The Spark
The Story of a Christmas Soon to Come
and
My Christmas Carol
by Ray Foy
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010, 2011 Ray Foy
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. If you enjoyed this book, please return to
Smashwords.com to discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.
* * *
Is this the end of Christmas?
Nicholas, a spirit from the numinous realm, can't incarnate as Santa Claus because there is so little Christmas spirit left in the world. His mate, his elves, his reindeer, even his workshop have the same problem. Desperate, Nicholas seeks help from the Earth Mother, Gaia, who sends him in human form to a desolate city where he must find a spark of true Christmas spirit. As he searches, he encounters a destitute couple looking for a place to have their baby.
They all end up in a city of tents where people who have lost their homes and their hopes, struggle to survive. If Nicholas can't find the spark in all this misery, Christmas could disappear from the world, forever.
* * *
Sincere Love--Sincere Remorse--Sincere Forgiveness:
The spark that makes Santa Claus real
* * *
It is too bad this was so short as it was marvelous, both in feeling the pain, joy, and hope that this story discussed. The characters were real and the author did not tell but showed!!! A delightful read for anyone, young pre-teens and up to age 100. I will definitely read this author again. (Barnes and Noble reader review)
* * *
"Is this the end of Christmas?"
A Christmas Hope for the Earth (Gina's Poem)
* * *
The Story of a Christmas Soon to Come
"Is this the end of Christmas?"
Arctic winds pierced the red and white furs that formed around Nicholas along with his plump human body. They reddened his cheeks and goose-bumped his skin and told him that his transition from spirit to human was nearly complete.
He had finally arrived. Though late once again, the transformation at the top of the world had begun. Fierce winds abated to a gentle fall of snow, as the frozen wasteland turned into a storybook winter setting. For at least another year, it seemed the world would have a Christmas.
A faint whistling reached Nicholas' nearly-solid ears and drew his attention overhead. The sound intensified as his perceptions moved from the awareness of elemental vibrations to the physical interception of airborne waves. The source was a black speck in the twilight sky that grew steadily larger. It resolved into a long, dark spear with tail fins that reflected the low-angle sunlight.
Nicholas smiled his newly human smile.
With a swooshing thud the great shaft ploughed deep into the ice-pack, showering Nicholas with snow and nearly knocking him off his feet. The great pole vibrated from the impact, making the red and white candy-stripes that swirled around its circumference appear to move up and down its length. Beneath the globe at the shaft's upper-end, four huge planks fanned out at right angles. Nicholas read the same words on each one: NORTH POLE.
"Finally, Nicholas, finally!" cried Jessica Mary at his side.
She laughed, sharing with him the joy of the planting of the sign that marked the beginning of their seasonal work.
All around the North Pole marker, bolts of crackling energy erupted into the physical plane and filled the air with a kind of electrical netting. Within it, a huge building began to take shape. Nicholas and Jessica shaded their eyes from the bright flashes. As they watched, the indistinct form resolved into mortared walls with exposed beams, a shingled roof, many-paned windows in three stories, covered entrances lit by gas lamps, and chimneys already emitting smoke from the fires blazing in their hearths.
Nicholas felt Jessica grasp his hand. The sensation confirmed that he was totally in the physical now, like Jessica, who had incarnated with her own red-with-white trimmed outfit. Her fur-lined hood was pulled over her head, framing her plump cheeks and rosy lips. Strands of snow-white hair spilled from her hood and danced over her forehead in the wind. She was as beautiful in her human form as in the spirit.
"It's here! It's here!" high-pitched voices shouted in unison, and several small, green-clad figures popped into existence around Nicholas and Jessica.
"Phineas and Turlough," Nicholas shouted at the elves over the crackling energy. "Fadron. I hope you're ready to get to work!"
"We've been ready, Santa," Phineas shouted back. "We just need our shop!"
The elves, wearing leather aprons and carrying the tools of their toy-making craft, formed a semi-circle with Nicholas and Jessica around the materializing workshop.
Evergreen trees sprouted through the snow and instantly grew to mature heights, laden with ornaments, tinsel, and lights. They surrounded the workshop, shining red, green, and gold light on its walls and reflecting off the surrounding snow.
Nicholas noticed another building beginning to form at a distance from the workshop. He was especially glad to see it. It was a copy of the workshop in architecture but much smaller and cozier with its smoking chimney and Yuletide decorations. This was his house, where he would rest with Jessica after all the hard work.
A snow-cleared lane stretched from the house to the workshop. Beside it, closer to the house-end, a mailbox sat atop a candy-cane post. The name of the home's occupant was written on it: SANTA.
The sight filled Nicholas with a longing for Jessica's Christmas fudge and cookies. He imagined savoring the warm baking smells and lounging in his over-stuffed chair beside a fire, while he smoked his corncob pipe after the Christmas Eve run. But that reward was over a month away, although it should have been several months away.
"It's almost all here, Nicholas," Jessica said. "It's so beautiful. We can finally get to work."
"I was beginning to wonder, Jess. It gets later every year. Us too. Like last year when I had to direct most of the work from spirit."
"Yes," she replied and gave him a playful elbow in the belly. "But you're your big, old round self now and everything is almost here."
Snowmen began to pop out of the ground. Some came up in groups, singing Christmas songs. More elves appeared. The carriage house, where the sleigh was kept, formed from swirling ice crystals. Nicholas smiled at the thought of the deep path the elves would clear between it and the workshop as they hauled out newly-made toys.
Finally, the buildings looked solid, surrounded by forests of Christmas trees, singing snowmen, elves, and playing reindeer. The air was full of magic and all was ready.
"All right, everyone," Nicholas said. "I think we can get started. Let's go."
He led his troop through the snow toward their workshop.
Bells rang from the harnesses of frolicking reindeer as if in greeting to Nicholas and his company. He waved at them.
"Ho! Cupid and Comet! Ho--"
Nicholas' greeting was cut short by a great rumbling that shook the entire scene. It increased to near-earthquake proportions, causing elves to tumble into the snow. Reindeer ran about in confusion. Nicholas and Jessica struggled to stay on their feet as the ground shook beneath them.
Then it all stopped in an abrupt stillness of falling snow.
Nicholas and Jessica stood, barely breathing, surrounded by elves and reindeer that were just as expectantly silent. A few bolts of energy popped in the crisp air. Everyone knew what was happening, or feared they did.
Then it started again. The very air seemed to shake. The workshop distorted and slowly contracted into its own center. Bits of brick and mortar broke off from the upper levels and faded out before they hit the ground.
"No! It can't!" Jessica shouted. "It was all here. Nicholas, it was solid!"
"I know, I know," Nicholas said. Tears stung his eyes at the awful sight. His house was contracting like the workshop, distorting in its implosion. Even the stables were fading out as the reindeer ran from them.
Energy crackled red around the dissipating buildings. The wind picked up and the sky darkened. The snow turned icy and pelting, encrusting the snowmen who were losing their hats and scarves to the rising winds.
"Everyone run to the trees!" Nicholas screamed. They pushed against the blowing snow as fast as they could toward the stand of trees that was steadily losing its lights and tinsel.
Nicholas and Jessica grabbed the hands of the nearest elves and pulled them along. They were passed by other elves riding reindeer or holding onto their tails as they stampeded. The wind was too strong for the reindeer to fly.
When they reached the edge of the Christmas tree copse, Nicholas shouted into Jessica's ear.
"Jess, get them to the center of the trees. It's all the shelter we have."
He looked back to the workshop as Jessica and the elves sought cover. The buildings were already gone. The wind was blowing snow-boulders--the remains of snowmen--across the field. A number of elves and reindeer were still working their way towards him. One-by-one they faded out as they trudged along. They were returning to spirit.
Nicholas watched until only one elf remained, pushing his way through the blowing snow.
"Fadron!" Nicholas called and reached out his hand. "Come on!"
He stepped out of the trees to pull the elf in and grabbed only empty air.
There was no one else.
He stared at his empty hand for a moment, then turned back into the trees. Running through the snow got easier as he progressed. He felt lighter. Then he realized he was barely making impressions in the snow and was passing through the trees as much as around them.
He feared he was the only one left.
"Jessica! Are you still here?"
"Nicholas!" she called back. "We're here. Is it all gone?"
"Yes," Nicholas said, reaching her. She was with Phineas. There were no others. "It's all over and we'll join them soon. Maybe the shop will come back, but I doubt it. It's so late already and it's never disappeared after forming so completely."
"What will we do, Santa?" Phineas said. "Is this the end of Christmas?"
The sight of the elf's tears caused Nicholas to choke back his own.
"I don't know," he said. "Don't give up yet, my friend. It could still come back."
"It's been coming to this," Jessica said. "Later and later, every year. We have to be in the physical to make the toys and every year there's less time. There's just not enough Christmas spirit left in the world to keep the workshop here or to keep us human."
"We still have almost a month," Nicholas said. "We might still come back--"
"It's not enough time. Nicholas we need help. Go to her. Ask her."
"Jessica, it's been centuries. And she's sick."
"There's no other hope. She's the only power that can save Christmas."
Nicholas looked away from Jessica's stern glare that would accept nothing less than total commitment. As he did, he realized Phineas was gone, underscoring Jessica's point.
"We're fading, Nicholas. Do it. As soon as you're spirit again."
He could see the blowing tree limbs through her.
"All right," Nicholas said. "But come with me."
"No. I need to stay here and get the work started if the shop does return. If it does, I'll send you word. Just go and ask for Gaia's help."
Jessica was a dim luminescence now against the snow and remaining trees. Nicholas knew he was about to fade out as well.
"I will, my love," he said. "I promise. And I'll be back before Christmas."
Christmas has always been special to me. I think it's because my mom made it special when I was growing up. We had nothing but each other—my mom, my brothers, and I--but every year, Momma would do something just for each one of us. For me, it was always a book. Usually a book of poems. She said it was from Santa Claus even when I was too old to believe. I loved those books, and wanted to give them to my own child someday--one at every Christmas and say they were from Santa Claus.
By the time I was pregnant with my first child, I had lost Momma. But I had Everett, and I wanted to make our first Christmas special for him. I knew it would be, had to be, because that was when our baby would be born.
I was in the final weeks of my pregnancy, right after Thanksgiving, and we were living in our little rental house on Porter Street. It was a rough time for us. I had lost my job at the library and Everett wasn't getting much work as a day-laborer. We were barely getting by and it upset Everett so terribly. I tried to stay hopeful for him, but I was miserable from the pregnancy.
That last night in our house, I tried to distract myself by working on my poem. I had started it soon after I knew I was pregnant. I had been reading one of my favorite poems, All Things Bright and Beautiful, and it inspired me to try writing one of my own. I began it by quoting Ms Alexander and continuing with a Christmas theme, since my due date was in the Christmas season. I worked on it all the while my baby was growing inside of me.
So I sat on the couch beside Everett, writing in my notebook while he watched a ballgame on our little TV. I was trying to write, anyway. The baby was moving, putting pressure on my back, and making it hard for me to concentrate. I finally just dropped my notebook and looked at Everett. He was intent on his game.
“Good game?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “Just hope the electricity lasts long enough to finish it.”
We generally had electricity about four to six hours a day. Not bad for that part of town.
“Hope so,” I said. “I can write by candle but that won’t help the TV. Anyway, I know you're worried. I am too, and I don't think it'll be long--”
Someone began pounding on the front door and I would have jumped from the couch if I hadn't been so heavy.
Everett reached under the couch and grabbed the baseball bat he kept there.
"Stay there, baby," he said, and crept warily to the door. He opened it a crack and flipped on the porch light.
"Everett Manos?" I heard a man say.
"Yeah."
"I'm Sheriff Rubens. These are my deputies. We're here to serve an eviction notice. You'll have to vacate these premises, immediately."
Everett let the baseball bat drop to the floor.
"What? Leave now?" Everett said. "But I don't own the house. We just rent. You need to talk to Harold King. He's the owner."
"Mr. King has let the house return to the bank and the bank wants the tenants out. Notifications were sent."
"Yeah, but I thought Mr. King--"
Sheriff Rubens and his deputies pushed their way in. Everett backed into the living room. I forced myself to my feet and went to him, grabbing his arm.
"But we can't just leave now," I said, "you've got to give us some time."
"Time's up," the Sheriff said. He eyed me. "Looks like your woman's time's about up too. You should have done something weeks ago, Everett. Not very responsible of you to put a pregnant woman out on the street."
"I'm not the one doing the putting out," Everett said. I tightened my hold on his arm. These men would kill him if he gave them an excuse.
"You like baseball, Everett?" one of the deputies said, picking up the bat. He was tall and lean. The bat looked small in his hands.
"You going to hit us with that bat?" the other deputy said. He was fat with a moustache and small eyes.
"No," Everett said. "It's just for protection. Got to have it, living around here."
"That's what we're here for," the tall deputy said. He looked at us with a brute's smirk. "You're safe with us around."
I had to end this before Everett said something that would get him hurt.
"Come on, baby," I said. "We have to go. Let's just get out."
"You can't be out on the street," Everett said to me. He looked back to the Sheriff and pleaded. "Look, she's about to have a baby. She lost her job and I been working construction, but there ain't been much work. What's the difference if we stay here a little longer? Half the houses round here are vacant or people just holed up in them."
"Not our problem, Everett," the Sheriff said. "I got legal paperwork here says you got to get out. You going to go, or we gonna have to take you to jail? You want your baby born in jail?"
It was over, they weren't going to listen to us. We had to get out. I pulled on Everett's arm.
"We're going. We're going now. Come on, Everett. Let's get our things."
"Hurry up," the Sheriff said.
We went to the bedroom, followed by the fat deputy. I grabbed my big shopping bag and began throwing books, pencils, and notebooks into it.
"Get a suitcase, baby," I said. "Pack as much clothes and things as you can carry."
Everett filled a case with his clothes while I filled one with mine. With my shopping bag, that was all we could carry. There wasn't much else, anyway. I put on my wool coat and Everett put on the old flannel shirt he used as a jacket. He pulled his yellow, construction company cap over his head.
We dragged our bags into the living room.
"That all you got?" the tall deputy said. He looked around the room. "Guess the rest of this stuff ain't yours."
"Thought all you people used shopping carts," the fat deputy said.
I could feel Everett's anger rising, but he restrained himself. I was glad he did, but if I hadn't been in my last days of pregnancy, I probably would have hit the man myself.
Everett shot resentful glares at the lawmen as we pulled our bags through the front door and into the evening cold. The sun was low on the western horizon, well behind the trees and houses. We must have been the Sheriff's last eviction for the day.
"Sheriff, where we supposed to go?" Everett said.
"You should have thought of that before now," the tall deputy said.
Everett dropped our suitcases and sprang toward the man, who slapped a hand on the pistol hanging from his belt.
"Everett!" I screamed.
The Sheriff jumped between them and grabbed a couple of handfuls of Everett's shirt.
"Don't be stupid, boy," the Sheriff said.
"Come on, baby," I said. "Come on. Don't do this. I need you. Our baby needs you."
"Listen to her, Everett," The Sheriff said.
Everett relaxed and the Sheriff let him go. He just turned, picked up our bags, and started down the street. I followed as the sheriff called after us.
"There's a homeless shelter at Maywood Square. Try that."
"What a thoughtful man," Everett muttered.
*
We walked into the dark. Every step was sheer torture on my swollen feet as we left our last little bit of comfort. I held my stomach, as if I could carry my baby in my arms and relieve the weight that was straining my back like bricks in a sock.
"Everett," I said after we had walked a couple of blocks, "I don't think I can make it to the shelter. Let's find a place I can wait while you go on. Maybe they have a car and can come get me."
"Shelter's not likely to have a car," he replied. "No rich people there. I'm not leaving you, anyway."
"I wish my brothers weren't so far away," I said. It really was wishful thinking. I didn't know where they were. I wasn't able to let them know when Momma died. But it was still more family than Everett had. His foster family was gone. He stayed with me rather than go with them.
"We're close to Northland Hills," Everett said. "Maybe Mark Matthews will help us. He had a car when I was working with him at the Tax Commission. Maybe he'll give us a ride to the shelter or even let us stay with him a while."
"That's a gated neighborhood. How we going to get in?"
"We got to try, Gina."
So we headed for Northland Hills. It was a long walk. We made frequent stops to rest and stayed off the road as much as possible. Everett didn't think it was safe out in the open.
When we reached Northland Hills, it was dark and I was completely miserable. My back hurt and my feet hurt. I just wanted to get somewhere, but we were still a block away from the entrance. We hung back in the shadows of a street corner and eyed the community's entrance.
Two huge iron gates hinged to brick towers admitted the lucky residents to their homes. The towers were topped with crenulations like a castle. A Christmas wreath hung from a central tower that housed a small guardhouse in front of the gates. The wreath contained electric lights, but none were lit. Both gates were closed.
A campfire burned in a small garden space in front of the guardhouse. Several men sat around it wearing military-looking coats and hats.
"Can't get in that way," Everett said. "That's soldiers returned from the wars. They protecting rich folks now. We don't want to mess with them. Let's go round the wall, see if we can find a way in."
We followed the wall around the neighborhood. After the first corner it changed from brick to iron fencing. It wasn't terribly high, but I was in no shape to climb over even a low fence. We didn’t see any way through so we kept walking.
There were a few spots where the fence was rusted or bent, but Everett couldn't push his way through. Eventually, we came to another stretch of wall where the metalwork was rusted thin at the point where it joined the brick. Everett pushed and pulled on the fence at this spot, trying to loosen a part.
I sat on the street shoulder and watched, praying that he could make a way in. We both needed a place to rest. I held my breath as Everett worked on this bad section of fence. I could see he was using the strength of his frustration. It was enough because it finally gave way and opened a hole, and I thanked God.
Everett ran back to me and helped me to the opening he had made. It was still a tight squeeze for my swollen stomach, but I got through. We were in somebody's back yard. I watched out for a dog.
"We got to get to the street," Everett whispered. All was still and dark. Whispering seemed in order. "I can find my way to Mark's house from there. We carpooled back then, and I drove these streets a lot."
We crossed the back yard to the front gate. Fortunately there was no dog, but the gate was locked. Everett climbed over and opened it for me from the outside. We were at the head of a driveway beside a garage. We passed a parked car as we made our way toward the street. Everett peeked in the window and saw the gas gauge pointed to empty. We walked on.
When we reached the street, Everett checked the sign.
"This way," he said.
There were lights in the houses. Some of them were Christmas lights and most had chimneys. I grew wistful in spite of my fatigue and aching joints. Why couldn't we have a nice place where we could sit in front of a fire on Christmas Eve? We could have a Christmas tree and a big table for holiday dinners.
We turned down so many streets, I soon lost my way. Everett seemed sure of where we were, though. Most of the streets were well lit, but we stayed in the shadows to avoid being spotted by the security patrols.
The patrols were more ex-soldiers. Everett said they had come back from the wars with no skills other than military ones. Some became mercenaries, but a lot started private security companies and went to work for rich people, mostly protecting their stuff. Some worked for those few regular people that could afford to pay them something. It seemed everybody needed protection.
"Here," Everett said. "This is it. That's Mark's house."
It was big like all the others. Lights shown through most of the windows, indicating people still lived there. I hoped it was Mark's family and that he remembered Everett.
"Should I hide?" I asked.
"No. Stay with me. Won't hurt to play on his sympathy. Or the sympathy of whoever lives here now if Mark don't."
We walked up the long, paved driveway that curved past the front door. There was a gas lamp on a pole that lit up the yard and a smaller one right beside the door. I was a little apprehensive about walking through the light, but there was no one around to challenge us.
We reached the door and Everett rang the bell. When no one came, he tried knocking. Nothing. He knocked again.
I heard the sound of a car on the street and saw a pair of headlights approaching. Everett saw it too and knocked harder.
"Mark!" he called. "Mark Matthews! It's Everett Manos!"
The car slowed. We were obvious vagrants, standing there on the porch under the gas light with our baggage at our feet.
"Everett, we better hide," I said.
He pounded harder on the door.
"Mark Matthews!"
The car drove slowly past the house. We couldn't see in the windows, but the occupants could surely see us. It was too late to hide. Everett persisted with his knocking until we heard a dog bark inside. The car turned into the driveway.
We had to stay put. There was nowhere to hide and I wasn't about to run anywhere. The car stopped in front of us. It sat there for long seconds and then a couple of the doors opened at the same time. Two security guards got out.
"What you two doing here?" one of them asked.
"My friend lives here," Everett replied. "We're just visiting."
"You got a pass?" the man said. "I don't remember seeing you at the front gate."
"You break in the neighborhood?" the other man said.
"Look, we just passing through," Everett said. "My wife's having a baby. See? We need a place to rest."
Even in my fear and pain, I joyed at Everett calling me his wife. We were married in spirit, and I hoped we'd express it in a ceremony one day.
"You homeless? You look like you're homeless."
I wondered if they all learned to talk like that in the Army.
Everett pounded on the door. The dog barked again.
"Stop that!" the guard shouted and pulled out a gun.
"No!" I cried and stepped in front of Everett.
"No need for that, mister," Everett said. He pushed me behind him.
The door opened and man with disheveled hair and glasses stuck his head out.
"What's going on?" he said. "What do you want?"
"Mark, it's me," Everett said. "Everett Manos. From the Tax Commission. Remember?"
"Everett?" Mark said. "Yeah, I remember. What are you doing here?"
"We was kicked out of our place, Mark. This is Gina. She's about to have our baby and we got no place to go."
"Mr. Matthews," the first guard said. "These people don't have a pass. We got to put them out."
The guards grabbed Everett and me and pulled us towards their car.
No!” Everett cried. “Mark, please. Don’t let them take us. Look, she’s pregnant.”
"Wait," Mark said. He stepped back into his house. When he returned, he had a big wad of paper money in his hand.
"Here's their pass."
He handed the wad to one of the guards. I had never seen so much paper money at one time.
"All right, Mr. Matthews, if you say so." The guard looked at Everett and me. "Just don't let me see you two wandering the streets."
"Thanks, Mark," Everett said, as the security men climbed back into their car. "I'm sorry you had to do that. I can't pay you back."
"It's all right," Mark said. "I have to give them money most every day just to keep the house from being trashed."
"Mark, we need a place to stay. At least until Gina has the baby. Can you help us?"
"Mark, who's at the door?" a woman's voice called from inside.
"Nobody," Mark called back over his shoulder. "Just the guards."
He turned back to us.
"Everett, I wish I could help you, but I can't. I got no room. I've had to take in my brother and his family, and Beth's sister and her family. I got no place for you to stay and there's not enough food, anyway."
"Mark, I'm begging you," Everett said. "Gina can't go walking all over town."
"Go to a shelter," Mark said. "I hear there's one at the old Maywood Square. They'll take care of you."
I stepped up beside Everett to give Mark a clear view of my stomach.
"Can you at least give us a ride to the shelter?" I asked.
Mark looked at me and I thought I detected a little pity, maybe guilt, from him. But not much.
"I can't," he said. "The car's been stolen. I ride with Zach Egan to work. He's started a kind of bus service. Look, I'll walk with you to the front gate and get you out. That's the best I can do. Let me get my coat."
Mark went back into his house. I heard him talking to someone. I couldn't tell if he was asking permission or making excuses. I didn't think much of Mark or of Northland Hills.
Mark returned in a thick coat and hat and we all started down the driveway. My feet hurt and I could feel my ankles swelling.
"Everett. Stop," I said, before we had made even ten steps. "My feet are killing me. I've got to get off them."
"You can't stop here," Mark said.
"I have to rest."
"Mark," Everett said. "We need a wheelchair, cart, something."
"There's a garden cart," Mark said.
"Let me have it," Everett said.
"Carts are almost as valuable as cars--"
"Let me have it. She can't walk to the shelter. You want her to lose--"
"OK, OK," Mark said. We waited while he ran to a small door in the garage, unlocked it, and went in. He returned pulling a small, four-wheeled cart. It had a seat beside a little open compartment. A rope looped from points beside the front wheels allowing it to be pulled.
"This is all I have," Mark said.
"You got a jacket Everett can have?" I asked. "It's freezing."
"No. I’m sorry. This is the best I can do. Let's go."
It was worth a try.
I put my shopping bag in the compartment that must have been for tools and settled onto the small seat. Everett wrapped the cart's rope around his waist, then hung one suitcase by its long strap over his shoulder and carried the other.
It wasn't terribly comfortable, but it took the pressure off my ankles. Bless Everett. We were a humiliating sight, but Everett pulled me through the streets like a loyal beast of burden.
Mark seemed nervous. He pulled his fur-lined hat down to his eyes and ducked his head as we passed curious eyes peering from the windows of well-lit houses. He did finally take one of the suitcases for Everett.
When we reached the gate the guards looked amused at our strange conveyance. That, and Mark being with us seemed to soften their attitude. Or maybe they just didn't want to deal with us on such a cold night.
"Your guests leaving, Mr. Matthews?" one of them asked.
"Yeah. They're headed for the shelter at Maywood Square," Mark said. "Can you guys take them in your truck?"
I was shocked that Mark would make such a request on our behalf. It raised my opinion of him. Slightly.
"Truck won't be around until morning," a guard said. He gave us a look. "It's only for official business."
"That's OK. Thanks, Mark," Everett said and started pulling me down the street. Mark looked relieved.
"Good luck," Mark called after us and walked quickly back through the gates. The guards locked it behind him and went back to their fire, forgetting us.
I could feel my baby moving as Everett pulled me into the night.
Physical boundaries fell away from Nicholas along with his ample body, leaving him a free spirit once again. He hovered in his despair, like a dark thundercloud over the now-barren arctic pole while the pitiless wind drove the icy snow right through him.
It was all gone—his workshop, house, the reindeer stables, the elves. Only the thin polar cap remained, collecting snow beneath a winter storm.
Nicholas felt Jessica’s energy close, trying to beam encouragement to him in spite of her own disappointment. He couldn’t detect the spirits that had incarnated as elves and reindeer. They had scattered, not to return unless called by a resurgence of Christmas Spirit among humanity. Whether that would ever happen again was in great doubt to Nicholas. Jessica was right. If there was any hope of a solution, it lay with the Earth Mother.
He had to go to Gaia.
Nicholas gathered his energy along with his resolve into a tight ball and rose into the arctic sky. He concentrated, letting the earth energies fill him. A darker energy seeped in as well. It was the now-familiar, spiritual malaise that drained from people all over the world. It enveloped him like an oily mist--self-absorbed and devoid of compassion. So different from the loving aura that had radiated from Earth millennia ago when people lived in harmony with their planet.
Nicholas pulsated revulsion. No wonder he couldn’t maintain his human form.
This darkness seemed to gather at points surrounding the pole. He broadened his perception into the physical wavelengths and saw those points marked with lights on huge steel platforms rising above the sea. Oil rigs. Sucking from beneath the ocean floor that fluid people considered the life-blood of their civilization. Nicholas considered it the decaying remains of life.
He had to shake this dark distraction and concentrate. Gaia. Think of Gaia.
It was difficult, but he was eventually able to calm himself and let the darkness pass through and out of his being. Soon, he felt a stirring of lighter energy, weak, but growing. The stirring became vibration. Heavier. Then movement. Lines of energy coalesced from the air and entwined him and pulled at him. The pull grew until he felt himself lift and rise high into the twilight. He ascended higher and faster until finally, like a rushing wind, he shot through the tunnel between dimensions.
From the North Pole he raced past continents, oceans, and the portals to other worlds. His flight was rapid and long, from his perspective, but unmeasured in the physical as when he made his annual world-spanning trip. Then, abruptly, all motion ceased and the physical resolved around him once again.
He was floating over a vast, snowy plain. But this time there was no storm and the snow fields sparkled in the low sunlight, bordered by a distant mountain range. This was a familiar place. In previous years he had made Christmas deliveries to the few scientific outposts here. He was over Antarctica--the South Pole.
So Gaia was here, in this most desolate of places. She was probably seeking respite from the overheating climate, shrinking rain forests, extinctions, and the other tortures people were putting her through. She had to be really sick. Nicholas was apprehensive about seeing her when she was so weakened, but the situation was dire.
He concentrated until he again felt the attracting energy of his target. It pulled him down to the great snow fields and sent him flying over them until he reached the mountain range. There, he continued into a crevice between peaks and passed right into a glacier. He flew through the ice until he reached a huge, hollow chamber, and stopped.
The ice cave was really just an air pocket in the glacier. It would have been completely dark to human eyes, but Nicholas was a ball of energy and not dependent on light to see. Even so, only a faint energy radiated through the space to guide him.
He floated, following the thin energy trail and passing through a forest of stalactites that met their brethren erupting from the floor. At the interior-most point, he stopped again. It was the end of the trail.
A faint ball of energy floated in the midst of the chamber, dark, and withdrawn to the point that it seemed to be covered with a material shell. Nicholas felt the familiarity of Gaia's presence, but. within radiating waves that Nicholas perceived as pain.
He grieved to see such a powerful being in such a state and couldn't suppress a groan that would even have been audible to human ears. Facing the Earth Mother like this was like facing his own extinction. This was why he had stayed away for so long. He felt such a heaviness of spirit that he couldn't bring himself to greet her. He considered withdrawing, but then felt her awareness touch him with recognition. He took some encouragement from that and found the strength to beam a reply to her.
"How are you, Gaia?"
"I endure, Nicholas," she said. Her spirit-voice was weak, but even so, Nicholas felt the resonance of earth energy--like water rushing beneath the frozen surface of a stream. It was a good sign. He had been afraid she wouldn't be able to communicate at all.
"The living spirit of the earth must more than endure," Nicholas said. "She must thrive, so all the life she supports can thrive. Like when I first met you. When there was such an energy in this world that I was compelled to make it my home."
"That was the loving energy of a world filled with beings in innocent harmony," Gaia said. "It attracted many sympathetic spirits."
"Yes, I remember. People had such promise then. They didn't destroy their world, they celebrated it. Especially at the renewal of the seasons."
Gaia brightened some more. Enough that any humans there would have seen a mysterious glint off the ice. Fond memories for her, Nicholas decided.
"And you entered the world with them," Gaia said, "and became the very embodiment of their celebrations. While they kept Christmas, they kept their humanity."
"But that's the problem, Gaia, and why I'm here. Few people are keeping Christmas anymore. That loving spirit that peaked at Christmastime and brought me into the physical is all but gone."
"I see. Yes, that is a problem bad enough to bring you to this place."
"I'm sorry I haven't visited you before now, after you were kind enough to take me in so long ago," Nicholas said. "Your well-being is reason enough to come here."
"I wasn't chastising, Nicholas. Thank you for coming, but I can see the trouble in you. People aren't keeping Christmas because they have lost touch with me. If they don't care for what they need to survive, it's a small thing for them to not care for each other."
"But people were once better than that," Nicholas said. "They took care of you and you took care of them. Now it seems they don't even know you. They're hurting you. Your energy is so weak, I don't know if I would detect it from beyond as I did before. What can I do?"
"Do? Can you thaw human hearts? Teach them to love each other again? Get them to care more for their only home than for their shiny tools? That's the only way you can help them and me."
"Apparently, I can't do that." Nicholas darkened. "With people losing their compassion and becoming so materially-minded, I'm afraid Christmas will fade completely from the world. And me along with it."
Nicholas told her about his workshop appearing later every year and how difficult it was becoming for him to assume his human form.
"The shop formed completely this year," he said. "Even the North Pole marker planted. When it reaches that point, it's always there for the season. But then it all disappeared. The workshop, the elves, the snowmen. Jessica. All of it. I'm really afraid it's all gone for good.
"Is there any hope, Gaia? Can anything be done to restore people's compassion and make Christmas mean something to them again?"
"Humans are my children," Gaia said, "but they are a heavy burden. I diminish from their wars, pollutions, and greed. Few of them realize that in sickening me, they sicken themselves. When they observe Christmas, they do so without compassion. Their celebration is hollow.
"But there is hope, Nicholas. A spark of genuine compassion still burns in humanity. I can feel it, and it keeps me alive. Find that spark. Find it in the right place. It need only be a small place. Fan it to a flame and it will spread through the world. Enough hearts will warm to let me heal. Then people can truly celebrate Christmas again."
"But how do I find this, spark?" Nicholas asked.
"It will be in a place of concentrated energies and evidenced by three actions performed, with sincerity, in a short space."
"Actions?"
"You will see a demonstration of sincere love, sincere remorse, and sincere forgiveness. All close together, each energy feeding the other."
"These qualities are not unknown in the world," Nicholas said, "however dim they've become. How will I recognize--"
"These actions, within the nurture of compassionate energy, form the spark that ignites the better side of humans," Gaia said. "I've perceived it many times in the world, but it never spreads. It is always choked by surrounding brutishness. A facilitating agent is needed. That agent is you."
"Me? But how? Humans can't even see me now. I'm still spirit."
"I have power enough left to make you human for a while and send you to a likely spot. Once there, you will know what to do."
"How? What will I look for?"
"Will you do it, Nicholas? You have a special connection to people. To their better sides. You could find the spark and spread it. Will you try?"
"Yes, of course," Nicholas said. "I'll do anything. If it will help you, Gaia, you know I will. But I need to know--"
A tremendous force seized Nicholas--the power of rising tides, tectonic collisions, erupting magma, cyclonic winds, and the relentless march of glaciers. A power unimaginable and irresistible pulled him in a flash out of Gaia's cave, through solid ice and rock, and high into the sky. In its grasp, he soared to the upper atmosphere, and to the edge of outer space.
The night side of the earth was beneath him. The lights of civilization burned, though not as much as in past years. Civilization's decline followed that of the human heart and darkened their landscape. But even at its zenith, human technology never outshone Gaia's lights. From horizon to horizon, great glowing lines crisscrossed the world. Nicholas recognized these great conduits of energy as ley lines.
He felt an attraction to one of them. Its energy grabbed him and pulled him until he was soon flying headlong again, following the line over oceans, mountains, and rainforests at speeds dizzying even for a spirit.
He may have circled the earth. Maybe several times. He was going so fast, like flotsam in a hurricane, it was hard to tell. If Gaia could send him on such a trip when she was weak, what could she do in her full strength?
Soon he slowed, once again over the night side of world. Then he stopped, hovering high in the air. He knew the earth pretty well from on high and believed he was over the southern United States. There was a small city below and he began to descend towards it. As he got closer, he saw it was actually a fairly large city, but much of it was dark. The lights were mostly from the surrounding areas.
He was approaching one of those surrounding areas, right on the edge of the city. He was also growing heavier, feeling that old sensation of flesh forming around his spirit. As he dropped close enough to make out trees, buildings, and streets, he began to feel the sensations of the physical world--cold, wind, moisture.
Clothing formed on his body and broke the chill wind that passed through the bubble of energy surrounding him. To any human eyes below, he would have been a ball of light, but he still had to maneuver around buildings and power lines since he was becoming too solid to pass through them.
When he reached a point over a streetlight at the top of a hill, he dropped straight down. In the space of an eye's blink and a head's nod, the energy bubble around him dissipated and his feet touched the pavement.
He was completely human.
"How much further, Everett?"
Riding the little garden cart took the load off my feet, but it wasn't made for traveling and my butt was feeling it.
"We're close," Everett said. He looked over his shoulder at me as he pulled the cart. "I know this area. Maywood Square is up this hill to the right."
He had been pulling me for over an hour, the cart's strap wrapped around his waist. He also carried our two suitcases--everything we owned in the world besides the clothes on our backs and the things in my shopping bag.
It was the middle of the night and pitch dark. We saw few people, though Everett said there were plenty out there. Those we did see ignored us or just gave us a quick stare. One old man called out to us. Under better circumstances I would have probably made Everett stop to see if the man needed help. As it was, we just kept going.
At the top of the hill, the ground leveled and we passed an old, crumbling church.
"Probably a lot of homeless in there," Everett said, "and no telling what else."
Beyond the church lay a huge parking lot surrounded by connected buildings, like low mountains ringing a broad plain.
"That's it," Everett said. "Maywood Square. Those lights in the center must be the shelter."
The front of a big building in the center part of the complex was well lit. It had probably been a grocery store at one time. Some of the lights on it were colored red and green in an apparent attempt at Christmas decorating. I took some comfort in that--like we were someplace people celebrated Christmas and would welcome us.
The going was rough over the parking lot. Cracks spread all over it. Grass, even shrubs, were growing through the asphalt. Everett had a hard time pulling the cart, but he kept going and wouldn't let me walk. When we were closer to the lighted building, we saw it was fronted with sidewalk-to-roof glass windows. The doors had probably been glass originally, but two wooden ones were in their place, now. Thin aluminum garlands and strings of large, multi-colored lights framed it all. The word, SHELTER, was hand-painted on a window.
"Stop, Everett, " I said. "I can walk from here."
Everett, exhausted, agreed this time. I stood and stretched the kinks out of my legs while Everett put our suitcases on the cart. We walked the final yards to the shelter door pulling our load. The door opened before we reached it, and a man in a ragged military jacket and fatigue cap stepped out.
A homeless shelter with guards? I didn't know if that was good or bad. We stopped in front of the man and he looked us over.
"Ain't seen you guys before,” he said. “What you need?"
"A place to sleep," Everett said. "You got room?"
"Maybe a cot in the back. You can look." The guard opened the door for us. Everett picked up our suitcases and left the cart on the sidewalk. Inside, a short, elfin-faced woman stood on a small, blue stool as she worked at trimming a spindly Christmas tree. She was surrounded by ragged people watching her work. The room was filled with even more ragged people, many of them lying on cots.
As we entered, the woman noticed us and paused in her work.
"Good gracious, Hon," she said, "you're about to pop. When's your baby due?"
"Soon," I said.
"We just need a place to sleep," Everett said.
"Empty cots against the wall back there. Go settle down and I'll bring you some bread and soup."
We offered weary thanks and made our way to the back between cots filled with the homeless of all ages, genders, and races. Most ignored us, though a few stared at my huge stomach. Some coughed and moaned as we stepped around piles of refuse and what looked like throw-up. I smelt urine and covered my nose.
We found a couple of empty cots against the back wall and dropped our things beside them. Everett helped me onto a cot and I relaxed for the first time since we were evicted. Everett pulled up another cot and collapsed on it.
We lay there for long minutes and I was nearly asleep, when I heard approaching footsteps.
"Here you go," said the woman that I thought of as the hostess. "Soup and bread, and I brought you some water. It's not much, but it'll help. You especially, Hon."
Everett roused too and helped me sit up. We took the food, gratefully.
"I'll be back for your plates," the lady said. "My name's Erma. Holler if you need anything."
"Thank you, Erma," I said. I took a bite of bread and sipped some soup. The bread was hard and the soup was thin, but at that moment, I thought they were wonderful. Everett was starved, too and wolfed his down.
"I see you two is hungry."
An old man with long, gray hair and a broken nose was watching us from a neighboring cot. He was wearing a greasy sweater with holes in it. He smiled a nearly-toothless smile.
"We is, uh, are," I said.
"Food's OK here," he said. "Better than some places I been. I'm Luke. Ain't seen you two before. How long you been kicked out?"
"Just today," Everett said.
"Yeah, takes a while to get used to." Luke looked at me. "You got to be close. You going to the hospital?"
"Can't," Everett said. "I ain't worked a regular job in a while and she lost hers months ago. We was going to just have the baby at home. Now, I don't know what we'll do."
The old man looked around as if to make sure nobody was listening to him.
"Take her to Arbordin," he said. "There's a new kind of shelter there. They'll help you."
"The arts district?" I asked.
"That's across town," Everett said.
"That's where I'm going." Luke was whispering now. "Full of people just lost their houses. They still got money. They eat good. Got medicine. Ex-soldiers keep the muggers off of them. They's in a big park. Lets in anybody that ain't crazy."
"I can't walk that far," I said.
"We'll keep it in mind," Everett said. "Thanks."
"Arbordin. You remember it."
Up front, someone cut out most of the lights and Luke laid back on his cot. He was snoring almost immediately. I guess not knowing when or for how long you'll be able to sleep makes you drop off quick. I wondered if Everett and I would get like that.
When we finished our modest meal, we put our plates on the floor for Erma to retrieve. We laid back down and I felt my baby move. I put my hand over the spot, already loving that little squirming life.
"Everett," I whispered in the dark, "where's our baby going to be born?"
"Don't know," Everett whispered back. "We'll find someplace."
I tried to take comfort from Everett's confidence, but I couldn't. Things seemed so hopeless. We were adrift with a new life to care for and our lack of means was overwhelming. As I thought about it, I couldn't hold back the sobs.
People were still moving around the shelter. We lay quiet, other than my tears, until I felt I couldn't take it anymore.
"I can't sleep like this," I said.
When Everett didn't respond, I shook him awake.
"Everett, I can't sleep like this."
"Hunh? Try, baby," Everett said. The small pillow muffled his voice. "Got to get used…."
How could I get used to sleeping on a cot in a room full of strangers? I left Everett alone and, for a long time, just lay there staring at the dark ceiling and listening to the low talk and snoring around me. Everett was so tired, he could probably have slept on the cold ground. Finally, toward morning, I passed out from exhaustion.
It was full daylight when I woke. My bladder was full and I looked for Everett to help me up, but he wasn't in his cot.
"Everett?"
"He's up front," Luke said from the edge of his cot. He was staring at me like an owl watching a mouse. "Told him I'd watch you while he went to the bathroom. That's what I'm doing."
"Oh."
I looked to the front of the room and saw Everett there talking to one of the ex-soldiers. The man was big, like most of them, but somehow he didn't seem as intimidating as the others we'd dealt with. When Everett saw I was awake, he broke off his conversation and made his way back to me.
"Morning, baby," he said. "How you doing?"
"Doing good, baby," Luke said, "doing good."
We both stared at the old man, who just sat there with a smile on his face.
"I need to go to the bathroom, real bad," I said. "Is there one in this place?"
"There's a portable john on the parking lot. They don't empty it enough, but it's all they got."
Everett helped me up.
"I been talking with one of the soldiers," he said, as we made our way through the cots. "They been hired by the people that run this shelter to watch it in shifts. Least they supposed to. I didn’t see any when I got up. This guy showed up after daybreak. Anyway, he seems pretty decent and offered to give us a ride to the hospital when it's time."
"The hospital? I thought we weren't going to the hospital?"
"That was before we got kicked out of the house. We got to try, Gina. If we right there, and you about to deliver, they got to help us.
"I hope so," I said. I wanted desperately for our baby to be delivered by a doctor in a hospital. I prayed he, or she, would be healthy and at least get a good start. But with Everett and me without money and regular jobs, that didn't seem likely. At least the hospital part.
We passed some of the meandering homeless at the front door and went out onto the parking lot. It was shocking to see how cracked the lot was in the daylight. It was a wonder we were able to cross it at night in our little cart, which I didn't see anywhere. The whole thing was surrounded by derelict buildings, making it even more depressing.
We reached the portable john and stood in line to use it. When it was my turn, I held my breath and went in. It was nasty, but I managed.
"I'd rather find some bushes next time," I said when I stepped out.
"I think some of these people been using their cots," Everett said. We started back to the shelter.
"You tell me when the pains start,” Everett said. “Try to make it when that soldier's around. His name is Ross."
"I'll try," I said. I had to smile at my naïve soul-mate. His family was as broken as mine, but at least I had had siblings and been around babies.
Back in the shelter, we had a brunch of soup and bread. The soup had some meat in it this time. Luke was going to tell me what kind it was, but I stopped him. I thought I could eat it better if I didn’t know.
Everett passed the afternoon talking to more of the homeless, while I stayed on my cot and tried to write on my poem. Sometimes the words brought me to tears, but I knew it was more likely hormones than inspiration.
That evening, after another soup-and-bread meal, Everett plopped down on his cot, looking dejected.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"This place stinks. These people stink. I don't know if we can stay here, waiting for the baby."
Luke turned to us from his cot, where he had been gumming the meat out of another bowl of soup.
"You get used to the stink," He said. "Smelled worse. Over at--"
"Luke, please," I said. "Where else can we go, Everett? I can't travel--"
"I know. I'm just tired of waiting. I been asking everybody about work. Even the soldiers, but there's just not any. I know we got to wait."
"After the baby comes," I said, "when they do make us leave the hospital, we have to find a house. Even if we have to break into an empty one and stay there until you find work. Or until I can travel."
Download this book for your ebook reader.
(Pages 1-32 show above.)