скачать книгу бесплатно
“Yes, but without the fanfare you received with Lizzy.”
“Oh, please, Beatrice, honestly. Do you think I want any of this?”
Besides the priest and his dozen charges, the multitudes had come out of trailers and buses and tents to once again witness the red calf.
“They come in droves to see Lizzy, but no one seems interested in Stefon.” Beatrice led her newborn colt to the pond to wash off the afterbirth, and to receive Howard’s blessing. Lizzy followed them to the pond, and Blaise followed Lizzy. When Howard saw the red calf, he was joyous to see her and wanted to baptize the young heifer.
“What about mine?” Beatrice stamped her hooves and splashed water on the sunbaked clay that surrounded the pond.
“Yes, of course,” Howard said. He poured water over the young colt’s head and body, washing off the dried blood and after-birth that covered the colt. When Howard was done, he looked toward Blaise and her calf.
Blaise said, “Go on then, baptize away if you must.”
And Lizzy entered the pond, splashing alongside the newly baptized colt. Howard poured mud and water over the calf’s head and the red around her ears and head and nose came off into the water and a dark brown appeared around the ears and eyes. She waded out to the middle of the pond to her neck, and when Lizzy came out the other side, the red fur had washed away into the water, revealing the chocolate brown under-tone along her body as that of her mother’s, with only the slightest hint of red from her father the former Simbrah bull, Bruce.
“Look,” shouted the kids, and they saw another example of why they should not believe what any adult told them. The red calf of legend or wish-fulfillment was now gone and, in her place, a rather nice-looking, normal brown-toned, mostly dark chocolate, half-Jersey calf.
“She’s brown,” Beatrice reveled with pleasure.
“Yes, she is,” Blaise sighed. “Isn’t she beautiful.”
Cries went up from the multitudes as people fell to their knees to mourn, to moan, and to pray.
Cheers went up on the Muslim side of the border and rifle fire was heard in the distance, followed by calls to prayer.
Blaise’s darling little red heifer had waded into the pond, was baptized, and had come out the other side a lovely brown as herself. Blaise could not have been happier as all the fanfare began to wane and people drove off in billows of dust clouds to points unknown, and where she couldn’t care less.
As it happened, the American ministers also witnessed the promise of the end come to an end. Reverend Beam said, “Son, this is all the proof you need to know the Jews are cursed.”
“What do we do now, Hershel? Take it to Pastor Tim?”
“It’s nonsense in the first place. Jesus will return before these Jews ever get their red calf anyway. Besides, we just want it to happen so they’ll see once and for all the one true Messiah is Jesus, and it’ll be too late for them.”
“Should we pray on it?”
“We should be rejoicing. The Jews are cursed. It’s as simple as that and God has spoken and the world has heard. The Lord is upon us and his will shall be done. Yes, take it to Pastor Tim Hayward, gentleman farmer, and pray on it.”
Boris stood under the barn, hidden in the shadows of the pilings. Mel, along with the Rottweilers Spotter and Trooper, approached the boar from behind and startled him.
“Something must be done about the Large White.”
Boris choked and coughed. A yellow feather shot from his jaws. Mel and Boris watched as the feather twirled in the air and floated to the ground. Boris belched, “As the messiah, it cannot be expected of me to live on our daily bread alone.”
“You shall not go hungry doing the Lord’s work.”
“It is never-ending, tiresome work.” He spat.
“Thank you for your keen observation in stamping out meddling witches from our midst. You have done us a good service by ridding us of a nuisance.”
“It was nothing really,” Boris said, “mostly bone and feathers.”
“Never mind her,” Mel said. “Another reason to eliminate the Yorkshire Baptist as the heretic that he is. Why has the red calf turned brown after he’s baptized her? Ample proof he is a heretic, and as such must be dealt with.”
“He preaches abstinence, so why can’t we just allow him to fade away?”
“He needs to be made an example of, a warning of what will happen to anyone if he goes against the teachings of our Lord and Father in Heaven. As long as he remains standing, breathing, preaching against you, and your reign from the shade of the fig tree, you’ll neither have the animals under your control nor be recognized as their one true savior and messiah. He has to be dealt with or you’ll never bring all the animals to your ministry, or into the fold of our one true church.”
“We preach at opposite ends of the same pasture.”
“Bring your sermons into the barn, our church.”
“Thought the barn was your domain.”
“As far as you can see and beyond,” Mel said as he stepped out of the barn, “all is my domain and you are here out of my good graces.” He stood before Boris the boar, the savior of the animals.
“I’ll go to the monk.”
“You, foolish pig,” Mel said. “Go to the monk. He’ll live high on the hog and you’ll enter heaven through his backsides.”
The two dogs growled.
“At ease, you’ll have your day in the sun.” Mel turned to the boar, “Go and minister to your flock.”
“I will after my nap.”
The priest, indignant, led the children away. “Come on,” he said, “get back on the bus. The Jews are cursed. Fuck, we’re all cursed. We’re all going to hell in a handbasket. Oh, dear Lord, when will it ever end?” The priest and the kids got on the bus, and all the pilgrims left, disheartened, sad that they’d have to wait a little while longer for the return of Jesus and the end of the earth.
When the Chinese and Thai laborers saw the newly brown young heifer, they went to get the moshavnik.
“El hijo de puta,” Juan Perelman cursed, not wanting God to hear him, or at any rate not wanting God to understand.
The Chinese laborer who was also a gentleman asked his countryman and Taoist what Perelman had said.
“I’m not Filipino,” he replied. “I don’t know Spanish.”
12
Curses Revisited
When Rabbi Ratzinger returned, along with members of his congregation, he was prepared. His congregation opened umbrellas against the possibility of falling objects or projectiles. They did not need to worry, though, for none of the fowl was around to make an impact. They knew what had been done was done.
Not knowing this, the rabbi and company stepped cautiously under tightly held umbrellas through the cow-pod spewed minefield of the barn lot and approached the once-great bull at the watering tank. The rabbi intended to reverse the curse that he had placed on the bull, now steer, ten months and three days before. He wished to formally forgive the bull, now steer, of his sins, and to restore him to his former glory with the help of G-d, and a miracle. “We are sorry, dear sir, for the mistake made against you. Please accept our humble apologies, and give of yourself once again to the Jersey cow,” Rabbi Ratzinger said in earnest. “We resend the curse put upon you, and wish you only good, and to return you to your former greatness. You shall no longer suffer an eternity as a result of our insolence and intolerance. Therefore, it is no longer deemed an abomination against G-d, nor a deed punished, for all is forgiven. You shall once again take up your rightful place, and go where you please, and with your masculine pride intact do what you please with whomsoever you please, please. Hence, go forth once again recognized on this, the Perelman moshav, and all moshavim of your presence, and be fruitful and bear gifts of offspring, and to offer that progeny as an offering to the Jewish people, and the world. Let us pray for the safe return of the missing testicles to their rightful place and ask G-d for the forgiveness of those short-sighted enough not to have known the consequences of their previous actions and wrongdoings against this great creature. Oh, dear Lord, please, unto this bull we ask that you undo our wrongs, and pardon him, this great and powerful Simbrah Bull who is, now as then, without sin. May the Lord return his name under the sun, make his presence known again, his seed fertile, repair the cruelest of cuts, and repair him, and his undoing to his former self among his people, his fellow-creatures, particularly his fellow cows. May they love him from this time forth to eternity as we reverse all curses of the firmament which are written in the book of the law and forgive him his transgressions.”
It was believed by the faithful since the bull had once mated with the Jersey, and as a result of their labors had brought forth a red calf, they could again, as long as he was returned to his former glory with his gonads intact. Unfortunately, it was too late for any of that. Bruce stood between the water tank and the gate he had once broken through, and the fence which now he rested against.
Bruce yawned.
The two American ministers were amused. They stood at the fence near the road and, from a distance, watched as the reverse-the-curse prayer service took place in the barn lot. The old black and gray mule passed by inside the fence and grazed along the fence nearby. From the hayloft, Julius, while clutching a paintbrush in his left talon, saw the expressions that ran across the faces of the three laborers, which he noted, and would remember for another time, but for what he didn’t yet know.
The laborers, embarrassed, their heads tilted, sheepishly stole sidelong glances at one another, adverting the rabbi’s and each other’s stare, for they knew where those gonads had gone, and no matter how earnestly the rabbi prayed, or the male congregation rocked and wailed, no miracle was going to return those gonads to their rightful owner. They were not going to grow back, come back, or be returned, for the three laborers had feasted on the rich delicacy only a few weeks before. Not two shared among three but a platter of many. For their labors, the laborers had amassed an impressive assortment of sheep, pig, and cow testicles. Once collected, peeled, egg and flour coated, salt and pepper added for taste, they were deep-fried to a golden brown. Then as an appetizer as Rocky Mountain oysters, or as the laborers preferred, swinging beef tips, along with a cocktail dipping sauce, served before the main dish of roast goose. “I have one for you, Hershel,” the youth minister said.
“What’s that, Randy?”
“A joke, but Catholics don’t much care for it. It’s about their beloved Virgin.”
“Let’s have it,” Reverend Beam laughed.
“When the Archangel Gabrielle visited the young virgin with the proposition of becoming impregnated by the Holy Ghost, she asked, ‘Will it hurt?’ To which the Angel replied, ‘Yes, but just a little.’ ‘All right,’ answered Mary, the little strumpet.”
In some cultures, among certain peoples of the world, particularly those who lived along the Ohio River Valley and Appalachia in the Southeast United States, it was believed that ingesting cows’ brains or pigs’ nuts would make one smart. It was also believed among the people of Appalachia and along the Ohio River Valley that they were God’s chosen, and heaven was theirs alone.
* * *
Scrambled eggs in America
From the Ohio River Valley region and along Appalachia, a rich delicacy of calf brains was highly prized and often served with scrambled eggs. And bovine spine, brains, and gonads were often eaten, along with pig and sheep nuts, rounding out the top ten dishes that were believed to make a person smart, but with caution, not to eat too many. In this part of the country, regardless of the organ served, whether cows’ balls or brains, the dishes were often collectively called “cows’ brains.” Therefore, a dish of scrambled eggs served with cows’ brains was a euphemism used to protect their young against the nuts and bolts as it were of the vulgarities of the nuts and balls that were being served up on their platters.
As with many people across the face of the earth, the three laborers considered a battered platter of calf or pig or sheep nuts a worthy dish to ward off the ill effects of impotency. Consuming the gonads of a male mammal, it was believed, would repair the gonads of the male mammal eater. The three laborers ate plenty. They feasted on swinging beef tips, believing that the more they consumed the better the aphrodisiac. Therefore, as reality would dictate, Rabbi Ratzinger and his congregation, no matter how earnestly they prayed to G-d, no miracle was going to reverse the curse and return those gonads.
The American ministers, unlike the Asian or the nomad, knew they would one day enter the kingdom of heaven for a life spent groveling at the imaginary feet of Jesus. Unlike others, Jews, Muslims, or Chinese, the ministers knew not only did they have God on their side, but by virtue of their resemblance to the Lord, they were His precious chosen few. They were content, waiting for the triumphed return of their Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
“How could these people ever think they’d be allowed into heaven?”
“Who,” Randy said, “the Jews?”
“Any of ‘em,” Reverend Hershel Beam said. “I mean, where does it say in the bible any of these people, people heaven?”
“I don’t know, the Old Testament?”
“Well, it doesn’t. Take my word for it.”
“Well, then, thank goodness.”
“No, Randy, thank God.”
The Thai laborer, like his American counterpart, didn’t need an education he thought as he took a shovel from the shelf and commenced shoveling sheep shit from the stalls. Unlike their American counterparts, though, the laborers had most of their faculties and senses about them and were under no delusion of an afterlife in another realm. They weren’t even white, so how could they possibly even think they’d be allowed into heaven reserved for good, Christian folk anyway? Any good Christian Fundamentalist knew this, for the Bible told them so.
At the edge of the village, Muslim men sat perched on the hill overlooking the farm below with the sheep, and their little lambs, along with the goats, grazing in the fields, the fields of goat and sheep and little lambs, and knew where their next feast was coming from. It was the end of Ramadan and the eve of the joyous three-day celebration of fast-breaking called Eid al-Fitr, which meant trouble for the animals of the moshav, for the Muslims were in a charitable mood and hungry too. It was sundown. Several men struck matches to the ends of cigarettes.
13
Midnight Marauders
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.
