Roger Maxson - Pigs In Paradise

‘Nobody loves me, but my mother, and she could be jiving too . . .

(Spoken)

What I want to know now is what are we going to do?’

“Unlike Marvelous Mel the Magnificent, I can’t answer that. The future doesn’t reveal itself in little revelations doled out from personal prophecies.” A small group of Muslims, mostly boys, from the nearby village, gathered stones. “But wait! Dare I say, I think I know what’s coming next?” They started after the monk when he turned and disappeared into the desert walls of the Sinai. “Aren’t mammals lovely,” Julius said. “Someday I plan to have one as a pet.”

Mel moved away from the border to graze among the sheep and rams at the base of the terraced slopes.

“Somebody has to keep that mule in check. What he’s trying to do to the animals is very dangerous, preying on their ignorance and fears. Once it takes hold it will be almost impossible to undo and reverse the damage done.”

“Seriously, Julius,” Beatrice said, “what does it matter?”

“In the name of Jesus or some other such nonsense, The Holy See will see to it that we’re dead.”

“Who’s that?” asked one of the younger animals, a kid.

“It’s nothing,” Blaise said.

“Who is Jesus?” asked a little lamb.

“Never mind,” Blaise said. “Seriously, it’s nothing.”

Before the arrival of the red calf, Mel, the mule priest, revealed prophecy of things to come, namely a savior. A savior to save the animals from this world of human bondage.

“Mel keeps going on about a messiah who’ll save us from our misery,” Blaise said. She and Beatrice walked through the pasture up the slope for the shade of the great olive tree. “Elevate us from our suffering.”

“I don’t know about you, Blaise. I’m not doing so badly myself,” Beatrice said, “considering our present conditions.” She and Blaise were both heavy with pregnancies.

“Well, I should hope so,” Blaise said, “As I’ve said, no one messes with you, not with a saddle, not with Stanley.”

“Yes, well obviously he did this time.”

“Yes, this time,” Blaise laughed, “but only because you wanted him to.”

“And now look at me! It was nice, though, just as I’m sure it was for you and Bruce.”

“Please, Beatrice, I’d rather not dwell on poor wonderful Bruce. It’s awfully sad what happened, I’m sorry.”

Bruce, a shell of his former self, stood near the water tank in the feedlot behind the barn.

“Yes, of course. Other than that, though, you seem to be all right.”

“Yes, well, I have you as a friend, don’t I,” Blaise said.

“Yes, who said only birds of a feather flock together?”

“The end is nigh,” shouted the yellow hen as she darted between them. “Better have your houses in order, for the end is nigh.”

“It’s a good thing we’re not birds then, don’t you think?”

“I think Julius is beginning to rub off on you.”

“There are worse things, I suppose.”

“Blaise, you’re all aglow in milk chocolate, and creamy too.”

“The laborers relieve me of the extra weight and pressure of the milk so sweetly. Not only that, but it’s almost a massage the way it feels. It tickles the gentle way they milk me.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Beatrice said. “I imagine that’s one molesting I wouldn’t mind having, but as a horse, a mare, they don’t bother.”

The two friends stopped short of the shade offered by the olive tree. In the middle of the pasture stood a large unfamiliar animal down the slope near the back fence. As their eyes came into focus, adjusting to the distance and bright sunlight, they saw a strange-looking, and possibly feral boar. Although a Berkshire and typically black, with a white ring around its neck, this boar was lean, about 250 pounds, with a sun-dried, sun-bleached, reddish hide. He also had a pair of white tusks that protruded from his frothing jowls.

Julius flew over and landed in the branches of the olive tree. “We’re saved,” he shouted and moved in the branches. “Look, everybody, we’re saved, I tell you! We’re saved. That pig has a plan and it’s written in stone.”

Mel trotted from the barn out to greet the boar.

“Is that mule trotting? Quick, somebody, get a camera so we can be witnesses to history or a conspiracy theory.”

Mel met the boar in the middle of the pasture, not far from where Mel had once stood when the fence had come up around him. On the Egyptian side, the hermit monk of the Sinai Desert, Saint Anthony, glanced over his shoulder as he disappeared into the fabric of the desert walls, undetected by his Muslim neighbors.

“Blaise, I believe those tusks a loosa.”

“I wouldn’t know, Julius. I’ve never been there.”

“What are you, wise?”

“Well, I should think so,” Blaise said.

“Won’t you marry me, Blaise, or live with me in sin? What I’m trying to say is I’d like some chocolate milk, please.”

“Coming right up, sir,” said Blaise.

“What do you say we blow this joint and fly away together?”

“Julius, you’re overlooking the fact that I’m a cow and a very pregnant one at that.”

“I beg your pardon? No, I haven’t. As luck would have it, we happen to have our very own handy-dandy miracle worker just dropped in our backyard. I’d be remiss if we didn’t take it to him. I mean, if he can’t midwife a calf and make a cow grow wings and fly, what kind of miracle worker is he? Blaise, if you won’t fly, neither will I. But if you will, I’ll meet you on the other side of the moon. How’d you like that, honeymoon over the moon?”

“I’m afraid, Julius. I’m afraid of heights.”

“Oh, my goodness, so am I! Blaise, we have so much in common. Do you like apples?”

“Yes, I like apples and prefer to keep my feet on the ground. However, if you ever get tired of flying, I’ll give you a ride.”

“Oh, you, naughty girl,” he said as they witnessed a miracle in progress. “Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle. Would you look at that?” In the middle of the pasture, Mel kneeled to one knee and the boar climbed onto his back. Mel straightened to begin the journey up the slope toward the pond. “That beast has borne the burden of that boar. I think what we are witnessing here is a miracle of biblical proportion. Say, wait a minute. That mule has gotten behind the cart. Oh, what difference does it make? We already know that old, oft-repeated, worn-out story anyway. Well, at least now we can cut to the chase and in 12 hours call it a day.”

Mel made his way to the pond. He bowed and the boar slid off.

“Well, Julius,” Blaise said, “you did say Mel was strong for his age and size.”

“Yes, I did, but now for a mule his age and size, he’s just stubborn.”

Howard emerged from his pigsty and waded out into the pond to cool in the afternoon sun. Mel left the two boars and went into the pasture to graze while remaining within earshot.

“Look,” someone said, “he’s walking on water!”

The Berkshire boar waded out in the shallow end.

“Oh, please,” Julius said. “We’ll never hear the end of this one.”

“I suppose you think that’s a miracle too?” Beatrice said.

Julius shook his head. “It’s a miracle you can think and talk,” he said and glanced at Blaise. “Well, talk anyway.”

Molly, the Border Leicester, as she nursed her twin lambs said, “Perhaps he’ll return Bruce to his former glory?”

“He might perform tricks and pull a rabbit out of his ass because he doesn’t have a hat, and make the lame walk, Beatrice talk, and the blind see, but returning Bruce to his former self, I’m afraid that’ll happen when pigs fly.”