And the priest laid his hands upon the scapegoat’s head and said, “Good luck.”
* * *
It was just a goat, a common variety of goat, no special breeding. The special breeding goats didn’t occupy the common barnyard. They were bred for something different. They grazed across the fence from the manicured and pristine pasture that separated them from the common goats. Entitlement has its benefits, even among goats. They were legacy goats.
Yet, the run of the mill common goat herd seemed to instinctively know its place in nature’s hierarchy of animals. The lucky sperm club operates in the world of goats, too. Occasionally a common goat would get carried away with ambition and attempt to jump the fence. But there was an invisible barrier that prohibited the mingling of goats and other species, same with humans.
So, life went on for goats as it has since the days of nomadic desert tribes. They foraged and frolicked their time under the sun, content with life as they found it. They had their place, but there was general anxiety among the herds on one special day of the year. That day was known as the Day of Reckoning, sometimes referred to as the Day of Atonement, although the concept seems to have lost its efficacy since the leftist progressives infected the tribe with socialistic ideals. Perpetual Forbearance is its mantra.
Nevertheless, this was the day when the accounting books of the tribes had to be brought into balance, debts settled, sins of commission and omission reconciled. It was usually preceded by much rancor and uproar in the hallowed halls of hypocrisy occupied by the eminent elders of the tribes. It was a time of:
Tempers flaring
Name calling
Fingers pointing
Blame assigning
Tongues accusing
Sides chosen
Camel patties thrown
Confusion ruling
It was a day of much dread. Always:
The Dilemma,
The Drama
The Deadline
Nerves raw
Friendships frayed
Agreement absent
As the wick of the candle flickered towards midnight, the old priest swung his smoking censer to the heavens, pleading. Someone shouted, “Get the goat, get the goat,” which caused widespread panic among the herd. The rumor had been circulating all day, the herd would soon be one goat short. They remembered the years before. Always the same. One goat short.
Before the fading flax candle totally failed, an innocent goat was led to the old priest. With mock sorrow and the stealthy fingers of a tax collector he laid his hands upon the head of scapegoat and uttered these words: “I hereby transfer upon you the dilemma faced, the indulgent sins of the people committed and sent you into the wilderness to be our absolution from all indiscretions for the year. Good luck.”
The haggard assembly erupted in riotous applause and jubilation at the pronouncement. Disaster averted, the dilemma resolved temporarily, until next year. The herd would continue to get fed as always, no interruption. Can’t afford a riot with unruly goats.
Wineskin flasks appeared filled with old vintage wine and joy was found again now that the books were balanced.
* * *
What was the dilemma, you ask? Why, same as it always is. Debt. Is there absolution? Sure. Taxes.
Poor scapegoat. Did it have a name? Of course. Look in the mirror and you’ll know it. Good luck.
Bud Hearn
October 2, 2023