Banana Farm: The Final Chapter

Catch up on parts 1 and 2 of “Banana Farm: A Fiction” before diving into this week's final chapter.

Gipper’s followers were stupid. They were unintelligent, ignorant, mindless, dull-witted, vapid, and slow. They were, in other words, every synonym of “stupid” the sesquipedalian Lavrentiy could muster.

But the sacred first rule of democratic politics dictated that the pig keep his haughty musings to himself. “If the people are wrong, do not tell them to their faces.” In a traditional representative government, this rule made a lot of sense. If one wanted the people’s vote, one, for obvious reasons, should refrain from calling said people unintelligent, ignorant, mindless, dull-witted, vapid, and slow. But as Lavrentiy’s interest in “traditional representative government” waned, so too did his interest in the old adage.

Lavrentiy’s popularity amongst the citizens of the Animals’ Republic of Kansas had begun to decrease (not that he ever enjoyed much popularity at all). Increasingly, the farm animals flocked to Gipper, whom they perceived as “on their side”; the pigs, they said, had become too self-serving.

Gipper, as he often humbly reminded his followers, had once lent his services “at a ranch near Santa Barbara, to the nation’s foremost statesmen,” from whom he learned a “thing or two about liberty and justice for all.”

“These principles,” the horse declared, “will guide us and all our actions on the farm. Or, at least, we must make that our goal. All animals are created equal, and if we live by that rule, no one will hurt each other. We will all live freely.”

Naturally, the animals preferred those kinds of speeches over the ones Lavrentiy gave. They cheered, applauded, stamped, and neighed in thunderous approval. They packed a crowd whenever Gipper so much as opened his mouth to speak. Meanwhile, Lavrentiy spoke to smaller and smaller crowds (mostly just of pigs) who applauded modestly (and mostly just out of fear).

As the lead pig’s jealousy increased, rumors began to surface that he planned to charge his opponent with a devastating, potentially career-ending crime, which he and his cohorts had cooked up…ahem, uncovered. But after having targeted Bingo, the chickens, and a goat, Lavrentiy’s prosecutorial powers had fallen under intense scrutiny. It seemed no one would accept the case—whatever it may be—without “doing their own research” first, a fact which Lavrentiy resented.

“They’re just blinded by loyalty,” Lavrentiy scoffed. “If only they weren’t so dense, they would understand why I’m unquestionably the most qualified to lead them.”

Lavrentiy’s brigades squirmed uncomfortably. Lately, their leader’s rhetoric had taken on an increasingly elitist tone. Not that they minded per se. It was just more difficult to sell that sort of messaging to the other animals. “I know you’re concerned about your perceived lack of freedom,” they would say, “but that’s all it is—a perception. Lavrentiy says your freedom is perfectly safe with him.” It became something of a proverb in the pigs’ book of wisdom: Lavrentiy says this. Lavrentiy says that. And if Lavrentiy said it, the pig media parroted it, and anyone who denied it was deemed a whole host of synonyms for “stupid.”

Needless to say, the other animals stopped reading the pig’s hifalutin agitprop, establishing “alternative” media sources of their own. These included The Farmhouse Times, The Gipper Gazette, and The Daily Doghouse, all of which were snubbed by Lavrentiy for their alleged misinformation. One of these “discredited” publications, however, was the first to break the story that Lavrentiy—often referred to in alternate media as “king-pig”—had finalized his case against Gipper, which would drop the next day, on October 5.

“Whatever are we supposed to do?” panicked DeVos, the hen.

“They’re trying to take our leader from us!” one of the horses whinnied. “They’re trying to take you, Gipper!” 

Gipper thought for a moment. He had known this day would eventually arrive. He had been preparing for it for weeks. But now that it was here, his perspective had suddenly shifted.

“No,” he replied slowly, thoughtfully. “I don’t think this is about me at all.”

The animals exchanged confused glances.

“What do you mean?” a few of them inquired.

“I mean…” he began. But he never finished.

For at that moment, armed guards stormed into the barnyard, announcing that Lavrentiy had called for an emergency trial to commence first thing the following morning. Attendance, they declared, was compulsory.

A few of the animals began to protest verbally and physically. They suddenly remembered how they had turned a blind eye to Bingo’s disappearance, how they had silently consented to the indoctrination of their kids. For so long, they had been so quiet. Now, all that suppressed, bottled-up anger bubbled to the top, erupting like a volcano. It spilled out like a torrent of emotions that had been repressed for just a day, just a minute, too long. 

The pigs dealt swiftly with the bedlam. Shoving (as best they could) the most boisterous animals to the side, they squealed out commands for the rest of the animals to behave themselves. But they would not listen.

It was, at last, Gipper who calmed the mob.

“This won’t help!” he cried. “This won’t help my case. This won’t help in court. Please stop. Oh, please stop!”

His followers (begrudgingly) obeyed, although they continued to swear at the pigs under their breaths. The pigs posted a few guards around the barn for the night, and the animals fell into an uneasy sleep, dreaming about Gipper’s trial in the morning.

~ ~ ~

“So, what will they charge him with? Do you know?” The morning of Gipper’s trial, October 5, had dawned, and the animals had gathered around the reporters who had broken the story to press them for details.

“We’ve heard conflicting reports,” Clyde, a writer for The Gipper Gazette, answered. “Some believe they’ll accuse him of stealing from the official ARK treasuries. Personally, I didn’t even know we had treasuries! Others say they believe he’s been colluding with Bingo to overthrow Lavrentiy’s government or something like that. More than likely, they’ll go with the second option. They want to make him seem as menacing as possible.”

“And what’s their proof?” demanded someone in the audience.

“They have none, as far as we know,” Clyde answered solemnly. “But that doesn’t mean they won’t find something.”

“You mean devise something.”

“That’s what they did to my father,” added the young goat whose father had been arrested. “Everyone knows he was innocent.”

“Yes. And I’m afraid they’ll do it to Gipper, too.”

~ ~ ~

A bell rang, announcing that the Supreme Court of ARK was officially in session. The animals crowded into the barn for an unmissable spectacle. On the one hand, you had the pigs dressed in ridiculous “courtly” fashion. On the other, Gipper stood resolute, swarmed by a cadre—nay, an army—of supporters. The loyal band of his fans offered up muted prayers on his behalf.

But perhaps those prayers were misguided.

For when the bailiff rose to announce the case, he stunned the crowd: “Your Honor,” he said, “today’s case is Lavrentiy versus the Citizens of the Animals’ Republic of Kansas.”

At first, they did not notice; then, they were shell-shocked.

“Wait,” they thought to themselves. “Did he just say the Citizens of the Animals’ Republic of Kansas? In other words…us?”

Indeed, he had.

Alas, Gipper had been right. The case had nothing to do with him at all. For, in the end, Gipper mattered very little to Lavrentiy. His real concern centered around those pesky, “empowered,” freedom-loving dotards who had dared to question his regime.

(And yes, he called it a regime now.)

Their crime? It mattered not. The king-pig meant to arrest and humiliate them all, no matter what dirt he could or could not dig up on them. But, for the record, it had something to do with their being—in Lavrentiy’s opinion—unintelligent, ignorant, mindless, dull-witted, vapid, slow, and a whole host of synonyms for stupid.