momentary sliver of daylight to see an escape route. But a look from Joe told us to hold. Surprisingly, instead of fighting, Arabs and Jews tentatively shook hands and clapped one another on the back, cursing Shalom all the while. A man in a keffiyeh and a man in a yarmulke locked arms. “Kill the pig,” they cried in unison. They joined forces in one mass behind us, aiming their projectiles at us. Mostly they missed, but a stone hit me in the hindquarters. These men may have been devoted to their god, but luckily their aim sucked. They were getting closer, however. Maybe thirty yards away now. And the desert was filled with sharp-edged rocks. They had infinite ammunition.
“Now,” Joe said.
“Now what, Einstein?” asked Shalom.
“RUNNNNNNNNNN!”
We ran. We ran like horses, like cheetahs, like the wind. We ran and we didn’t look back. I don’t know when the crowd gave up chase, it must’ve been somewhere in the desert. We knew the two-legged ones could not keep up, but we weren’t taking any chances. We ran like our asses were on fire all the way back to Ben Gurion Airport.
43
MOHAMMED’S RADIO
( see Zevon, Warren)
Luckily our little plane was still in the quiet corner of the tarmac where we’d stashed it, and we were able to run to it and board without any further incident. Tom took off in seconds like a pro and banked hard left as Shalom looked down at the country he thought would save him.
(A note from my editor here. She asked me to take out “all the religion stuff” because people take religion very seriously. As a cow, I don’t understand that, but I certainly mean no offense. I told you already that Mother Earth is our god, and the only thing that offends our god is waste and pollution, not words and pictures and jokes. I have nothing but sympathy for reverence of God in the abstract. Love of God and life is as natural as the force that holds the planets in their dance. But I’m telling you the story of what happened, my story. And I can’t leave anything out. My editor says, “Sugar, there’s no way Hollywood will make a movie about a Jewish pig in Israel being stoned by Muslims. Too many hot buttons. Too niche. Too indie. We have to think tent pole. Not Sony Classics. Can’t the pig go to New York, you know, and meet a girl? Kind of like Babe meets My Big Fat Greek Wedding ?”
I guess he could, but that wouldn’t be the truth, you know? And I certainly didn’t want to watch, let alone write, a rom-com love scene between Shalom and the lady of his dreams that he cute-meets on the streets of Soho in the rain.)
Anyway, since we were traveling in—okay, since we had stolen—one of those small private planes, there was a Box God screen on every seatback (fancy), and it played a live television feed. So after we’d had some hot nuts and cold mimosas, we began to watch the news on the screen as there were some breaking reports coming in from the Middle East. Apparently, Joe and Shalom had inspired that tiny group of Arabs and Jews, just a handful really, beyond the common ground of hatred, and the two sides were talking again, with rumors of brotherhood spreading in the region. Who knows—today they embrace in shared hatred, maybe tomorrow they just embrace. Just a beginning, but because it was a slow news day, the networks were making a big deal of it. They showed an old modeling photo of Joe on CNN with the caption “Peacemaking Mystery Model.” MSNBC broadcast a shot of Shalom with the caption “Savior Swine.” And, of course, Fox weighed in with “Hamnesty????”
“You’re famous,” I said jokingly to the peace pig.
“Yeah, who knew.” Shalom sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I could’ve made it there anyway, don’t know if I’m enough of a mensch to live the rest of my life wandering the land like Cain. I think maybe I like to be liked too much.”
“Well, I like you,” I said. “Ya filthy swine.”
Shalom managed a little smile. After a few moments,
“Now,” Joe said.
“Now what, Einstein?” asked Shalom.
“RUNNNNNNNNNN!”
We ran. We ran like horses, like cheetahs, like the wind. We ran and we didn’t look back. I don’t know when the crowd gave up chase, it must’ve been somewhere in the desert. We knew the two-legged ones could not keep up, but we weren’t taking any chances. We ran like our asses were on fire all the way back to Ben Gurion Airport.
43
MOHAMMED’S RADIO
( see Zevon, Warren)
Luckily our little plane was still in the quiet corner of the tarmac where we’d stashed it, and we were able to run to it and board without any further incident. Tom took off in seconds like a pro and banked hard left as Shalom looked down at the country he thought would save him.
(A note from my editor here. She asked me to take out “all the religion stuff” because people take religion very seriously. As a cow, I don’t understand that, but I certainly mean no offense. I told you already that Mother Earth is our god, and the only thing that offends our god is waste and pollution, not words and pictures and jokes. I have nothing but sympathy for reverence of God in the abstract. Love of God and life is as natural as the force that holds the planets in their dance. But I’m telling you the story of what happened, my story. And I can’t leave anything out. My editor says, “Sugar, there’s no way Hollywood will make a movie about a Jewish pig in Israel being stoned by Muslims. Too many hot buttons. Too niche. Too indie. We have to think tent pole. Not Sony Classics. Can’t the pig go to New York, you know, and meet a girl? Kind of like Babe meets My Big Fat Greek Wedding ?”
I guess he could, but that wouldn’t be the truth, you know? And I certainly didn’t want to watch, let alone write, a rom-com love scene between Shalom and the lady of his dreams that he cute-meets on the streets of Soho in the rain.)
Anyway, since we were traveling in—okay, since we had stolen—one of those small private planes, there was a Box God screen on every seatback (fancy), and it played a live television feed. So after we’d had some hot nuts and cold mimosas, we began to watch the news on the screen as there were some breaking reports coming in from the Middle East. Apparently, Joe and Shalom had inspired that tiny group of Arabs and Jews, just a handful really, beyond the common ground of hatred, and the two sides were talking again, with rumors of brotherhood spreading in the region. Who knows—today they embrace in shared hatred, maybe tomorrow they just embrace. Just a beginning, but because it was a slow news day, the networks were making a big deal of it. They showed an old modeling photo of Joe on CNN with the caption “Peacemaking Mystery Model.” MSNBC broadcast a shot of Shalom with the caption “Savior Swine.” And, of course, Fox weighed in with “Hamnesty????”
“You’re famous,” I said jokingly to the peace pig.
“Yeah, who knew.” Shalom sighed heavily. “I don’t know if I could’ve made it there anyway, don’t know if I’m enough of a mensch to live the rest of my life wandering the land like Cain. I think maybe I like to be liked too much.”
“Well, I like you,” I said. “Ya filthy swine.”
Shalom managed a little smile. After a few moments,
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