Читать книгу Pigs In Paradise - Roger Maxson - Страница 19

It was a moonless night and a cool breeze blew over the farm from the Sinai desert. Ezekiel and Dave perched in the great olive tree out in the middle of the main pasture.

“It sure is dark,” Ezekiel said.

“Yes, well, at least it’s not stormy,” Dave replied. There came a rustling from the dark, followed by a streak over the fence. “Did you see that?”

“What do you think I am, a barn owl?” Ezekiel said. “I can’t see anything. It’s dark.”

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

Mel rushed to the barn and told Boris, “If you want the farm animals to follow you as their savior, here’s your chance. Go save your flock.”

A flock of geese cackled as Boris ran up against them in the dark and they scattered. They quickly regrouped and waddled out into the rustling noises from the pasture. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness, they made out images, short-lived streaks, followed by sounds and voices they did not understand.

The farm animals, great and small, ducks, aforementioned geese, chickens, goats, and sheep attacked, protecting their own, as pigs, the pokers, boars, and sows squealed and fought off the marauders in the night. Noises came from the Egyptian side, the sound of fence giving way under the weight of men climbing over and falling into the pasture. Others fell back onto Egyptian soil with the spoils of the attack before anyone could stop them. Still more were chased along the fence line and prevented from any more damage than they had already wrecked.

Boris, with abandon, darted into the fields and bulldozed his way through dozens of robed images in the dark. He reared back onto his hind legs and kicked, rammed, and horned the raiders of the moshav. Someone cried out and splashed into the pond, followed by bleating. Someone else yelled in Arabic and was followed by peals of laughter. Others scrambled across the pasture, chased by a herd of wild geese. Ducks quacked, chickens crowed, and pigs squealed through the darkness. And from the cries heard in the dark, Boris must have spiked several men with his tusks as the tide turned. The animals turned back the rustlers, chasing them from the moshav, over the perimeter fence, and across the border into Egypt. The chickens crowed, the porkers squealed, and no longer from pain but pride. The animals had thwarted the raid. The fowl felt cocky for foiling the attack, and victory was theirs.

And from the safe sanctuary of the barn, Mel declared Boris the savior, for hadn’t he just saved them all, great and small, regardless of species, from the marauders and prevented them from taking more from among their flocks? The farm animals agreed and accepted this as gospel. “There would have been untold loses, and unfathomable pain, had it not been for the Godsend attention and power of Boris, our Lord, and Savior,” proclaimed Mel.

After Boris had been proclaimed Lord and Savior, an assessment was taken of the number lost by Joseph, the elderly 12-year-old, 900-pound boar. At 12 years and 900 pounds he never left the barn. Seven among them, seven of their own, had been lost in the raid, two sheep, two goats, including Billy St Cyr, the Angora goat, and three lambs, one of whom was Boo, Praline’s only lamb.

Molly consoled Praline. They huddled together in the barn with their noses pressed against the railing of a stall. On the other side of the railing, Mel told Praline to believe and to accept Boris as her Savior, and that one day she would again be reunited with her dear little Boo.

“Really?” She said, hopefully.

“Praline,” Molly said.

“As God is my witness,” Mel assured her.

* * *

“It’s the cost of doing business,” Juan Perelman said the next day. “It’s the price we pay for having a farm at the edge of civilization.” He stood against the fence in the road with the three farm laborers as they assessed the damage done from the night before. “How many did we lose?”

“Six, I believe,” said the Thai.”

“Well, okay. It could have been much worse. What did we lose?”

“By last count two sheep, two goats, and two lambs. One of the goats, I’m afraid, was the Angora ram.”

“Well, fuck, at least we got one shearing this year and the mohair to prove it.”

“He’d been sick lately from intestinal parasites.”

“Good,” Perelman said. “I hope he burns their asses.”

The men laughed.

“I forgot it was Eid al-Fitr. I get them mixed up and, well, I should have known. It’s what comes after Ramadan, whenever that is. It changes every year. Next year I hope one of you will remember, so we’ll be prepared for what’s coming.”

“Here comes trouble,” said the Chinese gentleman.

“Oh, do you know him?” asked the Taoist, rhetorically.

“Never saw him before in my life,” replied his countryman.

An Egyptian took his life into his hands when he crossed the border onto Israeli soil and approached Perelman and the laborers. He wore colorful blue and purple robes that blew in the wind and headdress. His identity was hidden by a scarf, and the Egyptian spoke on the condition of anonymity. “These Jews have in their possession a monster, a red djinn.” He waved his hands and pointed to that part of the moshav that bordered Egypt. “It was on this land, in this place, that these Jews set loose an evil spirit against my brothers, which harms, insults, offends all Muslims, and is an abomination to Allah.” Mel walked along the fence of that evil moshav to bear witness to the conversation, and to share with the others as needed later. The laborers looked to Juan Perelman, who said nothing. As the Egyptian went on, Perelman continued to listen.

“Praise Allah in all his glorious wisdom that no Muslim brother was contaminated by the filthy infidel swine. We only collect donations to the poor to ensure that they, too, can have a holiday meal and participate in the celebration of Sadaqah al-Fitr, the charity of fast-breaking.”

“I am these Jews. It is not our place to donate animals to dress your table or to feed the poor.”

“This place has been desecrated and made unholy,” said the shepherd. “The Jews have a compost pile full of pig shit that they will spread over this land as fertilizer, but it will bring death and destruction and nothing good shall ever come of it. This land under our feet is no longer worthy for my camel to piss on.” He turned toward the border and threw his hands up, tossing the purple and blue robe sleeves over his shoulders.

“Now we know what it takes to keep them from our land, pig shit, lots and lots of pig shit.”

No sooner had the good shepherd and concerned citizen crossed back into Egypt than he was found out by his neighbors, the faithful. The followers of the all-merciful and just God picked up stones and stoned him to death before he reached his village, which proved regardless of conditions of anonymity, the all-knowing, omniscient God, knows all.

“One day they may be our ruin,” Perelman said, “but today we are his.”

“The correct number of losses I’m afraid is seven,” said the Thai laborer. “We missed the Luzein lamb.”

“The Luzein,” Perelman said, “shit, that’s too bad.”

Standing outside the fence, Perelman and the laborers watched as Praline, chased after the Border Leicester twin lambs, running between them, wanting one of them to nurse from her.