Читать книгу Pigs In Paradise - Roger Maxson - Страница 13

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.

“A penny for your thoughts,” Julius said. “Yo, dude, that is some deep shit, man. Seriously, though, your timing is impeccable. What economy of words! What clarity! You’ve certainly proven Edward De Vere correct who wrote, ‘Brevity is the soul of wit.’”

Bruce was chewing his cud, “Who?”

“Edward De Vere, the 17th Earl of Oxford.”

“Whatever.”

“And by the size of that mound, Wit large.” Julius bounded along Bruce’s backbone to his shoulders. “Do you know why God gave man thumbs? So, he could pick up our shit.”

“I don’t believe you believe in God.”

“I don’t believe the joke would have worked as well.”

“What joke?”

* * *

That night while most people were tucked away in their beds asleep, the bay mare, on the other hand, nuzzled up against the black Belgian Stallion in the barn lot, running her nose up along his great neck. Stanley neighed and shook his mane and stamped his feet. Beatrice stepped in front of Stanley and pushed against him, pushing against his smooth, rounded barrel chest. Without an audience in attendance, Manly Stanley snorted, and reared back onto his muscular hind legs, and covered Beatrice in the moonlight.