty flock, those girls, and keep a neat nest. Oh, sure, they’re not as loving as turtle doves, but you can have your way with them and they keep coming back.”

“That doesn’t sound very parrot-like of you, Julius.”

“What’s a parrot to do? I mean, how many Ara ararauna species do you see in the bush?”

“Regardless, you’re supposed to mate for life, aren’t you?”

“Yes, well, if you recall, my first love was an African Grey.”

“Yes, I recall she was of a different feather?” Blaise said.