The Book of Feasts & Seasons (26 page)

When she opened her eyes again, Santa was gone.

There was the empty throne in the store display, surrounded by mechanical dolls in pointed hats and pointy shoes. But the tall figure was missing.

Virginia stood on tiptoes, peering through the glass. Had a clerk, working long after midnight, come by during the moment it took her to wipe her eyes, and removed the six foot tall manikin? It did not seem possible.

The ringing in the air continued. Virginia turned her head and looked down the street. She realized now that it was not the sound of the traffic light walk sign. It was a brighter, sharper sound, like the sound of bells one would hang on a sleigh to tell wanderers lost in the dark woods in the snow that someone was near.

At the same time a deeper, more solemn note sounded, and the echoes walked down the street, huge as ghosts. It was the bell from the steeple of the cathedral across the city park from the hospital. She could not see the steeple from here. Why was it ringing at this hour?

As she looked, not twelve feet from her, as if pulled open by an invisible doorman, the front door of the Department store opened.

Still clutching the stick, Virginia, step by step, approached the door. Silently it stood open. Perhaps it was an automatic door, and the electronic circuit had failed.

She crept still closer, suddenly frightened. What if there had been someone in the store, watching her? A night watchman or something? He had seen her about to break the window, and damage the display, and so he had removed the Santa manikin quickly. And now he was opening the door, in order to ….

But there was no one at the door. It merely stood open, and a few flakes of falling snow drifted in, onto the red carpet of the foyer.

Virginia shook her head. What did it matter? What did anything matter? The door had malfunctioned, and was open, and was letting the snow come it, and so she was supposed to go to close it up again, because there was no one else around to do it.

She walked closer. It was like an explosion, but entirely silent, when all the lights in the store came on. For a moment, she thought the store was on fire, it was so bright. Down the street, the church bells rang and rang, a solemn noise of joy. The light was red and leaping, mingled with gold light and silver was from Christmas lights and artificial fireplaces and neon angels.

“Nothing to be afraid of,” Virginia said. “Someone in the store just turned on the lights, that’s all.”

A voice from the door answered.

“Come in!”

The voice was deeper and more solemn than even the bell, and it echoed and reechoed in her ear.

“Come in, — come in! And know me better, child!”

Emotion raged up in her as if the blood of she-tigers boiled in her veins. Someone playing a trick on her? Now? Tonight, of all nights?

Virginia gripped the stick on one hand and stomped into the department store, her face slick with tears.

It felt warm in here, so very warm after the bitter chill outside. It was an old fashioned store, with décor that looked like something from the previous century: the aisles were carpeted in burgundy and red rather than with linoleum, and there was a staircase leading to the upper floor rather than an escalator, a stair like one might find in a Victorian mansion. One flight led to a large carpeted landing, and two flights led thence upward to the left and right.

The wooden counters and tall displays were covered with holly and with little bells, and chains of gold; and everywhere, thousands upon thousands, were candles burning.

The candles were on shelves, on banisters of the staircase as well as on the stairs, hanging on the branches of the pine trees, held in the hands of the manikins, and crowding the coping near the ceiling. They must have been scented candles, or else there was also incense burning near, because she felt the rich scent tickle the back of her throat.

Virginia noticed now that none of the candles had any wax dripping, none of them were part- melted; they looked as if they had just come out of the box and been lit.

At the foot of the stair, for some reason, was a large wooden barrel, the size of a pickle barrel.

On the stairway was a feast spread, with plates and cups on each step, leaving only a narrow path between for the customers to walk. Here were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, suckling pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince pies, plum puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch. The meats steamed as if they just this moment had been carried out of roaring ovens by squads of cooks.

Wreathed about the banister of the stairs were ivy and holly and mistletoe all gleaming in the bright candle light. Vines of ivy ran across the stairs to the two huge Christmas trees which filled the landing. There were live birds in the trees, singing sweetly, unfrightened by the candles.

She tried to imagine how flocks of song birds could have been brought here in the small hours of the night from a nearby pet store, or loads of hot meat and cold fruit from restaurants and grocers. Virginia noticed that the trees blocked the way up the stairs.

Between the trees, on the landing, with his feet on the stairs, sat the thin and tall Santa in his thin and tall headgear. It looked like an arrowhead. She saw that the figure was also wearing a crown, a thin rim of gold just outside the brim the tall cap.

Virginia realized that the store decorator was insane. Who put a manikin in the middle of the stairs to block traffic, or trees, or vines? Who used live birds these days, or living candles?

She looked at the Santa manikin. She gave out a yelp of shock when the figure moved, raising his right hand, fingers toward her. It was alive!

“You have not seen the like of me before,” he said.

But she had. She recognized his headgear now: it was a miter, like a bishop might wear. The staff in his hand was a crosier. He raised his hand as if he expected her to approach and kiss his ring. It was such a simple and regal gesture, that it could not be something from the world she knew. It was from the Dark Ages, or earlier. It was an ancient gesture.

“I know you!” she said accusatorily, her voice ringing with anger.

Gravely, the figure lowered his hand, saying nothing.

“I never liked you. It was Frank’s idea. He was the one who wanted to tell Ginny about Santa. He loved those stupid stories about the jolly old elf and his magic sleigh!”

“Francis knows me. Do you?”

“Where is your pipe? You are supposed to be smoking a pipe!”

“I am older than the year when men first learned to put tobacco weed in clay pipes.”

Virginia raised her voice. “Do you know why I hate you? Gentle lies are even worse than lying lies, because they mean well. But they are false! False! No one ever comes on Christmas Eve. No one ever comes! No one ever answers any prayers! I wore my knees out! I cried my eyes out!”

He stood. “I am here now. Ginny called me. I came.”

“You came? It is too late! She’s
dead
!” The word came out as a scream. “How could God kill my baby? My sweet little girl! Can’t he save anybody? Doesn’t he listen to anyone?”

He pointed his crosier at the large wooden barrel at the foot of the stair. A sensation of dread came over her she could not explain. Her limbs began shaking. A dark terror filled her.

“No. I am not going to look in there,” she said.

He said nothing, but continued to point.

Finally, she stepped over to the barrel and put her hand on it. She could smell, very faintly, beneath the incense and the candle smoke, the smell of blood, old blood.

She jerked her hand away. “No, I won't look!”

But the lid of the barrel flew up. She grabbed it with her hand and forced it down, but not before she had seen three small white faces, their throats slit from ear to ear, brown bloodstains like bibs spread on their chests, their dead mouths open, their dead eyes staring, all surrounded with a stench.

He said, “Abim, Antonius, and Alimus were three children traveling on their way to Athens to study, carrying money their father had given them. In those days the Emperor Diocletian was strong and well-feared, and it was believed that even children carrying gold abroad would be safe to travel. That belief was in error. The boys stayed at the inn of a wicked innkeeper, who slew them foully in the night and hid them in a pickling tub. It so happened that my servants and I traveled the same route that night, and in my dream, I saw the murders and I heard the screams. I woke and summoned the innkeeper, demanding of him the truth. In fear and remorse, upon his knees he begged for mercy. And upon my knees I prayed earnestly to the Lord Our God, and the next day, the children were revived to life and wholeness. They appeared at the chapel, still smelling of pickle brine, and then they went their way, praising God and singing His glory. The innkeeper was baptized that Eastertide.”

She lifted the barrel lid. The barrel was now empty, and a sweet smell, sweeter than the first wind of spring from a high mountain, issued from it.

Virginia slammed the lid back down. “You are Santa Claus. You sneak down chimneys and give presents away and eat cookies, you and your red-nosed reindeer. What are you doing with murdered children? What kind of story is that?”

“I am Nicholas of Myra, Bishop of the One, True, Holy, Universal and Apostolic Church. Children and those who dare the dangers of the sea are in my special care and are dear to me. Under Diocletian, I suffered torment, fulfilling what Christ left for me on the Cross; and was in bonds, and for many months was held in a house of darkness, and by my prayer brought my jailer, Simeon, to baptism. With the coming of Constantine, Imperator, I was set at liberty, and all the Holy Church was freed. At the Great Council of Nicaea where all the world was gathered, I smote the heresiarch Arius on the mouth for his impudent blasphemy, and earned the reprimand of the Imperator, to whom I owed obedience and love. When the Sultan stole a child of a man who much honored and revered me, I sent my shade to gather the boy up and return him in a twinkling, in the blink of an eye, from across the sea. None of these things were done by my own power, but by the grace of God which the merit of Christ has won for us, we who are the fallen sons of Adam.”

Virginia looked left and right, as if seeking something to turn her gaze away from the impossible figure seated regally on the stairs above her. “What are all these candles doing here? Why aren’t they being burned up?”

“The power which Moses saw in the burning bush sent up a sweet smoke to heaven, and yet the bush was not consumed. That power has not ebbed since that day, because it is eternal. Do not wonder that these candle-fires never diminish, for they are the prayers of the saints, and all of them pray for you. And there are many more you do not see, numberless as stars, for the world is not large enough, not even if every drop of water in the sea were turned to flame, to show how many prayers are said for your soul.”

“This is a dream. I fell asleep in the waiting room.”

“No. But Earth itself is a dream of the abundant life beyond life. You think we departed dead sleep in the ground? It is you who sleep. And when you wake, your child shall live.”

Virginia said nothing, but her face spoke volumes of her doubt and anger.

The bishop tilted his head, and frowned, and said. “Nothing is taken from an unwilling giver. And nothing is given to an unwilling taker, not even life eternal. The Father loves you too much for that. He will not overthrow your liberty, because we are like Him in this.”

Virginia said, “How can I forgive you for not answering a little girl’s prayers?”

“They are answered. Here am I.”

“And what of all the other children in the world?”

“I tell you of a truth, many widows were in Israel in the days of Elias, when the heaven was shut up three years and six months, when great famine was throughout all the land; But unto none of them was Elias sent, save unto Sarepta, a city of Sidon, unto a woman that was a widow. And many lepers were in Israel in the time of Eliseus the prophet; and none of them was cleansed, saving Naaman the Syrian.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lazarus died, for all that he had been raised, when he was old and stricken in years, and likewise Dorcas, and likewise Eutychus, and likewise the widow of Nain’s son.”

“Are you going to grant me a miracle? What about those who pray and get no answer! Why did you wait? Why did this happen in the first place? What—look at what you have put me through!” She shouted at him, and then she broke down and began to cry.

He rose and came down the stairs at a run, so swift it seemed as if he were falling, though not a platter nor cup of all the feast of food and drink along the stairs was disturbed. Perhaps his feet did not touch the steps at all.

Then he was next to her.

“Your daughter will live,” he said. And he put out his hand as if to embrace her.

She shoved him away. “At the Last Judgment! On the world’s last day. Is that what you mean? When I wake from this dream called life?”

“When you wake from the sin called death.”

“But that is not good enough! Even if this is a nightmare, why does a God who calls himself good allow it? Why do children die? Why do the innocent suffer? Why does anyone die? Why can’t God fix it?”

“It is done. It is fixed. He makes all things new.”

“No! My little girl is in the morgue! All her hair fell out! Her father does not even know yet! All this suffering! The pain she went through—and I could do nothing!”

“Except fast, pray, and give alms.”

“My prayers were not answered! It is too late now! You cannot make the pain Ginny suffered into something that never happened! Not even God can do that! Oh, she was so brave! That was almost worse than when she sat and demanded to know why it was happening to her, and wondered if it was her fault. You are such a damnable liar! All of you! Why do you want kids to believe in Santa Claus?”

“Let them believe what is so because it is so. Saint Nicholas is real; I am he.”

“That is not what I meant!”