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Authors: Kinky Friedman
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to paint a portrait of the manger scene, the birth of Christ, to be unveiled at the close of the Christmas Eve midnight mass. All the court and the townspeople will gather for the mass and the unveiling at Eddystone Castle. That gives me about two and a half weeks to finish the whole painting, allowing for time to have it delivered to the castle.”
It was the most he’d said to anybody ever about anything. Valerie looked duly impressed. She came over a little closer to his chair.
“I don’t mean to be nosy,” she said again, “but you’re a really talented kid and you’re busting your hump to finish this project on time. What’s the king paying you for all this work?”
“I’m not sure. But according to Uncle Floyd, it’s enough to just possibly keep the farm from being taken away from us.”
“That would be terrible, dear Benjamin. This place is my home.”
“I wish I had a home.”
“You do, darling. It’s your home, too.”
“But I never thought of it as a home.”
“Benjamin. Dear Benjamin. You’ve never believed you had a home. You’ve never missed anyone. It seems so sad.”
“I’ve never been sad, either.”
That night, as Benjamin painted Nell, he continued talking to the pig as he painted. He told Valerie things that he’d never told anyone before. That wasn’t terribly surprising, of course, because he’d never told anyone anything before. Nevertheless, he kept talking. And Valerie seemed to be quite appreciative. She was, he thought, an excellent conversationalist.
“You see, Benjamin dear,” she’d said at one point late in the night, “pigs do not think of themselves as pigs. And you do not see us that way either. Maybe that’s one reason why we get along so well.”
“Maybe,” said Benjamin.
They talked long into the night and Benjamin found, to his pleasant surprise, that Valerie was not a distraction to his work at all. Not only was she a supportive voice but she proved to occasionally be a pretty fair art critic as well. Like most great artists, he didn’t really believe he was a great artist. Also like most great artists, he preferred to paint alone. That, of course, was before he’d met Valerie.
“Now that’s what I call talent!” said Valerie. “Making Nell the cow look like she’s interested in something.”
“Most people think I’m not interested in anything either. I know how it feels.”
“Ah, but I know different, Benjamin dear. To be a great artist you have to be interested in everything and everybody. You have to be naturally curious. You have to listen with your heart. You have all those qualities, dear Benjamin. That’s how I know you’re a great artist.”
“Thank you, Valerie.”
“Of course, I have those same qualities as well. I just can’t hold a brush in my hoof.”
“You’re more than a great artist, Valerie. You’re a great pig.”
“Well, thank you, Benjamin dear. I think you meant that as a compliment.”
“Of course I did, Valerie. I would never insult you.”
“No one should ever be insulted by the truth, dear Benjamin.”
A great, closed door in Benjamin’s life seemed to be opening up for him. A week ago he had no friends and was all alone in the world. Now he was painting a royal commission from the king and talking to his new best friend. Why should it matter that Valerie was a pig? He loved just sitting in the quiet darkness of the barn and painting and chatting with her. He liked the words they said. He liked the way their voices sounded, starting small, then booming around the big old barn. He couldn’t decide if it was stranger to hear her voice or his own.
“Valerie, do you think the other animals can speak?”
“They never said a word to me.”
“Do you think other pigs can speak?”
“Don’t know. Never met one.”
“I wonder.”
“What’s important, dear Benjamin, is that you and I can speak to each other.”
Benjamin put the final touches on Nell the cow and Valerie nodded her head
It was the most he’d said to anybody ever about anything. Valerie looked duly impressed. She came over a little closer to his chair.
“I don’t mean to be nosy,” she said again, “but you’re a really talented kid and you’re busting your hump to finish this project on time. What’s the king paying you for all this work?”
“I’m not sure. But according to Uncle Floyd, it’s enough to just possibly keep the farm from being taken away from us.”
“That would be terrible, dear Benjamin. This place is my home.”
“I wish I had a home.”
“You do, darling. It’s your home, too.”
“But I never thought of it as a home.”
“Benjamin. Dear Benjamin. You’ve never believed you had a home. You’ve never missed anyone. It seems so sad.”
“I’ve never been sad, either.”
That night, as Benjamin painted Nell, he continued talking to the pig as he painted. He told Valerie things that he’d never told anyone before. That wasn’t terribly surprising, of course, because he’d never told anyone anything before. Nevertheless, he kept talking. And Valerie seemed to be quite appreciative. She was, he thought, an excellent conversationalist.
“You see, Benjamin dear,” she’d said at one point late in the night, “pigs do not think of themselves as pigs. And you do not see us that way either. Maybe that’s one reason why we get along so well.”
“Maybe,” said Benjamin.
They talked long into the night and Benjamin found, to his pleasant surprise, that Valerie was not a distraction to his work at all. Not only was she a supportive voice but she proved to occasionally be a pretty fair art critic as well. Like most great artists, he didn’t really believe he was a great artist. Also like most great artists, he preferred to paint alone. That, of course, was before he’d met Valerie.
“Now that’s what I call talent!” said Valerie. “Making Nell the cow look like she’s interested in something.”
“Most people think I’m not interested in anything either. I know how it feels.”
“Ah, but I know different, Benjamin dear. To be a great artist you have to be interested in everything and everybody. You have to be naturally curious. You have to listen with your heart. You have all those qualities, dear Benjamin. That’s how I know you’re a great artist.”
“Thank you, Valerie.”
“Of course, I have those same qualities as well. I just can’t hold a brush in my hoof.”
“You’re more than a great artist, Valerie. You’re a great pig.”
“Well, thank you, Benjamin dear. I think you meant that as a compliment.”
“Of course I did, Valerie. I would never insult you.”
“No one should ever be insulted by the truth, dear Benjamin.”
A great, closed door in Benjamin’s life seemed to be opening up for him. A week ago he had no friends and was all alone in the world. Now he was painting a royal commission from the king and talking to his new best friend. Why should it matter that Valerie was a pig? He loved just sitting in the quiet darkness of the barn and painting and chatting with her. He liked the words they said. He liked the way their voices sounded, starting small, then booming around the big old barn. He couldn’t decide if it was stranger to hear her voice or his own.
“Valerie, do you think the other animals can speak?”
“They never said a word to me.”
“Do you think other pigs can speak?”
“Don’t know. Never met one.”
“I wonder.”
“What’s important, dear Benjamin, is that you and I can speak to each other.”
Benjamin put the final touches on Nell the cow and Valerie nodded her head
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