Joshua and Ruth (a Christmas tale)

It was very early on Christmas morning when Ruth Wilson, all of five and with the mountain of curiosity and love that comes from being that tender age, had her brief encounter with Joshua.

In the soft hours before sunrise the air was crisp and still with only the occasional song of a lonely bird or cricket breaking the silence. Ruth (she hated being called “Ruthie”, even though both of her parents insisted on doing just that) had slipped from the warm comfort of her bed and had trudged down the stairs to sit watch. She had decided (embracing the dream of countless children before her) that this was the night that she was going to see him in person. Ruth Wilson, with the guileless determination only possessed by children of a certain age, had decided that this was the night that she was going to see Santa Claus with her very own eyes.

The fireplace was cool, Ruth’s father having made sure the fire was out before he went to bed, and Ruth was glad for the silly flannel pajama’s her mother had made her wear to bed. Her bright green eyes twinkled anxiously as Ruth thought about what was about to happen.

Ruth secreted herself in a shadowy corner of the stairwell that overlooked her family’s fragrant Christmas tree resolved to stay there until the jolly fat man made his appearance. And, of course, she then promptly fell back to sleep.

And thus she was asleep when a golden spray of light danced down the chimney. The warm twinkling light twirled and pulsated and finally spun into a spiral right in front of the Christmas tree. The light grew and grew until it was a ball almost as tall as the tree itself. And then, quite suddenly, there was a flash and the light was gone. In its place was a man…a burly man dressed in a festive scarlet suit trimmed in white with great gleaming black boots and a gleaming black belt that encircled the impressive girth of his belly.

The man had brown eyes that twinkled even in the darkness of the early morning hours and a thick white beard that contrasted with the deep chocolate color of his face.

The man glanced around, his eyes landing immediately on the sleeping Ruth. He chuckled quietly and shook his head. He made a step towards the tree and much to his dismay he found that he had stepped directly on a floorboard that gave off a very audible squeak. The noise startled Ruth and the man, realizing instantly that she had woken, rolled his eyes upward and sighed.

Ruth’s eyes grew wide with surprise (in truth, a small part of her hadn’t really expected that there was really a Santa Claus) and delight. “Santa!” she exclaimed softly.

The man shook his head and turned round. “Hello, Ruth,” he said, his voice deep and reassuring, “shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Ruth got to her feet and walked down the stairs. “I just wanted to meet you,” she said, shyly finding her voice, “I hope you’re not mad…”

The man smiled and knelt down. “No, little one,” he said gently, “I’m not mad.”

Ruth did a double take as she got close enough to see the man’s dark face so different from the ruddy, rosy-cheek image she had come to know. “Are you really Santa…I mean…”

The man smiled patiently. “Well actually, my name is Joshua,” he explained, “I’m a Santa from the South Pole…”

Ruth, finding this explanation to be perfectly logical, smiled. “Really?”

Joshua nodded and chuckled. “Can’t lie while I’m wearing this suit now can I, sweetie?” He rose and moved back towards the tree. “I have to do my thing and get on the road, still more houses to visit.”

Joshua waved his hand and a shower of golden sparks danced around the Christmas tree, circling and growing until the entire tree was covered by light. And then, suddenly, the light flared and was gone. And the tree was surrounded by brightly-wrapped gifts that had not been there before.

“Wow,” Ruth exclaimed softly, “that was amazing!”

Joshua nodded knowingly. “Yeah, it’s still kind of cool to me, too. You just have to believe in magic, Ruth,” he said, “because it’s everywhere. Never forget that.”

Ruth nodded. “I won’t, Joshua,” she replied earnestly, “I promise.”

“There’s a good girl.” Joshua turned and held out his hand. “It’s time for you to get back to sleep, little one.”

Ruth smiled up at the big man. “Are there any more Santas?”

Joshua nodded. “Yeah, it’s a big job and Nick needed some help to get to all the good little boys and girls on Christmas Eve.”

“Wow,” Ruth said thoughtfully.

“You want to know the big difference between me and ol’ St. Nick?” Joshua asked impishly. He puffed himself up and struck a playful pose. “I make this suit look good!”

Ruth giggled. “You stole that line from Will Smith.”

Joshua sighed heavily. “Everyone’s a critic.”

Joshua knelt down and looked into the little girl’s face. “Have a very happy Christmas, Ruth Wilson,” he said tenderly.

Ruth threw her arms around Joshua’s neck and hugged him tightly. “You too, Joshua.” Joshua hugged the girl and chuckled warmly. Ruth stood back and smiled. “You laugh just like the doctor on ‘The Simpsons’,” she said.

Joshua rolled his eyes again. “Yeah I get that all the time,” he admitted ruefully.

“Yo, Santa!” an impatient voice suddenly called out down the chimney, “get a move on, dude, we’re behind schedule here!”

Joshua sighed. “Nothing worse than an impatient elf,” he deadpanned. His hand began to glow as he raised it towards Ruth’s astonished face. “Sleep tight, little one,” he said in a rich, warm tone that reminded Ruth of her grandfather, “tonight and every night.

The light danced from Joshua’s finger and enveloped the little girl. Ruth felt herself drifting off to sleep…and she felt herself floating off the floor.

“Joshua?” she said as she floated up away from Joshua. “How many Santas are there?”

Joshua looked up and smiled. “There are millions, sweetheart,” he said, “millions all over the world.”

And then he smiled again and added, “And only one. There is only one Santa Claus, Ruth Wilson.”

Ruth Wilson drifted off to deep sleep just as the light gently deposited her in her bed. The sound sleigh bells and merry chuckling went with her as she returned to her dreams. In the morning she would not remember Joshua but she would know the magic…and on a glorious Christmas morning that is exactly the way it should be.

What Child is This? (December 23rd)

“Have a wonderful holiday,” the old man said with a bright smile, holding out the bag containing the merchandise just purchased.

Maribeth Mason, her bloodshot eyes hidden behind huge sunglasses even at that early evening hour, stifled a sneer and nodded, offering the man a wan smile as she accepted the bag from him. She pulled her overcoat around her and, with her purse secured under her left arm and the bottle of wine she had just bought held fast in her right hand, she pushed out of the liquor store and out into the icy chill of the evening.

The boulevard was bustling with shoppers and festooned with grand displays of garland and sparkling lights. None of it really registered much to Maribeth. There were a small pile of brightly-wrapped gifts in a corner of her apartment...next to a small fragrant Christmas tree she had bought and decorated a week earlier...but there was, here and now, not a shred of Christmas spirit in her battered soul. She walked steadily towards her apartment building some three blocks away. Done with crying...at least she hoped she was...she was anxious to get home, open the carefully-selected wine, and drink enough to make her pain go away (the last she knew was not really possible but she was willing to give it a shot.)

From somewhere she could hear someone singing...”I’ll Be Home for Christmas”...and it made her frown...when it started to make her tear up she shook it off with a muttered curse and a renewed vow to find some measure of oblivion that night.

A few days earlier, Maribeth had been full of the spirit of the season...happily shopping and looking forward to driving to her parents’ house on Christmas morning...driving there with Robert and a small pile of brightly-wrapped gifts. But that was then. She would still drive to her parents’ house on Christmas morning...neither Mother or Father would have understood or been unhurt by her absence...but Robert...Robert had excused himself from her life two days earlier.

“This is getting too intense,” he had whined to her, “I think we need to take some time off from each other...”

Maribeth had looked at him blankly. What the hell was he talking about? Her silence had made him uneasy. Three years and things were “getting too intense”? Three years and “we need to take some time off from each other”? What the hell was he talking about? Maribeth finally found her voice, “What the hell are you talking about, Robert?” she had asked in a voice as quiet and portentous as midnight.

He fumbled around for other words and, finding none, just shrugged. And then, seeing that she was not rushing to fill the space, he said, “Well...you know...”

And, suddenly, she did. “I hope the two of you are very happy together,” she said, her voice devoid of inflection.

Robert had looked stricken and then he tried to compose himself. “I don’t know what you mean...” he lied.

Maribeth had sighed and slumped back into her seat...the other patrons of the restaurant falling away into a silent haze...and just stared at him. She hoped there were no tears in her eyes betraying the pain in her heart...but there was nothing to be done about it one way or the other. Robert said other things...she could tell because she saw his lips moving...but none of it registered. Eventually his lips stopped moving and he paid the check and left.

As she turned the corner she looked up and saw her building...she banished thoughts of Robert to the shallow eddy in her memory stream where he dwelled...should be able to keep them there for a good fifteen or twenty minutes she thought ruefully.

Maribeth took a deep breath and kept walking steadily...her thoughts flowing to yesterday...to the box of knick-knacks, Christmas cards, photographs and the like that she had carried home yesterday. The box had been unceremoniously dumped next to the pile of brightly-wrapped gifts and given no further attention. The box was filled with the contents of a desk; a desk in an office she had occupied for four years. It hadn’t occurred to her...or to any of the other twenty-four people in her department...that their usefulness to the company would have come to such an abrupt end. Hadn’t occurred to her...or to any of the other twenty-four people in her department...that this news would come to them in envelopes that were supposed to contained Christmas Bonuses and, instead, contained severance checks and laser-printed letters of recommendation. Three days before Christmas. It hadn’t occurred to her for a moment.

“Company’s downsizing,” the vice-president in charge of personnel, looking more bored than embarrassed, had come down to tell them. “You know how tight the market is...and, well, we felt we needed to go in a different direction...you’ve all been wonderful assets...”

A couple of the other twenty-four hurled tart epithets at the man, gathering their own boxes of knick-knacks, Christmas cards, photographs, and the like and brushing brusquely through the small gauntlet of security guards the vice-president had brought with him.

The vice-president had hemmed and hawed a little...his face blushing deep crimson...as Maribeth and some of the others picked up their boxes and walked the gauntlet towards the elevators. The piped-in music had mocked her with its chipper seasonal lilt as she rode down with some of the other twenty-four. There were perfunctory hugs, angry diatribes, and facile promises to “stay in touch” in the lobby and then they went their own ways into the cold late afternoon.

And now, a day later, it still didn’t make much sense. But Maribeth didn’t want it to make sense just now...just to go away for a while...she hefted the bottle of wine slightly as she made her way past the alley next to her building. It was then that she heard a small, plaintive cry. A cat, she surmised...but then there was another...and it was not a cat. It sounded like...but that couldn’t be...

There was only a dim, amber lamp attached to the building illuminating the alley and Maribeth was not especially anxious to venture down to investigate. But then, another more insistent cry sang out...and she knew that it was not a cat...and she knew that she could not ignore it. She took another deep breath and held out her wine bottle, entertaining notions of being ready and able to turn it into a weapon if necessary, and walked slowly down the alley.

The doorway illuminated by the amber lamp was a fire exit from her building. The doorway was recessed and the cries were coming from the shallow alcove that separated the door from the alley proper. Maribeth peered cautiously around the corner into the alcove and was startled at what she found. There in a wicker basket, bundled tight against the elements, was a baby...not more than three or four months old...with a note pinned to the blanket (just like in a bad movie, Maribeth thought, as she glanced around looking for someone...but there was no one in sight.)

Maribeth knelt down and looked at the note...please take care of my Maria, I can’t do it anymore...Maribeth sighed audibly (definitely a bad movie.)

“What are we going to do with you, Maria?” she asked wearily. The child looked up at Maribeth with curiously untroubled eyes and gurgled softly. “Okay, kiddo,” Maribeth said, “first thing I guess we have to do is get you out of this weather. Then I’ll figure out who I need to call...”

Maribeth sighed again, put the bottle of wine into the basket (oblivion seemed an increasingly unlikely destination) and then picked the whole thing up. This was the last thing in the world she needed, she thought, as she made her way back up the alley. Maribeth kept looking around and listening...hoping that someone would come running up saying “Give me my baby!” But only silence greeted her.

Maribeth let herself into the building (the doorman knocked off at 6:30) and rode the elevator up the four stories to her apartment. She put the basket down on the coffee table and took off her coat. The baby was strangely content and quiet, looking around her apartment with big, curious eyes.

Maribeth extricated the bottle of wine from the basket and put it aside. Then, after contemplating a long time, she reached over and picked up the child. “Hello, Maria,” she said softly. “How could anybody abandon a beautiful girl like you?” The child just cooed quietly in response. She patted the girl’s fanny, determining that the child was dry...and apparently not hungry. Maria was obviously well cared for...and probably hadn’t been in that alcove very long. It didn’t make any sense to Maribeth...but, she laughed to herself, not much did these days so what was one more thing?

Maribeth carried the child over to an aged rocking chair...it had belonged to her grandfather...that was in the corner opposite the tree and the gifts and sat down. She rocked slowly...the child slowly slipping into slumber in her arms...trying to remember that she was supposed to be feeling sorry for herself...supposed to be drinking herself into sweet oblivion...and not being able to do so.

She looked over at the tree...its bows and ribbons and angels a reminder of a happier time not so very long ago. And then she looked down at the baby in her arms, left to the tender mercies of the elements and of chance by someone who just couldn’t cope anymore.

As the child’s big brown eyes closed slowly, Maribeth reached over and picked up the phone. In time, a policeman and a social worker would arrive to take her report. And then they would take the sleeping child to a foster home. But until then, Maribeth would rock with the child, forgetting her own heartache and anger for a while. She would find some modicum of Christmas spirit in the soft breath and tiny heartbeat of the baby in her arms and find herself regarding the small tree and the small pile of brightly-wrapped gifts as something softly and wondrously magical.

In the morning, the wine would still be unopened as Maribeth, her bathrobe pulled snug and a mug of steaming coffee next to the phone, made calls after a peaceful night’s sleep. The social worker would tell her that Maria was safe with a family who would take good care of her for the time being and her mother would tell her that she needed to bring nothing with her on Christmas but her smile and her small pile of brightly-wrapped gifts.

“Have a wonderful holiday,” the old man in the liquor store had said.

Maribeth sipped her coffee and glanced at her little tree. “Maybe I will,” she said aloud, a whisper of a smile playing about her mouth.

One Dark Christmas Eve Night

The cave was, of course, cool and dark and still...only the soft hum, and attendant glow, of a bank of sophisticated computer and video monitors disturbing that eerie stillness until the doors of an elevator hummed quickly open. The man in black strode out of the elevator and walked purposefully towards his forbidding black sedan. The sun was hours gone and it was time to go back to work.

Bruce paused to look at his reflection in a full-length mirror hanging near a soft spotlight. There was, he realized once again, something both eminently forbidding and sublimely ridiculous about the costume....the skintight body suit, the flowing black cloak with its jagged edge, the sinister black cowl...but the whole ensemble played nicely into his theory of the inherent cowardice and superstition running rampant in the diseased criminal mind. He realized, once again, that wearing the costume...indeed that going out into the night risking his life in the name of "justice"...was not a completely rational thing to do.

He knew that. But he didn't care as long as he continued to show results in his drive to be the right hand of righteous justice.

Bruce's reverie was shattered by the noisy entrance of his ebullient young friend and partner. The boy's bright red, green, yellow, and black costume was topped off this night with a fuzzy red-and-white hat that sat jauntily atop his head haloing his bright smile.

"Tim," Bruce said patiently, "why are you wearing that hat?"

The boy paused at the mirror to fuss with his headgear. "It's Christmas Eve, Bruce," he replied brightly, "I though I'd spread a little holiday cheer among the thugs and other assorted riff-raff we might run into tonight!"

Bruce repressed a smile and said sternly, "We're about serious business tonight as always, Robin, I'd really prefer it if you..."

The boy ran, jumped, and turned a perfect forward somersault landing precisely where he wanted to...next to the passenger door of the great black car. "Don't be such a grinch, Batman," he said unperturbed by his partner's characteristic gruffness. "C'mon, let's roll!"

Batman fought back yet another smile and walked slowly to the driver's side of the car. He sometimes wondered why he took the boy...as capable and valuable as Timothy was...out with him on his nocturnal forays against Gotham's lowlifes. The truth was that the boy's light...his irrepressible joy for life and living...balanced his more dour outlook on things and kept him in touch with the basic goodness of most people (this being something he tended to doubt in a world like his that was populated with murderers and rapists and thieves and psychotics.) Robin, he realized, kept him from letting his formidable dark side run rampant...kept him from becoming in effect that which he himself hated most.

As Batman slid into the car, Robin began humming the theme from the TV show that had so irked him years ago. "Doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...Batman!" the boy sang mischievously.

Batman pointedly ignored him and engaged the Batmobile's mighty engine. Robin, still humming the song, reached into his bright red vest's inner pocket and pulled out a candy cane. He unwrapped the candy and popped it into his mouth as he settled back for the ride into town to begin.

Batman glanced over at the boy who was contentedly sucking on the red-and-white stick of candy and, not completely able to curtail a slight grin, said, "Do you have to...?"

"Do I have to what?" Robin replied disingenuously loudly slurping the candy cane in the process.

Batman shook his head and gunned the engine. The concealing doors at the far end of the Batcave raised silently and quickly and the Batmobile roared out into the Christmas Eve night heading towards the sparkling lights of Gotham City in the distance.

There was a light dusting of snow on the road leading into the city. "Looks like we're gonna have a white Christmas after all." Robin commented not expecting a reply from his friend.

The city itself was alive with bundled up citizens out and about doing their last minute shopping. Batman knew that the number of honest people out there spending money and carrying tempting packages would bring the vultures out even on a brisk Christmas Eve night. Of this he was sure.

Almost as if on cue, his thoughts were interrupted by a scream from behind them. "Stop! Thief! Stop!"

Robin spit his candy into the litterbag at his feet, his face now focused and wary. Batman wheeled the Batmobile around and roared back to where the cry had come from.

In front of a department store, a flustered woman was being helped to her feet by some passers-by as the costumed duo leapt out of their jet-black car. Batman noticed two new paths in the snow leading from where the woman had fallen down the street and around the corner into a darkened alley. A Salvation Army collection kettle stood untended just outside the doorway of the store.

The crowd of onlookers gave way for the tall man in black...a feeling of awe, coloured with more than a little apprehension, sweeping over them.

"Batman!" the woman cried. "He stole my purse! He ran into the alley!" she said pointing down the street.

Batman nodded and sprinted away, his great black cloak fanning out behind him. Robin paused long enough to say, "It's okay, ma'am, we'll get him!" He winked at her and she smiled; then he ran after Batman into the alley.

Robin, true to his rigorous training, stole cautiously into the alley, his every sense on full alert. He crouched low as he heard a voice from deep in the dark alley.

"Wh-who are you, man?" he heard a nervous voice cry out.

Robin rolled his eyes and muttered, "Jeez, everybody's a straight man..." But then he noticed Batman, standing silent and still, almost invisible in the shadows, against the far wall of the alley listening intently. to the proceedings further down the way.

Then who...? His thought was interrupted as two figures suddenly walked out of the alley. One was a boy about 16; the other was a ruddy-faced man in a Salvation Army uniform, holding a large black pocketbook in his left hand. His right arm is across the boy's slumped shoulders. Both of them drew back wide-eyed as Batman and Robin stepped out of the shadows at the edge of the alley.

The boy's eyes stayed wide with fright but the older man quickly regained his composure. "Evening, Batman," he said pleasantly. "Everything's okay here...young Robert here is quite remorseful about his actions..."

Batman said nothing. He nodded and let them pass. Down the street back in front of the store, the crowd had grown and the woman who had been mugged was standing at the front of it apprehensively.

As Batman and Robin watched from a few yards behind, the old man handed the pocketbook to Robert, who in turn walked over to the woman.

"I'm sorry, ma'am...I..."

She took the purse warily and glanced through it. "It's all here I think," she said looking up at Batman who'd come closer.

Robert, tears streaming down his eyes, looked into her eyes. "P-please, lady...y-you're not goin' to send me to jail, are you? Please...my Ma she'd..."

"I don't think he's a bad child," the old man said to Batman, "just a little misguided..."

Batman frowned coldly. "Aren't they all?"

"Lighten up, Batman," Robin said in a stage-whisper, "it's not like this kid is the Joker or anybody like that..."

All eyes turned to the grim Dark Knight. Batman turned to the woman. "No real harm done," she said somewhat daunted by his dour demeanor. "And it is Christmas after all..."

Batman nodded and turned his withering gaze on the boy. "Go," he said tersely.

The boy nodded to Batman and then to the woman and then he started walking quickly down the street. The crowd dispersed and the old man plucked his bell out of the kettle and began ringing it once more. "Merry Christmas, Batman," he said as the Caped Crusader walked slowly towards the Batmobile. "And to you too, son," he said with a smile towards Robin.

Batman nodded almost imperceptibly and disappeared into the car; Robin paused and reached into a compartment on his utility belt. He brought out a $20 bill and dropped into the old man's kettle.

Batman honked the Batmobile's horn impatiently. Robin smiled and said, "Keep the faith, old-timer!", as he sprinted for the car.

"Always, son," the old man said. "Always."

The Batmobile revved up and sped away into the night. Batman circled the block and came back around until he found Robert walking swiftly along a quiet sidewalk. He pulled up next to him and rolled down the window. Robert stopped, his eyes once more filled with apprehension and fear.

"This is your only pass, boy," Batman said evenly. "Next time you do something like that I'll be worst that your worst nightmare. Do you understand me?"

Robert nodded. "Y-yes, sir..."

Robin reached into his vest pocket and pulled out another candy cane. 'Yo, Robert!" he called out. "Catch!" He tossed the stick of candy past Batman out the window and into Robert's startled hands. "In the meantime," he said as he unwrapped another candy cane for himself, "have a good Christmas, dude!"

"Th-thanks!" Robert replied with a nervous but grateful smile.

Batman rolled up the window and drove away.

"You had to get the last word in with that kid, didn't you?" Robin said glancing out the window as the snow began to fall once again.

"I didn't get the last word in this time, did I?"

Robin shrugged. "Why give the kid bad dreams on Christmas Eve?"

As the snow continued to fall, the Batmobile prowled the streets looking for trouble to right. "This snow's gonna send everybody running home tonight to wait for Santa," Robin said tugging his hat down to the top edge of his mask. "Don't think there's gonna be much for us to do tonight, big guy."

Batman stared resolutely forward. "Maybe not. We'll see..."

They cruised past the uptown shopping district. All of the shops there were already closed for the holiday. Bored, Robin was glancing absently about when a movement caught his eyes. "Circle the block, Batman," he said pressing his nose to the window to look back.

"What's up?" Batman asked as he turned at the corner.

"Don't know, " Robin replied. "Probably nothing...but I thought I saw somebody sneaking around that gift store back there."

Batman dimmed the lights as the Batmobile came back around the corner. They pulled up to the store, both of them half-expecting to find a burglar trying to break into the store. What they found instead was a little girl sitting in the doorway shivering and crying.

Robin jumped out of the car first knowing that Batman's appearance would no doubt frighten the girl. "Hey, little miss," he said with a bright smile, "what are you doing out here at this time of night?"

The little girl looked up. "I know you," she said wiping her nose and standing up, "you're Robin! I saw you on TV!"

"That's me, sweetie!" Robin replied taking a short playful bow. "What's your name?"

The little girl looked over at Batman who had gotten out of the Batmobile and was watching from the other side of the car, then she looked back at Robin who had knelt down to her level. "Sara, " she said shyly. "My name is Sara."

Robin pulled off his Santa hat and placed it on her head. "What are you doing out here alone, Sara?"

The little girl looked down kicking a bit of the gathering snow around with the toe of her boot. "It's almost Christmas," she said sadly, a hot tear forming in her eye, "an' I been so busy playin' an' stuff that I...I forgot to get Mommy a present..."

"So you came out here to get her one?"

Sara nodded. "I sneaked out and came down here with my own money," she rattled her pocket full of change, "to get her one. But everything's closed...an' it's cold...an' I'm lost...I don't know how to get home..."

Sara leaned forward into Robin's arms and he picked her up. "Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll get you home." Robin carried her into the Batmobile. settling her on his lap in the passenger seat. Batman climbed back into the car and reached for the radio microphone.

Sara glanced doe-eyed over at Batman. "I'm sorry to be botherin' you, Mr. Batman," she said in a tiny voice.

Batman looked thoughtfully at her face for a moment. "It's okay, little one," he said looking up to meet Robin's gaze," this is why Robin and I are out here...to help people..."

Robin pulled another candy cane from his vest pocket and gave it to Sara while Batman called police headquarters to see if anyone had called in a missing persons report on Sara. And indeed someone had he was told.

"She lives a few blocks to the west," Batman said as he returned the microphone to its cradle. He turned the engine over and pulled out onto the now snow-covered street.

Soon, the Batmobile pulled up to a small house a few blocks away. There was a Gotham City Police car parked in front of the house.

"That's it, Mr. Batman!" Sara said excitedly. "That's my house right there!"

"I know, honey," he said pulling in to park in front of the house.

Robin carried Sara, who was still wearing his Santa hat, up the walkway; Batman hung back a few steps. The front door opened and a policeman stepped out. "...yes, ma'am, we'll let you know as soon as we..." he stopped in mid-statement as he noticed the newcomers.

"What the...?!?"

Another cop and a teary-eyed woman in a bathrobe came through the door.

"Mommy!" Sara cried as Robin handed her into her mother's outstretched arms.

"Sara! Oh baby, where have you been!?!" her mother cried as she hugged her daughter tightly to he chest. "I was so worried! Oh God!"

The first cop nodded to his partner. "Go call it in, Mitch," he said with a broad grin. "Another gold star for the Caped Crusaders! Good work, guys!"

"Just luck, officer," Batman said quietly. "We just happened to be in the right place at the right time."

The policeman looked over at the mother and child hugging and crying in the doorway. "Whatever works, Batman."

"I guess..." Batman replied wistfully. "C'mon, Robin, let's go."

Sara noticed the two of them leaving and leapt down from her mother's arms. "Robin, wait!" She ran up to him holding out the hat.

"You forgot your hat."

He took it and promptly put it back on top of her head. "You keep it, gorgeous, I think it looks even better on you than it did on me! Don't you agree, Batman?"

"Without a doubt."

"Thank you for bringing me home," Sara said. "I'm sorry I caused everybody so much trouble. I just wanted to get a present for my Mommy..."

Batman glanced over at the woman standing in the doorway with the policeman. "I think you just did, sweetheart. Merry Christmas."

Batman slid back into the car. Robin bent down and gave Sara a final hug. "Be good, kiddo," he said with a jaunty grin.

"Merry Christmas, Robin!"

The Batmobile pulled away from the house and back into the night. "Snow's really coming down now," Batman said. "Guess we might as well call it a night. The Commissioner can give a call if we're needed..."

"Yeah," Robin agreed as he stifled a yawn. "And besides, I'm all out of candy canes."

Batman allowed himself a fleeting smile. "At least you got rid of that silly hat."

"I knew you'd say something like that." An impish grin blossomed on the boy's face as he reached under his seat and pulled out another red-and-white Santa hat, this one with a tinkling little silver bell on its tip. "Boy scouts and Boy Wonders are always prepared! Now home, Jeeves, I think I hear them sleigh bells a-ringin' in the distance!"

"You're incorrigible," Batman said as he turned towards the highway that would take them back to the suburban mansion they called home.

Robin nestled back in his seat and closed his eyes. "If you think that now," he said ominously, "wait 'til you see what I got y ou for Christmas..."

"I shudder to think."

Robin shrugged again and pulled his cape around him for the ride home. He smiled and began to hum, "...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...doo...Batman!"

Batman sighed and gunned the Batmobile through the gathering snow towards home.

Batman and Robin are © 2006 and ™ DC Comics

Another Santa Claus Story

“…and to all a good night. The end.” Sophie’s father closed the book with a satisfied smile and looked down into the eyes of his daughter. Sophie was snuggled into her bed, wearing her princess pajamas, underneath her soft pink “Barbie” comforter.

Sophie’s father waited for his little girl to yawn and to ask for her good night kiss. It was Christmas Eve after all and most little girls were anxious to get to sleep so that they can get to morning and the joy of discovering what lies beneath the glittering Christmas tree downstairs. But, instead, she sat up with an inquisitive look on her face and asked, “And then what happened?”

Sophie’s father was caught off-guard by the question (though, knowing his little girl as he did, it was not a question that should have come as a complete surprise.) “Well,” he began hesitantly, “nothing happens…that was the end of the story.”

Sophie narrowed one eye and cocked her head to one side. “So Santa Claus came down the chimney into that little boy’s house and left presents and ate cookies and talked with the little boy and then he left? That’s the whole story?”

“Um…yeah?”

“Daddy,” Sophie said patiently, “that story just doesn’t make sense. How could somebody as fat as Santa Claus fit down somebody’s chimney carrying a big bag of toys? And how did he know what toys the little boy wanted? And how did he get back up the chimney? And suppose there isn’t a chimney, how does he get into the house then?” She took a deep breath and then looked up and waited for his answers.

Sophie’s father didn’t know what to say at first. Sophie’s mother had told him that all little girls and little boys took the story at face value and so he wasn’t prepared with any answers. He smiled nervously and softly said, “…um…magic?”

Sophie, a sophisticated 4-year-old who was sure that she already knew a thing or two about the way the world really worked, rolled her eyes and sighed. “Daddy…” she said with undisguised exasperation. “Mommy said that there’s not really any such thing as magic…and that if you said that there was you’d have to come up with a better story…”

Sophie’s father smiled ruefully. He had been set up. Sophie’s mother had set a trap for him…payback for having so often a way out of having to read stories at Sophie’s bedtime. “I’m not sure what you want me to say, sweetheart…”

“Tell me the real story of Santa Claus,” Sophie responded without hesitation.

“Mommy told you to say that, didn’t she?”

Sophie nodded affirmatively. “Yes. She said that you knew the real story about Santa and that you only told it to good little girls and boys.” She paused with a slight frown on her face. “Well, I’ve been a good girl, haven’t I?”

“Yes, baby girl, you certainly have.” Sophie’s father’s mind was racing a mile a minute. The “real story about Santa”…without magic? He let out a long breath and looked into the expectant eyes of his only child. “Okay,” he began, “here’s the real story…”

Sophie’s father took another deep breath. “What most little girls don’t know is that there isn’t just one Santa Claus,” he said. “There are in fact hundreds of Santa Clauses…thousands of them…maybe millions of them. And none of them really live at the North Pole…”

“Of course not, it’s way too cold up there,” Sophie offered.

“Exactly!” Sophie’s father said, gently coaxing a giggle out of Sophie by tweaking her nose ever so softly. “And even though he usually wears a big thick coat, Santa doesn’t necessarily like cold weather.” He paused again to gather his thoughts and then he continued, “he does, however, really like cookies and milk on Christmas Eve night.”

“Is that why he’s so fat?” Sophie asked, snuggling back down onto her pillow.

“Well, to be honest, honey…Santa isn’t always fat…sometimes he’s short…sometimes he’s tall…sometimes he’s fat and jolly…sometimes he’s skinny…and jolly…Sometimes Santa’s white and sometimes he’s black or Latin or Asian or…”

He paused yet again and then smiled with a twinkle glinting in his eyes. “…or sometimes…just sometimes…he’s not a “he” at all…”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Santa Claus can be a lady?” she asked incredulously. “Like Mommy?”

Sophie’s father glanced over his shoulder catching a fleeting glimpse of Sophie’s mother secretly listening to the stories. “Yes,” he replied with a quiet grin, “exactly like Mommy.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow…” Sophie’s father smiled and continued, “Santa Claus, it turns out, is not so much a person as he is a wonderful, thrilling idea…a warm ray of love and light that lives in the heart of anyone who cares enough to let him…or her…into their hearts…”

“What about all of the guys in the stores and on TV?”

“Deputies,” Sophie’s father quickly responded, his imagination working overtime. “Some people need to see something to believe it so there are Santa Clauses in red suits just to make those people happy.”

That answer suited Sophie and she nodded approvingly. “Well, that makes sense…my friend Amanda likes to see stuff before she believes it so it’s a good thing that there are Deputy Santa Clauses for her to see and believe.”

Sophie’s father took a second to ponder Sophie’s statement and then he nodded. “Right.”

“And all of the Santa Clauses and Deputy Santa Clauses are the ones who bring the presents?” Sophie asked.

Sophie’s father smiled again. “Yes, Sophie girl,” he said, “and they sing the Christmas songs…and share the Christmas prayers…and dream the Christmas dreams…”

“…and eat the Christmas cookies and milk…”

Sophie’s father laughed boisterously. “Yes…and eat the Christmas cookies and milk…”

Sophie yawned. “Thank you, Daddy,” she said as sleep tugged at her eyelids.

Sophie’s father tucked the comforter around his daughter and bent down and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, sweetheart. Good night.”

“Good night, Daddy,” Sophie said, closing her eyes and turning onto her side.

Sophie’s father rose and went to the door. He turned off the light and started to leave. But before he could leave, Sophie sat lifted her head up. “But what about the reindeer and the elves and all of that stuff, what part of Christmas is that supposed to be?” she asked

“The magical part,” Sophie’s father said with a smile and a wink. “Okay?”

Sophie smiled warmly and winked back. “Okay.” She snuggled back into her pillow and let herself drift into a restful Christmas Eve slumber.