Little Sam and the Best Christmas
Invention Story Ever
(NOTE: This year our family did a Zero budget Christmas. So instead of buying the kids presents, I worked on this story. They didn't get the final draft until just before Twelfth Night. I put out the first part for Christmas Eve, as a kind of peace offering. But it was a busy Christmas season --despite the absence of shopping and wrapping-- and I had to steal time here and there every chance I could get to make it come together. Little Sam and Ricky and Gramps and Slim are characters I created back when we were doing Writer Guys shows. I was inspired by old time radio westerns as well as Roy Rogers movies. We even sang a theme song to go with the show. Probably the only song I ever wrote. It is all of about 35 seconds long, and very repetitive. I should make my way to Apple Studios to record a copy of it for posterity. Maybe I can get Ringo to do a drum solo. Anyway, end of intro. Here is the 2013 Christmas story.)
Part One
Ricky
slipped out of his room and down the back stairs as quietly as possible. He’d
overslept and was late getting started with his prayers. He knew Gramps would be upset, if he found
out. Halfway down the stairs, he heard
Gramps talking in the kitchen and paused –hoping not to be noticed. Gramps was talking to Slim about something to
do with bill collectors and the price of feed.
Ricky stepped cautiously down one stair to the next. He was almost to the bottom where the steps
go past the kitchen window and he hunched as low as he could and tried to
slither down the last few steps out of sight.
As he did, one of his pockets snagged on a loose nail and there was a sudden
rip.
“Land of
tarnation, what was that?” Gramps looked toward the window. Then back at Slim
who was shoving an entire piece of blackberry jam toast into his mouth.
Slim shook
his head, unable to respond.
“Thought I heard something on the
back stairs.”
Slim shook his head again, eyes
wide and utterly blank with ignorance.
“All I can say is, don’t go
spending any more –period. That means
Christmas too. Nothing. Zero. Not a penny.”
Slim made a sound like he was
trying to argue and swallow at the same time.
“Don’t argue with me. We are
broke. In fact, there won’t be no
Christmas this year.”
Slim made another sputtering
coughing sound, as if he had something to say but couldn’t get it out. To which Gramps replied,
“By gum, we’ll be lucky if we have enough dirt to knock off our boot
heels come New Years. Last thing we needed is one more mouth to feed ‘round
these parts!”
Ricky waited, pressing his ear up
to the window. Surely Slim would say something reassuring. Gramps was always
going overboard about budgets and money and bills. But there was nothing. He peered in and saw Gramps’s wiping toast
crumbs and blackberry jam off his glasses and shirtfront.
And Slim was nowhere in sight.
Ricky unhooked himself and quietly slipped
off the porch.
It was a long walk to the barn.
Thinking about no Christmas and no presents, he wondered how he was going to
break the news to all the animals. They
would be sorely disappointed. But something
else was bothering him. In the short icy
wlak from the house to the barn he did a heap of pondering on what Gramps said
about “…one more mouth to feed.” Then it
occurred to him –he was the newest mouth to feed at the ranch. It must be him. He was the one that was
ruining Christmas for everyone. But… he didn’t mean to. It wasn’t like… But, maybe it was him. It must be.
He’d been hinting to Gramps about wanting a new bicycle. And how many
times had he asked Slim about getting a Christmas tree? And candy for their
stockings and … But, he didn’t mean to ruin Christmas. What could he do? How
could he fix everything? Maybe it would all just be better if he wasn’t there
at all. If he just went away. But then everyone would worry. Or maybe they wouldn’t. Maybe they’d be glad
if he just left. One less mouth to feed.
What should he do?
He stopped in his tracks. And
looked around. Where was the barn? Without thinking, he had walked out to the
road to the pasture. What am I doing? He
thought. I gotta feed the animals. Do my
chores. Maybe talking to the animals will cheer me up. It usually does. And
then after lunch I can run away… if I still need to. And if I’m going to run away, I will probably
need some advice on the best way to do it.
And where do I always get the best advice? Little Sam. If anybody can help me, it’ll be him. Little
Sam was a pony, but he was different. He had a brain. Little Sam was a pony, and
he surely was different –he had a brain. And if anybody could figure this out,
it would be Sam.
Ricky opened the barn door,
expecting to see all his animal friends looking at him expectantly, happy to
see him. But all he saw was Sam very
busy at work. The barn was dim and
shadowy, except for the bare bulb dangling over Sam’s stall.
Ricky glanced around. He didn’t see
anybody –no sheep. No calves. No cow. No muskrats scurrying. Not even a brood
of hens waiting for him to spread out some feed. Just Sam busy at work; building
something. Sam was always building
something or reading something. For a pony, he sure was different.
“Morning, Ricky!” He called,
“Running a little late this morning, aren’t you?”
The boy glanced down at the dirt
and bits of straw beneath his boots. “Yeah.
I overslept. Sorry. I guess I’m
just not very good at this ranch stuff.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Just takes a little getting used to. That’s
all.”
Ricky stepped onto the bottom rail
of Sam‘s stall, threw a leg over the top post and hopped up and sat there
watching Sam for a couple of minutes. The
horse inserted a cathode tube into a slot and nuzzled a couple of knobs, then
stepped back to evaluate his work.
“Sam, can I talk to you?”
“Sure Rick…” Sam whinnied, then
grabbed a wrench out of an old wooden toolbox.
“What’s on your mind?” he huffed through his clenched teeth as he
tightened a bolt.
Whatever it was that Sam was
working on, it looked kind of like a large phone booth decorated with Christmas
lights and stuck in the middle of the barn.
And it was plugged into an extension cord hooked up to the only
electrical outlet in the barn –the dangling light that hung over Sam’s stall.
Sam paused from his work, nudged a knob, then turned another bolt a couple of
twists. Ricky watched in silence for a bit longer, then asked:
“Sam… Am I a… burden?”
The horse looked up, wrench still
in his teeth and looked at the boy quizzically. “What makes you ask that?”
Ricky hemmed and hawed for a bit,
then explained how he’d overslept and was sneaking down the stairs and what
he’d heard and how he was even wondering if Gramps and Slim and everybody would
be better off if he’d never even come here. How he was just one more mouth to
feed and how he was spoiling Christmas for everyone… it seemed.
“Ricky, you know Gramps likes to
complain.”
“I know… but…”
Sam twisted one more bolt and then sighed with
satisfaction, “I think that’s it.”
“But what is it?” Ricky asked.
“It’s my latest invention. I call
it Clarence.”
Ricky sighed and looked down and a
tear fell plop on the toe of his boot.
Sam stepped over the tools and bit
a Kleenex out of his box and handed it to his little friend.
“It’s kind of like a time machine.”
“Really?”
“Yes. In fact, I got the idea from
this Jimmy Stewart movie I saw last week at the Bijou; It’s A Wonderful
Life. It’s about a man who begins to
think everybody would be better off if he’d never been born. So, I invented a machine to show you what the
world would be like if you were never born.”
“But how does it work?”
“I haven’t got that part quite
figured out yet. My math get a little
fuzzy right around here.” Sam pointed to a space just above the
contraption. Then he picked up an old
worn out looking slide rule and showed Ricky what he meant.
“But it does work,” he added. “I’m
pretty darned certain of that. I think. Want to try it out?”
Ricky
looked at the strange contraption. It
didn’t look too dangerous. He hopped down
from the post and said,“Yes. Yes, I do,” then walked right into the machine.
There was a
sound from the hayloft. Herminie peered
over the edge, “Sam, are you sure that’s safe?”
“Pretty sure,” he reassured her.
And Vladimir waddled across the
beam overhead, “Of coursingk it is for to be safe. Because horseykins cannot be
for to makingk anything which is to be for workingk, ever. Is that not to be
right, horseykins?” And he snickered.
“Don’t listen to them, Ricky. All
you have to do is throw that switch, there,” Sam told him. “Let it warm up a
minute and then push the green button.”
Ricky threw
the switch and the tubes began to hum and the lights began to glow.
“Now, push
that button.” Sam said.
He did. And waited.
There was a slight whiiish noise from the tubes and then a bulb popped
in the string of lights and the string went out and then… nothing. Nothing else
at all.
Ricky peeped out of the Clarence to
look at Sam.
“Feel anything? Anything
different?” Sam asked him.
“No. Not really. Like what?”
“Oh dear. Nothing? That’s very strange. I would have thought…”
“What? Is something wrong? Do we
need to try again?”
“No. No. Don’t do that. Maybe it’s the machine. There could be a
glitch in the wiring. Let me see. No.
That looks right. The decibels connected to the cantilevers… that’s right… but maybe I mixed up the positives ions with
the wavelengths. No. That’s right. Oh dear.”
“Did I messed it all up? I can’t seem to do anything right.”
“No. No. Not that. Don’t say that, little buddy. Oh, dear.”
“What…?”
“I don’t understand.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything looks like it worked.”
“Are you sure?”
“Look at the slide rule.” Sam held
it out to Ricky again.
“But nothing happened.”
“Dear, dear, dear.” Sam paused as
he gazed from the machine to Ricky back to the slide rule. “I just would’ve
thought… Hmmm… if you were never born… Seems like something would’ve changed….
Must be some kind of statistical anomaly. That’s my best guess.”
“What does that mean?” Ricky
asked.
But, Sam was looking at his slide
rule again and scratching his head with his hoof. “The wavelength
defibrillator, defibrillated and the ion agitator agitated…”
“What’s the matter horseykins? Your
toy is broked?”
“No. That’s the problem.” He sniffed and shook his
head. “Oh well, I guess that just goes to show you.”
Ricky was done waiting. He walked
to the stall rail and stepped up.
“But… kind of makes you feel…”
Climbing over the top rail, he
looked back at Sam, “Yeah. Doesn’t it…”
Herminie looked down from the
hayloft. “Don’t worry kid. Maybe it’s
something we can’t see.”
Ricky paused near the barn door.
“You mean, like in China or something?”
Sam added, “Or just something in
the town. The way people act.”
“Like in the movie,” Herminie
added.
“Yes,” Sam nodded. “The same people
were still there, but they were different.”
The cow called back, “Like the
bartender? And the cab driver?”
“And the librarian!”
They all chimed in simultaneously,
“She’s at the library!”
“I’ll keep my eyes open, Sam. Maybe
something has changed. But I doubt it. Just goes to show you.”
“Wait, Ricky!” Sam called but the
barn door closed and the boy was gone.
Then, the pony with the brain turned to look at his invention and
suddenly realized how hungry he was. He
turned to his trough to grab a mouthful of oats and realized –it was empty.
A gaggle of hens peered down from
the hayloft.
“Hey… where’s breakfast?”
Part
B
Ricky buttoned up his jacket and
headed down the road past the pasture.
This was the quickest way to town.
He started in this direction curious to see if anything had changed far
away because of Sam’s machine, but after about a half hour of walking he forgot
about the machine and began thinking about how he could help out at the
ranch. First thing he could do was run
away from home and then Gramps wouldn’t have another mouth to feed, like he’d
said. But the next thing he could do was
run away from home, get kidnapped by gypsies, save the entire caravan from a
horrible fire, get elected king of the gypsies and then learn how to cheat
people out of their money by selling patent medicines while beautiful women
played violins and bears danced and then he would take all of that money and invest
it in hot air balloons and cotton candy and shoe strings. Then when he was the richest man in the
world, he would come back and buy Gramps’s ranch and set all the animals free
and put Little Sam in charge of the whole ranch and buy Slim some new
glasses. Then no one could say he was a
burden. He would show everyone! And save
the ranch at the same time. Then maybe things would be different just because
he was born.
About a mile beyond the pasture the
road takes a wandering turn to avoid going through the hills. Ricky had always found this slightly
silly. Why would anyone want to avoid
the hills? He liked them, though he
wasn’t allowed to go up there by himself and since nobody had really had much
time to take him, he hadn’t actually been up there yet –not really. But, since maybe he’d never been born, he
figured now was the time for a shorcut. He turned off the road and headed up what
Gramps called, the piney hill. On his
way up he thought he would stop and tell some of the wild animals goodbye. Now that he was about to join the circus and
work as a ventriloquist’s dummy in the side show, he wouldn’t probably be
seeing many of them again –unless they happened to be captured and stuffed and
put on display (as examples of the wild animals of Texas).
Around
lunchtime he neared the top of the hill. Next to a downed tree, there was a
hollow trunk strung up with a garland of cedar and holly with pinecones and
bits of Spanish moss hung as ornaments. This looked like the entrance to Mrs.
Rabbit’s domicile, as it had been described by some of the muskrats. A couple of young rabbits were playing near the
garland. Maybe he could ask their mother whether she’d noticed anything
changing.
“Merry
Christmas, fellas,” Ricky called. “Is your mama home?”
Hearing his voice, they stopped in
their tracks, hopped into the air in fright, then scampered into the trunk and
down a hole.
“Hey. Don’t be afraid.”
But the
only reply Ricky could hear was the latching tight of a door. That’s strange,
he thought. It was like they didn’t even
recognize me. Which they probably
didn’t, since they’d never seen him before.
These were rather young rabbits who had actually never seen any humans
before, but Ricky didn’t know that.
Starting on
his again, he noticed a skunk, wearing a wool cap and a muffler, gathering
twigs rustling in the brush behind him.
Keeping his distance, Ricky called out, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Skunk.”
The skunk
sniffed sharply and muttered, “For some.” And kept working.
“Something
wrong?” Ricky paused –still keeping his distance.
“Something wrong? Human couldn’t
smell a freeze coming if it bit him on the nose. Can’t think ahead. Never
could. Problem with humans.” He piled the twigs together and began to bind them
with a bit of twine. “Freeze coming.
Gotta get ready. Animals gotta work to get ready. Not humans. Just like grasshoppers. Can’t plan
ahead. When the freeze comes they just flip a switch. Not my way, flip switching
bi-peds. Makes a critter half shamed to be a mammal.”
“I didn’t mean to bother you. I’m just heading to town. I’m taking the shortcut through the hills.”
“Town? Who goes to town on
Christmas Eve, eve? Nonsense. That’s a human for you. Come here. Hold this string. I’m trying to
tie a knot.”
“Yes sir.” Ricky approached
cautiously. He knew better than to
startle a skunk. That was the one thing
he’d learned from a lifetime of reading comic books and watching cartoons at
the cowboy movies. He squinched up his
nose anticipating of what he might smell and put his finger on the knot.
“Anybody with sense would be
gathering sticks. You got any sense
boy?”
“I don’t know,” Ricky sighed. “I’m
not sure.”
“Humans? How can you not know if
you got any sense or not? What’s a’matter with you, boy?”
“Well.. I got into this Clarence machine
this morning and now I’m not sure if I was ever born. So I thought I’d go to
town and see if anything had changed to find out if I was born or not. Like in
that movie over at the Bijou.”
“Movies! More nonsense. I’m a radio
man, myself. Ever tried folding laundrey in a dark balcony? Danged hard to do, boy. Said it’s danged
hard. And old lady Jenkins had the temerity to charge me for a second ticket!”
“I don’t understand.”
“For the linens, boy! For the
linens!” The skunk wrapped a scrap of twine around a pile of twigs, but when he
tried to tie a knot it all came undone and the sticks fell to the ground. “Too
much work to do. Sticks to gather. Freeze is coming.” The skunk re-gathered the
sticks and wrapped another piece of twine around them and pointed to where he
needed Ricky’s finger. “What’s that? How do you mean –never born?”
“See this machine –it’s called
Clarence…”
“What’s that you say?
Clarence? I like that. Good name for a machine. Clarnence. Sounds dependable. More machines
should be named Clarence. The way I see
it, can’t trust ‘em if they aint got a name you can trust. That’s the problem
with tractors. Can’t trust ‘em. Ever met anyone named Tractor that you could
trust?”
“No sir.”
“See what I mean? Way I see it… Put
your finger there. What do you mean you
were never born! If you were never born,
how could you hold my string for me? That’s just nonsense. Humans. Always inventing something. I tell you,
inventing is a sure sign of laziness. Who needs a button to push when you can
gather sticks? Makes a feller shamed to be a mammal, sometimes.”
“But…” Ricky started to explain
that it wasn’t invented by a human, then decided if he wasn’t born why should
he bother arguing.
“Say one thing, boy. Way I see it…
this Clarence of yours. Might be something to it. I sure don’t recognize you. Never seen your
face. Might as well not ‘ve been born –far as I can say. Except for that finger
of yours.”
They worked like this for quite a
while. The skunk & Ricky gathering
twigs and binding them. It must have been after lunch before they finished,
because Ricky noticed he was getting hungry.
After binding up three more bundles, Ricky bid him, “Merry Christmas!”
To which the skunk replied, “Might
as well.”
And the boy began his way up the
hill, again.
STAVE
the third
Near the top of the hill the pines
became denser and formed what the smaller animals called “the great piney
woods.” It was really just a small grove of maybe thirty or so trees. But to a field mouse or a muskrat, a wayward
sheep or even a small boy fresh from the city –it looked like the forest
primeval.
Ricky felt very tentative about entering
this dark wood. He looked back down the
hill, past Mrs. Rabbit’s and down toward the pasture and he could just make out
the barn and the ranch house below. He
gazed back at them the way a pirate must gaze at the Barbary Coast as his ship
sets sail for distant seas, or the way a tight wire acrobat looks back at the
safe harbor of his crow’s nest as he begins to slide out over the center ring.
But he knew this was the way; or at
least he thought he knew; this was the way to town and only in town could he
find out if anything had changed since maybe he wasn’t born now –cause it
didn’t seem like anything had changed at the ranch. Barring that, maybe Mrs.
Jenkins would let him watch the end of the movie and he could see for himself
what should have changed if the Clarence was actually working –which, then
again, maybe it was –according to Mr. Skunk. This was sure a confusing
Christmas, if nothing else.
About ten yards into the woods, he
already felt lost. The shadows of the
taller pines dropped the temperature a degree or two and now he was starting to
worry about what Mr. Skunk said and what might happen to him if he got lost in
these here woods and suddenly found himself eaten up by frost bight and
desperate straits –not the least of which might be having to chew his own leg
off to escape from a bear trap and then hobble back down to the ranch with his
chewed off leg packed in ice (to see if it could be reattached). But just as he was about to panic, he heard a
raspy voice call out, “Beg your pardon, boy. Hey, you, Andy Hardy. Excuse me,
Alfalfa? Sprout? Bell boy? Red cap? Porter! Half-pint? Full pint? Make it a quart!”
It was a black bear in a red vest, bow
tie, and a derby hat and he was standing at the edge of the woods with a large suitcase
in each paw, a bedroll under one arm and a tattered ESSO road map spilling out
from under the other.
“I’m sorry. Are you talking to me?”
Ricky was puzzled.
“I say, sonny…” He called again, “You the fella
in charge of luggage? Where do I check in?
Who’s the maitre’d around here? I’d like some service. I’ve got reservations. Especially now that I see the place.”
“You must be confused. I don’t work here. I’m just…”
“Catch your drift, son. Never did
care for the old Horatio Algernon routine myself. Hold this.” He held out a large suitcase. “My
poor father once told me…He said, son, called me son despite the
ramificiations; He said, son: Never take a job that requires effort or dependability
–you never know when they might become habit forming. Here, take my portmanteau.” He set down the other bag and settled atop it
with the map spread across his lap.
“But you don’t understand. I was
just walking through…”
“Trouble with this country, son, is
too much specialization. Take me, for
instance. I can walk and carry bags at the same time. Can’t read a map for the
life of me. Must have taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque. Got a compass?”
Ricky shook his head.
“Should be one in that bag, son.
Open it for me.”
Ricky unstrapped one of the belts
around the bag and it burst open --an
impressive collection of Roadway Inn towels and bathrobes spilling forth.
“That’s subterfuge, and I won’t
stand for it!” He tossed his map in the air and tried to gather up his
gleanings.
Just then, a strong northerly gust
caught the towels and robes and rushed them along through the leaves. Ricky
grabbed a bathrobe, then stuck his foot on a towel, knelt on another one and
reached for a third, “It’s not that I don’t want to help you. I just was on my
way to town to find out…”
“Stand up, son. Seeing you splayed
like that reminds me of the time I hunting for salmon when I was suddenly
attacked unawares by a giant freshwater Pacific Northwestern tree squid. Ever see a giant freshwater Pacific
Northwestern tree squid, son? No? Well, that’s good. Good. Let me tell you
about it. It’s nature’s perfect appetite on legs. Eats anything that moves,
including large boulders and the rare North American mountain rhinoceros. Ever
see a mountain rhino, kid? Of course not. Their extinct –because of the ambidextrous
appetite of the fresh water tree squid. It was a monstrous beast. Twelve feet from stem to stern with four
giant fangs –each as large as an Inuit obstetrician. Ever seen an Inuit
obstetrician, kid? It’s like a kayak
without the seal skins! Regardless--freshwater tree squids are ambidextrous
monsters. Never seen even a picture of one? No? Good. Well, as I was saying
–this monster was 18 feet from stem to stern; uhm… 24 feet if he was even an
inch. Fold the towels before you put them
back in the bag, boy. And make sure to fold the labels in. Now, listen, kid.
I’m trying to tell you….”
Ricky crammed the towels into the large
bag and then tried to fold it closed and latch it shut. But the latch sprang
again and a towel popped out. “But I don’t think…”
“Never went in much for it myself,
son. As my father once said: Don’t ever let ignorance stand in your way, son.
Lead on.”
Ricky glanced around in hopes of
seeing the skunk, to ask for advice. But the few animals who had been scurrying
this way and that earlier were all in hiding now. He grabbed up the case with
both arms and hugged it to himself.
“Well, as I was saying. At the time
of which I speak, I was tramping, I mean travelling through the frozen tundra
of the great Northwest Rockies just off the Florida coast and stopped beside a
river for an all-you-can eat salmon buffet. It was on the banks of the
Monongahela just above the crest of Lake Eerie where it merges with the Missouri
and the Ohio when out of the icy depths bounds a 30 foot tentacle that wraps
around my fetlocks with both fangs…”
Another gust of wind came rushing
across the hill and blew the bag out of Ricky’s hands. Hotel towels flew up
into the air, catching in the branches, wrapping around tree trunks and the
bear’s face.
“Godfrey Daniels! It’s an insidious
trap! He’s got me!” The bear spun around –cashing into trees and branches. “Let
go! You can’t eat me, I’m an endangered species! Take the kid. He’s just…” and
Ricky followed, calling:
“Wait! It’s just a bathrobe. I’ve
got the sash.”
Anxiously swinging his hat, the
bear turned. Then, seeing Ricky holding the towel, he shuddered, and began
pulling twigs from his vest and brushing himself off, “I see you’ve got a bit
of the Alpine cephalopod in you? Well, don’t expect a tip!”
Ricky shrugged and glanced around.
A few wisps of snow were now falling. He didn’t know what to do with the bear,
but knew he couldn’t just leave him out here in the open. Looking down the hill
where he thought he’d see the lights of the town he saw only a distant small
barn with a line of Christmas lights encircling the upper window (like a
wreath).
“Are you the kind of bear that eats
people or horses?” Ricky asked, hesitantly.
“Heaven forbid, you epicurean
imbecile! Don’t go in much for raw meat.
Tends to give me the collywobbles! More of a blue plate special man, myself.
Egg soufflé ala hollandaise, and a plate of doughnuts sans the glaze, buttered
toast on manifold platters, or hold the toast –marmalade jam –blueberry if it
matters. Consommé of ripe tomato, shimmering over a bowl of fried potato and
hold the lettuce if you please! Steamed broccoli makes me sneeze! Never mind
the Brussels sprouts, too many vegetables gives me gout! Or make it easy on
yourself and my tummy. Just bring on a bowl of clover honey. That’s the way to
feed this bear. Note to self: snow
begins to fill the air. We’d better be off. Where’s my map?” He looked about
and saw a large scrap of paper fly up into the higher branches of a pine tree.
Then shrugged his shoulders, “Who needs it! Just follow me.” And he wrapped a
white towel around his neck like a scarf and started down the hill, waddling
toward the distant lights.
“But do you know where you’re going?”
“Of course, I do. I have a nose
like a compass! Or was that a compass
shaped like a nose? Note to self: check luggage for wooden nose?”
Ricky grabbed both suitcases and
followed, “I think that’s the wrong way.”
IV
With all the confusion and turning
around on the hill, Ricky was a little concerned that he and his new friend
were simply heading straight back down to the Rolling Bard Ranch. And if that was true, he might never get to
town and find out how the world was changed because he was never born. Still,
he had to do something with the bear.
Perhaps the best thing to do, would be to take the bear back down and
put him in the Clarence machine and then he wouldn’t be born either and then
they could get a snack and both head to town. However, by the time they reached
the bottom of the hill the snow was coming down quite a bit harder and the wind
was blowing constantly. Now Ricky was glad they were heading in the wrong
direction. He was just thinking about getting to the barn with Sam and the
animals and out of the cold. He was even thinking how glad he would be to have
his nice warm bed to sleep in tonight.
But coming down the hill he paused
at the pasture fence. He set the bags
down and rubbed his eyes with his mittens. Everything looked slightly familiar,
but not quite. For instance, the barn looked like a barn. But not quite like
Gramps’s. It was in nicer shape. The walls were standing up straight and the
doors weren’t hanging off the hinges and on top of that the windows looked like
they were lit with electric lights.
The bear paused and looked back,
“Don’t dilly-dally. No way to live your life. Note to self: next year for
luggage carriers hire kangaroos.”
Suddenly Ricky realized, maybe this
is what the world was like without him. Maybe Gramps had a better ranch and
barn and was a changed man. And thinking this, he bolted suddenly toward the barn
door, the bear calling after him something about reporting him to the union!
But to no avail.
Ricky rushed to the barn door and
pushed it open, calling, “Sam! Sam! I think it worked. Sam! Where are you?”
A cow, and a bull, and a calf
looked up at him in surprise. A couple of sheep stirred in another pen, and
there was the startled clucking of hens from the roost.
The cow whispered, “Shssh. The baby
is going to sleep.”
“No, I’m not, Mommy.” The calf
whispered back.
“May I help you?” The bull asked.
“I’m looking for Sam. Little Sam,
the pony with a brain.”
“I’m afraid you must have the wrong
barn, then, boy,” the cow said. “You’re looking for the Rolling Bard Ranch.”
There was a clumsy sound and
panting by the door and a suitcase spilled open at Ricky’s feet. The bull
stepped forward with a snort and a scratching of his hoof against the dirt.
“Hold it right there, my bellicose
bovine barnyard brethren!” the bear cried raising his suitcase for a shield.
“We are but poor wanderers lost on this Yule-tide eve in search of nothing more
than shelter and a warm tankard of nogg. Hold the nutmeg for knee-britches,
here.”
“Uncle Emile!” cried the calf.
“Ho. Ho.” Bellowed the bull, “We
thought you’d never arrive, you old scoundrel.”
“Ah, sweet mystery of genius. Had
no idea the empty-headed child was such a prodigy. Feared he was leading me
askance. Instead he performed a piece of pediatric prestidigitation –a seasonal
presentation packed with pastoral pathos, if I do say so myself –and I did.”
After much explanation and a round
robin of holiday greetings, Maurice, the bull, and Marilyn, the cow, paused to ask
Emile (the bear) who his little friend was.
“He’s the consigliore of the
hillside vestibule, I mean the maître ’de of the… or is it the bell-hop of the
mountain top, consigliore of the canyon cap canteen? I… well, in fact of actuality, I… Why, the
little whippersnapper absconded with me luggage as I was scrutinizing the Sealtest
road map by way of a riparian rest stop.
Just as you cried out, I was on the nonce of thrashing this larcenous
Lompoc within an inch of his …”
Marilyn gigled, “Uncle Emile, you’re
frightening the boy with all that talk of riparian Lompocs. Excuse me, boy. Don’t be afraid. Uncle Emile
is just an overstuffed belly full of bluff and big words. We are all actually very friendly animals
here. What’s your name?”
Melissa, the calf, crept from her
bed of hay and moved over to the barn door beside Ricky –the warmth of her
breath felt comforting against his cheek.
He introduced himself and explained to the cow and bull that he’d not
meant any harm. He was really just
trying to get to town to find out how the world had changed since he was maybe
never really born if maybe the machine really was working but then there were
these little rabbits that got scared and then there was this skunk that needed
his fingers and then Uncle Emile had probably mistaken him for a waiter –but
maybe that was because he had never been born and so he wasn’t really himself
but someone else and maybe that person really was a waiter or something like
that and how this really was supposed to be the Rolling Bard and how because he
wasn’t born Gramps must have sold the ranch to them and probably Little Sam was
working at the glue factory and all the other animals were either frozen dinner
entrees or forced to work as roustabouts in a rodeo sideshow –all because he
had never been born, but now he just wanted to go home.
Maurice looked at Marilyn and began
to laugh a deep bellowing laugh. “This is that missing boy Miss Ellie was
talking about. Don’t you move, boy. Stay put. Folks is looking for you.”
“Miss Ellie? Do you mean this is
her place?”
“By golly, it sure is boy.” Maurice
answered.
“Really? Then, where is she?”
And all three cow-like creatures
replied (almost simultaneously): “She’s at the library!”
“Really? –on Christmas eve?”
“Maybe.” Marilyn added, “She and
Slim Tex went out looking for a young boy that was missing. And I wonder if that boy might be you.”
“Oh no. If I wasn’t ever born they probably won’t be
able to find me. I better get home
quick!”
“If you weren’t ever born, then you
might as well just stay here and have Christmas with us.” Melissa nudged him
with her nose and licked his cheek. “But you taste like you probably were
born.”
A loud gust of wind rattled the door and
knocked it open and a freezing wind blew in sending towels and bathrobes and
blasts of snow flying everywhere.
“Great galloping ghost of Aeolus!”
Uncle Emile called and then laughed, “I guess the bag is out of the proverbial
cat. Merry Christmas.”
Maurice rushed to the door to swing
it closed with his horns and as he did Ricky noticed he was wearing terry cloth
pajamas that seemed to be made out of old hotel towels. Ricky looked at the cow and noticed now that
she was wearing a Paradise Inn bathrobe with a pink satin sash and had a
complete set of Roadway Inn towels hanging from the posts and rails around her
pen.
Marilyn and Maurice laughed and
Maurice told Ricky he was going to have to spend the night with them but they
would see about getting him home come morning. Nobody was getting out on a
night like this –except maybe Santa
Clause himself. He showed Ricky to
an empty pen where Uncle Emile was opening his other luggage and setting up
house.
Marilyn asked if anyone was
hungry. She had a lovely plate of
cookies, a batch of carrots and a bowl of roasted chestnuts in need of peeling.
Plus was willing to heat up a little milk and mix up a batch of hot cocoa if
anyone was interested. Ricky was very
interested.
She pointed out a bucket and a
stool hanging on the wall and told him to come on over and get to work. “But, warm your hands by the fire first,” she
said. “The last thing I need before
bedtime is a handful of icy fingers.”
That was when they realized, the
fire had gone out and they didn’t have any kindling left. “Oh dear.” Maurice stomped a hoof. “I was
supposed to gather kindling. I forgot.”
“Without a fire we can’t warm up
the milk and make hot cocoa,” Melissa whimpered.
Just then there was a shy knock at
the door. And a familiar voice called,
“Hey! Anybody awake in there? I’m getting frost on my tail!”
Maurice rushed to the door and
opened it. In came a skunk with a bundle of sticks.
“Last stop.” He announced as he came in and
dropped a bundle of twigs on the floor. “Merry Christmas my friends. Well, hey,
Johnny! You got a lot of nerve following me here, you little whippersnapper.”
“I wasn’t following you.” Ricky
stepped next to the terry cloth cow for safety.
Marilyn reassured the skunk, “This
is Ricky. He’s a neighbor from over at the Rolling Bard. He was just up there
helping Uncle Emile get unlost on his way to the barn.”
“I will say one thing, Johnny. You
got a good finger. Knots held tight. Good knots makes for good bundles.”
Not long after that Maurice got a
small fire kindled in the pot belly stove and Ricky warmed his hands and milk
was heated and cookies were passed around and at Melissa’s bequest, everybody
settled down for one last carol-- Silent Night.
And as they were singing and
feeling warm from the cocoa and the cookies and the lovely smell of fresh hay
and the soft moan of the wind and the gentle drifting of the snow, Ricky
noticed that all of the sudden he wasn’t feeling so badly after all. There
weren’t any presents and there wasn’t any big feast… but there was friendship
and singing and kindness and cookies and hot cocoa and suddenly he realized
maybe Christmas wasn’t just about all the great things people give you or the
decorations and the trees with ornaments and lights and everything…maybe it was
more about coming together to help one another. Like the shepherds and the wise
men and the animals on the first Christmas so many years ago.
It was just about then that there
was another sound from the door. And a
woman’s voice saying, “Shhh, They might be asleep.”
“Not in here.” Maurice bellowed
joyfully. “Come on in. Merry Christmas, everyone.”
Through the door came Miss Ellie,
Slim-Tex and Little Sam, followed by Gramps.
“Consarn that bull-head pip-squeak
of a whimpering side-winder city boy!” Gramps cursed as he came through the
door, “Running away on Christmas Eve and then there’s this here four-legged
accident inventing glue-factory dragging all over town searching for him on
some kind of wild…”
“Merry
Christmas, Gramps!” Ricky dropped his cookie and ran to his grandfather and
grabbed him around the waist. “Slim. It’s you!
And Little Sam. Sam, you were right. It worked. It was like I wasn’t
ever born. Nobody recognized me and everything was different and…”
After the animals got settled for
the night, and the humans went into the house for coffee, Sam tried to explain
to Ricky that the toggle belt had been too loose and the molly-coddle never
engaged, so the machine didn’t really work at all.
“But things were different, Sam.
None of the animals didn’t recognize me and…”
“Maybe because they’d never met you
before.”
Ricky looked at Sam like the horse
was trying to pull his leg. And then said, “But I learned something. If I was
never born the skunk wouldn’t have got his twigs bundled and if he didn’t get
his twigs bundled then all the animals that needed them for kindling wouldn’t
have gotten them and then when the snow came there wouldn’t have been no fires
in their stoves to keep them warm and if there weren’t any fires in the stoves…
then I wouldn’t have been able to milk a cow for the first time and if I hadn’t
been able to milk a cow for the first time, then we wouldn’t be sipping this
wonderful hot cocoa right this very minute and if we weren’t sipping this
wonderful cocoa… then just maybe this wouldn’t be the best Christmas I ever
had. Maybe. But it is. And that’s because of you and your machine. So I think
your machine is the best Christmas machine ever, Sam.”
“Well, thanks little buddy.” Sam
grinned and took a sip of cocoa. He looked at his little friend who said,
“You got a milk mustache!” And
laughed very merrily, which is something we should all try to do at this time
of year.
And just as I was about to end this
story with a joyful Merry Christmas to all, I overheard Uncle Emile stir in his
stall and whisper, “Skunk, you ever seen a 45 foot freshwater cantilevered
Northwestern tree squid? It’s one of the most ambidextrous creatures on earth
or in the deep! A malevolent monster if ever I saw one. I was down in the
everglades ice fishing for halibut the first time I came across one…”
