The Christmas Pig: A Very Kinky Christmas by Kinky Friedman Read Free Book Online

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    “Welcome to Eddystone Castle, young Benjamin,” said the king, “and welcome to my court.”
    In response, Benjamin brought his hands down slowly to his sides and remained standing mute as a statue before the king. This produced a mild titter amongst some of the courtiers, which King Jonjo silenced immediately by raising his scepter approximately a quarter of an inch.
    “Your majesty,” interjected Feinberg, “the boy does not speak.”
    “Very wise,” said the king. “If only the rest of my subjects could follow his lead.”
    The silent court grew silenter still. The curious contented themselves with gawking at the little boy, obviously uncomfortable in his courtly apparel, and his uncle, for whom no proper wardrobe had been prepared, standing in the midst of all the royal finery in the overalls and boots of a simple farmer.
    “Your majesty,” said Feinberg, “the boy can hear you well and understands implicitly what you say. May I suggest your highness explain to Benjamin what is required of him and direct any questions to his uncle or to myself.”
    “Very well,” said the king. “Benjamin, it has long been my policy to treat children like adults and adults like children. In other words, I shall not patronize or beat around the bush with you because of your young years. Do you understand me, lad?”
    The boy looked at the king as if he were watching the rear end of a horse as it flicked its tail. He did not so much as nod or blink an eye. King Jonjo continued undeterred.
    “Before I give you your instructions, there is another matter I wish to address. It has been brought to my attention by persons close to the court that through your art you are able to predict the future. Is it true, my lad?”
    Benjamin, of course, said nothing. The king matched him stare for stare. The court held its collective breath to see which of the two would first blink. At last, Feinberg jumped in between them, in a gallant effort to save the pride of the king.
    “Your majesty has inquired whether or not this young child can predict the future,” he said. “Perhaps the question could be best answered by the lad’s uncle.”
    “Very well,” said the king, turning slightly on his royal throne toward Uncle Floyd. “Can this lad of yours, sir, predict the future?”
    “Sometimes he can, your majesty,” he said, with a little bow, “and sometimes he can’t.”
    “What good is that?” shouted the king.
    The assembled members of the court voiced their approval of the sentiment, nodding their heads and shouting, “Hear! Hear!” Again Feinberg, sensing the situation was spinning out of control, insinuated himself into the proceedings.
    “Your worship,” he said, “perhaps we are getting a bit far afield from our purposes here today. Whether or not the boy can speak, whether or not he can predict the future, whether or not, indeed, he is truly a magical boy, these matters can be pursued at our leisure. We stand here less than two fortnights away from the traditional royal Christmas midnight mass, an event of great gravity and significance not only to the court but to all the subjects of the realm. The question is, can the child standing mutely before your majesty and the court create a work of art depicting the traditional nativity scene, the birth of our Savior, that shall engender joy and inspiration to all the people of the kingdom? And can he do it very quickly?”
    King Jonjo paused to puff on his pipe and to absorb the words of the royal advisor. To the members of the court it seemed unclear if the odd young lad standing in front of him had indeed heard or understood anything that had transpired. Who could safely place such an august assignment in the hands of such a boy? Was it wise for the king to grant a royal commission to one so young, so inscrutable, and so unknown to the court? Only King Jonjo could make this fateful decision from which the entire kingdom might well reap a bitter harvest.
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