Surfin' the drift

Prodigals - the pigs' perspective

I have returned from far countries - eight days in the wastelands of iniquity. A delayed flight and the lack of any decent to watch on the in-flight entertainment system is enough to drive anyone to contemplation. Once one has been suitably refreshed on the plane by a couple of glasses of champagne. Naturally.

St. Augustine called the far country the “forgetfulness of God”. A week and a bit in Hong Kong and Taiwan is enough to make me forget my own mobile phone number (more on this later). Late nights and gin with very little tonic. A spot of clubbing even - yes, I know I am much too old for that but I had a delightful time in Hong Kong even though it was freezing at times.

Now the purpose of travel is to broaden the mind. In Taipei, we met one young woman who could probably win the gold medal if there were any Olympic Games for flirting. Our colleague in Taipei took us to a Japanese restaurant on our last night there and I must say that the joint had the best looking waiters and waitresses I have ever seen (to be fair, I have yet to visit Los Angeles where I am sure the record could at least be equalled). Anyway, our waitress came by, knelt on the floor and batted her long lashes at our host as he rattled through the menu.

“Don’t you think you should write down what he ordered?” I enquired.

Without taking her eyes off him, she murmured. “The menu is small and I have an excellent memory - if he tells me his mobile phone number, I’m sure I’ll remember that as well. ”

Respect.

You have to understand there was nothing at all dodgy about the place. It was a trendy, upmarket restaurant and as we were leaving, the place began to fill up with beautiful people. Perhaps they all behave like that in Taipei.

Respect is due.

Back to prodigals. The essential elements in the story are an inheritance divided on demand, a journey to aforementioned far country, a bit of bad luck and the sine qua non, a pen of pigs. To begin with, the younger son behaved in a bad way by asking for his share of his father’s living, then he went off and frittered away all that he was given. You can imagine why the elder son was pissed off when the prodigal returned.

I have always felt this parable hinged on the belief the prodigal son had - that he had something to return to and so in many ways, he chose the easy option. Forget the fatted calf, that was a bit of a bonus but surely he expected something better than the husks of the corn or carob or whatever the pigs were feeding on otherwise he would not have returned. What if the famine had wiped out everything his father had? What if he had no reasonable expectation of a better life than the one he had in the pig pen - and by the way, the King James version does not use the word “wallow”. Not once.

In that pig pen, I have the utmost respect for the pigs. They were happy with the kernels of corn or carob or whatever they were feeding on. They had no expectation of a better life but they just got on with it. No inheritance, no riotous living for them and certainly no fatted calf. The best they could hope for is to be turned into premium cuts for the table - happy pigs make good sausages.

Forget the prodigal son - he was a waste of time. Forget, just for a minute, the lilies in the fields or even the birds in the air. Consider the pigs - and don’t use the word wallow.

posted by porcorosso @ 8:50 PM