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Pigs In Paradise
Roger Maxson
Pigs in Paradise is a satirical novel, political, literary, and funny. An exercise in freedom of expression, it is also a critique of religion in politics, namely American evangelicalism.
When Blaise gives birth to Lizzy, the “red calf” on an Israeli farm, the masses flock en masse to witness the miracle birth that will usher the end of the world and the arrival of the Messiah, or his return, depending on which camp, Christian or Jew. When the promise of the end comes to an end, the red calf blemished, and no longer worthy of blood-letting sacrifice, the faithful the world over are crestfallen. By this time, two evangelical ministers, as representatives of a megachurch in America, have arrived. They strike a deal with the Israeli moshavnik, and the Israeli farm animals are coming to America.
Meanwhile, Pope Benevolent absolves the Jews, sings karaoke with Rabbi Ratzinger, and Boris the Berkshire boar and animal Messiah is served at the last supper. Not to be outdone, the Protestant ministers hold a nativity pageant, and just before the animals embark aboard ship for America, Mel the mule becomes Pope Magnificant, resplendent with white linen cossack, pectoral cross, and papal red leather slippers.
Once in America, the animals are transported halfway across the country to Wichita, Kansas, in time for the Passion-Play parade before arriving at their final destination, a Christian farm. Seven television monitors, tuned to 24/7 church sermons, are juxtaposed with scenes from a barn, a real circus. After a while, and no longer able to take anymore, they chase Mel from the barn. And Stanley, Manly Stanley, the black Belgian stallion of legend (wink, wink), kicks out the TV monitors for a moment of silence, giving peace a chance if only for a short time.
Translator: Roger Maxson
Roger Maxson
Pigs In Paradise
A Fairy Story Most Absurd
© 2021 Roger Maxson
COPYRIGHT
Title: Pigs in Paradise
Subtitle: a fairy most absurd
Author: Roger Maxson
First edition
Year of publication: 2021
ISBNs EPUB: 9788835429104 PRINT: 9788835429111
Publisher name: Tektime
Cover Design: Adam Hay Studio
Clauses
All rights reserved
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Fiction
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Moral rights
Roger Maxson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
External content
Roger Maxson has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
Designations
Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.
Additional clauses
The following are excerpted under fair use, “Nobody Loves Me but My Mother” by B. B. King; “If I had a Hammer” by Pete Seeger; “Danke Schoen” English lyrics by Milt Gabler; “I’m Henry the VIII, I Am” by P.P. Weston. Gospel songs in public domain or not copyrighted, “I’ve Got That Joy, Joy, Joy Down in my Heart,” “I’ll Fly Away,” and “Bringing in the Sheaves.” Lastly, hints of “Imagine” by John Lennon.
Regarding permission to use the lyrics to “We Shall Overcome” by Pete Seeger, et al., all reasonable efforts were made to contact the copyright holders. If, however, anyone who believes their copyright to be infringed is welcome to contact the author/publisher to remedy this issue. I consider the above song a gift.
For Chloe
What is wrong with inciting intense dislike of a religion if the activities or teachings of that religion are so outrageous, irrational or abusive of human rights that they deserve to be intensely disliked?
Rowan Atkinson
Preface
After spending nine years writing Pigs in Paradise, following four years of research, trepidation, and fear of failure, I decided to self-publish because I did not want to delay instant gratification and overnight success any longer. Another reason to self-publish was that I wanted to publish my book, the one I wrote.
Pigs in Paradise, a fairy story most absurd, is a political satire, literary and funny, too, says I. If the novel seems a little long, there is a reason for that. It is an exercise in freedom of expression, and freedom from religion, a critique of religion in politics, namely American evangelicalism. The idea for the novel started to take shape in 2007. Influenced by George Orwell’s Animal Farm, I found my mission, or it found me.
Being religious is a condition chosen for the individual born into one before a child has a choice or an option. I do not ridicule religious people, per se. I do unto religious leaders, though, as they do unto others, and have a good time doing it.
Someone’s religious label is chosen for the individual. Quite often, the religious label depends on where one is born. If someone is born in India, it is reasonable to assume that that person will be Hindu. Likewise, if someone is born in Pakistan, that person is fucked.
In the infidel West, there is a smorgasbord of religious choice. In the United States, there are Protestant persuasions, Baptist congregations from the north or south, Presbyterians, Lutherans, Methodists, and Episcopalians. There is a close cousin, the Catholic church, and let us not forget the Mormons of the Church of Latter-Day Saints of Jesus. Competition is good, and every stripe or persuasion hates the other. Today, a pressing issue runs through the archdiocese of the American Catholic Church. Bishops ponder whether the American Catholic president should be given communion because of his position on abortion. As if anyone cares what these pedophiles think. They have become old, worn-out, irrelevant, the way of all religions today.
Today, thank goodness, more “nones” are born than nuns or born agains. More “nones” in more non-religious households means hope, a promise of good things to come. As more of these young “nones” move up the ranks and into positions of political power, they’ll save the world from its course of self-destruction from guns, greed, climate change, a promise, and a prayer of a better life up yonder. Until that time, however, we have what we have and must do what we can to ward off the evil done by the religious or, rather, the ridiculous. I hope I have done my part, if only in a small way. What is a fairy story? Talking animals. What is absurd? Talking animals led to religion.
Roger Maxson
1
Out on Highway 61
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.”
2
A Road Runs Through It
The two ravens flew from the loft of the two-story cinder-block barn and alighted in the branches of the great olive tree in the middle of the pasture. The pasture was part of a 48-hectare moshav in Israel that bordered Egypt and the Sinai Desert. Only a few kilometers south of Kerem Shalom, it was not far from the Rafal Border Crossing between the Gaza Strip and Egypt. The 48-hectare moshav, or 118-acre farm, stood like an oasis in the arid desert with olive and carob trees, lemon groves, brown-green pasture, and crops used as fodder for the livestock. In the pasture, pigs dotted the landscape, grazing on the brown-green grass, and lounged on the wet-clay banks of a pond fed by a system of underground aqua filters that supplied water to this and other surrounding moshavim.
Ezekiel and Dave were perched, hidden among the branches of the great olive tree. Ezekiel said, “On a day like today one can see forever.”
“Sandstone, as far as the eye can see,” Dave said and ruffled his shiny black feathers.
“Oh, look, a scorpion. Care for one?” Ezekiel said.
“No, thank you, I’ve eaten. Besides, I doubt the scorpion would care very much about being my afternoon meal.”
“You have such empathy for the lesser forms of creatures among us.”
“I can afford empathy when full,” Dave said. “When running on empty, not so much.”
“You’re always generous toward the farm animals.”
“Yes, well, empathy for the lesser creatures among us.”
While the domesticated farm animals, two breeds of sheep, goats, Jersey cow, and bay mare grazed in the pasture, others, mostly pigs, took refuge from the noonday sun, far from the madding herds, flocks, and gaggles, by lounging on the banks of the pond in relative peace. A road ran north and south, dividing the moshav in half, and on this side of the road, the Muslims from the nearby Egyptian village did not like the spectacle of filthy swine sunbathing.
Mel, the priestly mule, meandered along the fence line, careful to stay within earshot of two Orthodox Jews as they made their way through the moshav along the sandy road as they often did while on their daily walks. The road went parallel between the main pasture on one side and the dairy operation on the other.
“Jew, pig, what difference does it make?”
“Well, so long as they keep kosher.”
“Mark my word, one day those pigs will be our ruin.”
“Nonsense,” replied the one whose name was Levy.
“Of all places on the earth to raise pigs, Perelman chose here with Egypt to the west and Gaza Strip to the north. This place is a tinderbox,” Levy’s friend Ed said.
“The money Perelman makes on exports to Cypress, and Greece, not to mention Harvey’s Pulled Pork Palace in Tel Aviv, makes the moshav profitable.”
“The Muslims aren’t happy with swine wallowing in the mud,” Ed said. “They say the pigs are an affront to Allah.”
“I thought we were an affront to Allah.”
