Читать книгу Pigs In Paradise - Roger Maxson - Страница 7

On an Israeli farm on the Egyptian border, a Jersey cow gave birth to what appeared to be a red calf of biblical proportion. Muslims from the village that overlooked the Israeli farm shouted and pointed with a great deal of consternation. Several men held their heads while others wrung their hands and moaned and scurried back and forth. The call went out for afternoon prayers.

Meanwhile, on the Israeli side, there was a hush over the land, a collective breath was taken, followed by the rush of people as they flocked to the farm just south of Kerem Shalom to witness what possibly could be the miracle that would surely usher in the Messiah and with him the end of the world. Jews and Christians alike gathered around the property fence at their respective places, depending on who they were. And regardless of who they were, Christian or Jew, all were beside themselves with emotion.

One orthodox Jew jumped for joy. “We’re saved! The world is coming to an end,” he sang a little immodestly. He checked himself and his hat.

Stanley, the black Belgian stallion, trotted out of the barn. He wondered what was all the excitement about. He saw all the people gathering at the property fence, men and women, even children this time. “What’s all this?” he said. “If they think I’m going to put on another show, they’re mistaken.”

“Not here for you, Stanley,” said Praline, the leader of the Luzein breed. She and Molly tried to graze as their lambs nursed from them, both new mothers with Molly, the Border Leicester, the proud mother of twins.

“What the–whatever,” he said and trotted out to graze beneath the olive trees.

In the middle of the pasture, under the sun and God and heaven, the Jersey nursed her newborn calf. This was no ordinary calf, but truly a red calf that nursed from the teats of a mere Jersey. “It’s a miracle,” someone shouted. “Someone, call a rabbi.”

“Please, someone, anyone, call Rabbi Ratzinger to verify this miracle of birth.”

With all the attention being paid to Blaise’s newborn, she turned to Mel. “Mel, what is all this about? Why are all these people here and so much attention being given to Lizzy? I’m not comfortable with this, Mel. Mel, what does it all mean?”

Mel, the mule priest, assured Blaise, the Jersey cow, there was nothing to worry about. Her newborn calf was very special indeed. A gift from God, she’ll always treated as royalty. “For as long as your little heifer shall live, she’ll remain special and treated as such by Jewish and Christian peoples the world over, and all people the world over will one day come to know of and experience her presence.”

From the world over, media were arriving in droves to document the event, setting up camera equipment for what was going to be, once verified by a rabbi or committee thereof, the official announcement and declaration of the calf’s authenticity. Fox News from America was on the scene and ready to report live.

Julius, the resident parrot, along with the two ravens, Ezekiel and Dave, watched as the events unfolded from the shade of the great olive tree in the middle of the pasture. Molly and Praline grazed near the terraced slopes, with their newborn lambs staying close to their sides.

“I imagine Molly’s particularly hungry now that she’s providing for three,” said Billy St. Cyr, an Angora goat, to Billy Kidd, a lean brown and tan Boer goat.

“Yes, I suppose she is,” Billy Kidd replied as if he cared while gnawing at the yellow shrub grass.

“Julius,” Dave said, “what’s going on here? What is all this?”

“Allow me to explain as events unfold before our very eyes. I’m afraid you won’t believe this, but here goes. It’s a fairy story of the most absurd kind. The good news is we have three years before we have to pack for Armageddon. The bad news is we’ll have nowhere to go because Armageddon brings with it the end of the world as we know it. That’s the plan anyway.”

“I’m sorry,” Ezekiel said. “What did he say?”

“Something about a fairy tale,” Dave told him.

“I like fairy tales.”

“I doubt very much you’ll like this one,” Dave said.

“Before we get to the happy-ending-of-life-as-we-know-it,” Julius continued, “we’ll first have to wait to see if she’s worthy of sacrificial blood-letting ritual sport. In the meantime, though, no one is to make that beast a burden. I wouldn’t tell Blaise, though, if I were you, the part about cutting the poor dear’s throat.”

Blaise removed her calf to the sanctuary of the barn, far from the madding crowds of onlookers.

When Rabbi Ratzinger and members of his congregation arrived, they were prepared this time, armed with umbrellas. Many thought this was a cautionary measure as protection from the sun. However, Julius and the ravens knew better. A member of the congregation held an umbrella over the rabbi when they entered the barn lot. Rabbi Ratzinger nodded, acknowledging Bruce, and stopped. He said, “You have made a great sacrifice for mankind and was given one chance to get it right. Thank you, Mr. Bull.” A member of his party whispered in the rabbi’s ear. “Oh, yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Steer. You did a very good thing before you did a very bad thing. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

The ravens had Julius. For everyone else, there was Rabbi Ratzinger.

As per the rabbi, “Be sure to give this calf the life of Riley. Do not put her under the yoke or she will no longer be worthy. Polish her nails. Give her a bed of down to rest her beautiful unblemished head and a field of clover. She must be protected and cared for. I will examine the young calf now, and in three years hence, I will return to examine her again. If at that time, she has remained unmolested and unblemished, she will truly be worthy of the purification rituals needed to pave the way for the Messiah. There shall be no three white, black, or brown hairs on this heifer’s body or tail. Remember, she has to remain a pure red calf for the purification rituals to work, so that we shall be deemed worthy to once again mount the stairs to the Holy Mount and enter the temple of the Holy of Holies. That is, of course, once we destroy the mosque and rebuild the holy temple.

“In three years, we shall find the boy pure of heart. We have him already, living in a bubble under glass, a boy pure of heart, unsoiled. There he shall remain a virgin. Not only that, but the boy shall not waste his seed on the ground. For when the boy is of age to defile himself, he’ll be fitted with a pair of gloves designed for the boy pure of heart to remain that way. At any time, the boy tries to defile himself, he shall receive a current of electricity as a sign from G-d, as though it were a lightning bolt. Do not fear, however, for our electrical shock is much less severe than G-d’s lightning bolt. Once the boy has completed his G-d-given mission of slitting the red calf’s throat, we shall throw him a great Bar Mitzvah.”

From the branches of the olive tree, Julius and the ravens wished that the rabbi and company were without those umbrellas.

The rabbi entered the barn, and the crowd held its collective breath. When he reappeared, the rabbi said that she was worthy for the three-year vigil, and the multitudes sighed, then cheered and applauded. Some fainted, while others cried with joy.

As he prepared to depart the feedlot, and thus quit the farm, Rabbi Ratzinger approached the former Simbrah bull. The rabbi once again said for all to hear, “He has made a great sacrifice, and has suffered greatly for the people of Israel, and all people of the humankind. Now, in three years, and without blemish, this red calf shall be sacrificed by the hand of the boy pure of heart when he cuts her throat and makes us worthy to rebuild the third temple that will usher in the Messiah and destroy all the earth so that we shall once again live as before as in a fairy tale of happily ever after.” As the crowd roared, some passed out due to all the excitement and heat.

“Now that makes perfectly good logical sense to me,” Julius said. “I couldn’t have repeated it better myself.”

Mel entered the barn and found Blaise with her newborn in the stall. “It is imperative that you understand that as long as your heifer lives, no harm will come to it.”

“Her,” Blaise said. “She is not an ‘it.’”

“Of course, I meant no disrespect, my dear,” Mel said. “She is not an ‘it,’ as you say. She is, however, the red calf, and thus, the new It-girl of the civilized world.”