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Authors: Kinky Friedman
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several times in thoughtful approval. Benjamin had been careful to leave plenty of blank canvas to fill in the other animals, the three wise men, and, of course, Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. It was easy to paint a bad manger scene, Benjamin thought. To paint a really good one took not only talent but time. God had given him the talent, Benjamin figured, but apparently, He’d neglected to give him the time.
“Who’s next?” asked Valerie.
“Who’s next for what?”
“For the painting, dear Benjamin. The horse and the cow are beautiful, but who’s next? Is it the lamb? Is it the rooster? Is it me?”
Now, for the first time in his life, Benjamin realized that friendship, along with its comforts and joys, also has its burdens and responsibilities. Both the king and his uncle had made it very clear to him that the painting must be very traditional, historically correct, and biblically accurate. In all the religious literature he’d ever read, there’d been no account of Jesus’ people tending pigs. The Old Testament, he knew, forbade eating pork. How in the world, he wondered, could he ever explain this to such a trusting and sensitive friend as Valerie? He’d have to think of how to most gently break the news to her. It was the truth, wasn’t it? She’d said herself that no one should ever be insulted by the truth. But there were still two weeks until the deadline. No reason to upset her now. He’d explain it to her later.
“I think I’ll paint the lamb next,” he said at last.
“No worries, dear Benjamin,” she said. “I can wait.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Lamb
T HE HARDEST PART about being an artist, thought Benjamin the following morning, was not drawing a horse or a cow. The hardest part was being true to yourself. Benjamin, for the first time, felt a new sensation. He felt a little sad. He didn’t cry, of course. He’d never cried in his life. He was just a little sad that his new friend, with whom he so enjoyed conversing and being with, appeared to want so badly to be included in the painting. He wasn’t excluding her, he told himself; the ancient Hebrews were excluding her.
He also knew that one false note in a work of art could ruin everything. In this case, it could have the effect of the king retracting the promised commission and the family farm being lost. Even if he didn’t think of it as home, Valerie did. What would become of her if the farm were to be taken away? Having heard the vengeful pronouncements by the king, he did not look forward to feeling his royal wrath. If he were to include Valerie in the manger scene, he would probably never work in the kingdom again.
After he’d eaten his oatmeal, he felt a bit better about things. Maybe Valerie would understand after all. Yet, somehow it didn’t seem quite fair. Of all the animals in the barnyard, she was the only one he really cared about. And yet all of them would probably end up in the painting except her. He scoured the Old Testament in a feverish effort to find something nice someone had said about pigs, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.
After dark, he walked purposefully into the dusky old barn, lit the lanterns, settled himself into his chair, and reexamined the horse and the cow on the canvas. He was a modest young man but even to his highly critical eyes they looked good. Now where was that little lamb hiding? He took one of the lanterns and began poking around the barn.
“Looking for a lost lamb?” said a friendly, familiar voice. “That could be anybody, dear Benjamin.”
“Hey, Valerie,” said Benjamin. “It so happens that I am looking for that lost lamb. He’s probably asleep.”
“Most normal people are, Benjamin dear. But who wants to be normal.”
“I quite agree,” he said.
“If we were normal,” said Valerie, sidling out into the circle of light, “we wouldn’t be talking like this. And you wouldn’t be painting such a beautiful masterpiece.”
“You really think the painting could be a
“Who’s next?” asked Valerie.
“Who’s next for what?”
“For the painting, dear Benjamin. The horse and the cow are beautiful, but who’s next? Is it the lamb? Is it the rooster? Is it me?”
Now, for the first time in his life, Benjamin realized that friendship, along with its comforts and joys, also has its burdens and responsibilities. Both the king and his uncle had made it very clear to him that the painting must be very traditional, historically correct, and biblically accurate. In all the religious literature he’d ever read, there’d been no account of Jesus’ people tending pigs. The Old Testament, he knew, forbade eating pork. How in the world, he wondered, could he ever explain this to such a trusting and sensitive friend as Valerie? He’d have to think of how to most gently break the news to her. It was the truth, wasn’t it? She’d said herself that no one should ever be insulted by the truth. But there were still two weeks until the deadline. No reason to upset her now. He’d explain it to her later.
“I think I’ll paint the lamb next,” he said at last.
“No worries, dear Benjamin,” she said. “I can wait.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Lamb
T HE HARDEST PART about being an artist, thought Benjamin the following morning, was not drawing a horse or a cow. The hardest part was being true to yourself. Benjamin, for the first time, felt a new sensation. He felt a little sad. He didn’t cry, of course. He’d never cried in his life. He was just a little sad that his new friend, with whom he so enjoyed conversing and being with, appeared to want so badly to be included in the painting. He wasn’t excluding her, he told himself; the ancient Hebrews were excluding her.
He also knew that one false note in a work of art could ruin everything. In this case, it could have the effect of the king retracting the promised commission and the family farm being lost. Even if he didn’t think of it as home, Valerie did. What would become of her if the farm were to be taken away? Having heard the vengeful pronouncements by the king, he did not look forward to feeling his royal wrath. If he were to include Valerie in the manger scene, he would probably never work in the kingdom again.
After he’d eaten his oatmeal, he felt a bit better about things. Maybe Valerie would understand after all. Yet, somehow it didn’t seem quite fair. Of all the animals in the barnyard, she was the only one he really cared about. And yet all of them would probably end up in the painting except her. He scoured the Old Testament in a feverish effort to find something nice someone had said about pigs, but there was nothing. Nothing at all.
After dark, he walked purposefully into the dusky old barn, lit the lanterns, settled himself into his chair, and reexamined the horse and the cow on the canvas. He was a modest young man but even to his highly critical eyes they looked good. Now where was that little lamb hiding? He took one of the lanterns and began poking around the barn.
“Looking for a lost lamb?” said a friendly, familiar voice. “That could be anybody, dear Benjamin.”
“Hey, Valerie,” said Benjamin. “It so happens that I am looking for that lost lamb. He’s probably asleep.”
“Most normal people are, Benjamin dear. But who wants to be normal.”
“I quite agree,” he said.
“If we were normal,” said Valerie, sidling out into the circle of light, “we wouldn’t be talking like this. And you wouldn’t be painting such a beautiful masterpiece.”
“You really think the painting could be a
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