05-The Christmas Tree - Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Finally, the day they called "Christmas" seemed imminent. And on the night before, which they called "Christmas Eve," the boy and his sister sat contemplating the wondrous array of colour before them and eyeing the packages beneath the tree and wondering what might be in them.

Suddenly, though, the boy's face saddened. "I wish it could be Christmas all year round," he said.

"Then we could get presents every day," replied his sister.

"And we would always have this beautiful tree to remind us of it," said the boy. "I think the tree wants to stay here forever too."

"Don't be silly," said his sister. "How can a tree want anything?"

The question hung unanswered in the fixed gaze of the boy, who saw into the heart of our belovèd tree. And he felt loved by the tree. And indeed he was. It was as if they had come from the same origin and would return to the same place.

The children went to bed, and our tree fancied they must be thinking about "sugarplums", whatever they may be. He pondered what he had heard. If Christmas was not all year round, what came after Christmas? He had heard this family describe him as "The Christmas Tree". What would become of him if it were not Christmas any more? And could the boy's wish of having Christmas every day come true?

As he comforted himself with this last thought, suddenly a man clothed in red appeared before him. His face was adorned with white hair, and on his head he wore a red cap. He appeared to leave more packages at the foot of our tree, then he turned, stroked and kissed one of his branches, and said, "God bless thee, Tree of our Tomorrows!" Then, with a wink of affection, he disappeared again, after which our tree thought he heard the pattering of light footsteps rushing away above him.

He had just returned to quiet contemplation of the bright hues cast by the lights adorning him, when he noticed a stirring among the hitherto frozen creatures on the piano top. The little child around whom the others figures were gathered, appeared to move. His radiance illuminated everyone and everything around him, then filled the entire room in which our tree dwelt, becoming even brighter than the Christmas lights.

Our tree looked about him (for a tree can see in every direction at once), and to his amazement now found himself standing among all those little figures. He knew not whether he had shrunk to their size or whether they had grown to his. But there he was among them, and everyone now seemed to be in motion.

Looking intently upon the child was a young woman, whose tresses lay upon her comely shoulder.

"Blessed art thou among women!" said a voice, like the sound of rushing waters. But the tree could not see who spoke. Alongside her was a tall man. His hands were callused but gentle, strong to defend yet tender to caress, and conjured none of the dread of those bitter hands that first smote our tree in the once enchanted wood.

Kneeling around the child in adoration were six other men. Three held each a staff in his hand, and each placed it at the foot of the child, and three others removed crowns from their heads and placed them alongside the staffs. They were trying to converse with eachother, but the men who had staffs spoke a different language from those who wore crowns. So presently they tried to convey their meaning through gesture.

The men of the crowns pointed upwards. Our tree looked, and saw to his delight the open night sky, thick inlaid with patterns of bright gold, where the stars appeared to be singing, a huge choir in joyful assembly.

And our tree remembered the choirs whose music he had heard in former days, when the younger saplings would sing with high voice, and the older trees, venerable and ancient giants, with low voice, and others with a pitch inbetween.

And now the singing orbs of the night sky appeared to be paying homage to one new star, brighter than all the rest, that blazed with a glory that illuminated all the upturned faces.

The men of the staffs, when they beheld this brightest of all stars, seemed to understand what the men of the crowns were trying to tell them. For they said "Oh!" and "Ah!" (And perhaps "Oh!" and "Ah!" are words that every language understands.)

Then the men of the staffs tried to convey something back to the men of the crowns. They too pointed to the sky and got to their feet and flapped their arms. Seeing their message was not understood, the three started singing. Or trying to. But they couldn't seem to agree on a tune. One would hum a note, the other two would try in vain to copy it, and the three would sing for just a few moments before collapsing with laughter.

And all around them laughed too—the baby in the centre, the young woman with the compassionate eyes, the taller man beside her, the men with the crowns, and even the four-legged beast. These antics continued until none could remain on his feet any longer but fell to the ground in convulsions of mirth. And our belovèd tree saw for the first time the appearance of sap at their eyes, but knew that this meant joy, not sorrow.

Finally, as the laughter began to die down, the three men of the crowns started conversing with each other, repeating the antics of the men with staffs, and gradually appeared to understand the message their friends had tried to convey. At once, they stopped talking, looked at eachother, and uttered "Ohhhhhhhh," which set the whole company to screeches of laughter once more. The very pillars of that place seemed to tremble with laughter, and even our tree felt his boughs shaking and his trunk swaying as he caught the spirit of mirth that blessed this place.

But now, amidst the laughter, the baby creature seemed to take the appearance of a full-grown man! And the man said to our tree, "I am that star that appeared to you in the heavens. And I am come to bless thee. I established thee in Eden, thou died'st with me at Calvary, and thou art chosen to celebrate the day of my birth. Thou wilt ever stand with me by the River of Life, and thou shalt bear twelve crops of fruit, and thou shalt heal the nations."

And as our tree heard these words, daylight filtered into his vision, and the laughter belonged to children—not just the boy and his sister but others too—who danced around the room to shouts of "Merry Christmas!" And shrill notes were blown from musical instruments that unrolled themselves. And the children tore into the packages around the foot of our tree and embraced and kissed each other. And the people—for now our tree had learned to call them "people" rather than "creatures"—sang around the musical instrument and laughed some more and teased each other and supped hot drinks and ate choice things.

How glorious it all seemed to our tree, who realized he had had a dream, or something like it. How happy he was to be surrounded by love and laughter and merriment and warmth and rejoicing. Now, a red-coated figure came into the room. He reminded our tree of his dream, though the red of this figure was brighter, and the white on his face more like a cloud. Some of the younger children called him "Father Christmas" and others called him "Uncle". But he too brought more packages, which the children tore into with delight.

But our special tree paid special attention to the special little boy who had brought him there. And he rejoiced to see the child's eagerness and delight. Presently, in a moment of reflection, the boy turned his attention to the piano and to the collection of figures thereon.

"Daddy!" he exclaimed. "The shepherd's sticks and the wise men's crowns are on the ground now. Do you think they had a party in the manger last night?"

"Bless me!" said the boy's father. "What an imagination you have!"

"I bet you moved them!" said his sister.

"No I didn't," said the boy.

"Let him alone," said their father gently. "Who knows what magic happens when we're not looking."

Our tree tried to speak now, for he so wanted to tell them what he had seen that night. Heaving within himself, he tried to stir his branches as he used to do in the forest when he wanted to speak to his brothers and sisters.

"The Christmas Tree would know if they had a party, wouldn't you?" said the little boy.

And perhaps our tree did manage to wave a frond or two, for the little boy said, "Look, he's nodding!"

"Don't be silly!" said his sister. "It's just a tree!"

But the boy continued to gaze at the branches.

As day drew to a close, guests and loved ones started to drift away, until the room was left with only the immediate family. Quietly, they sat on chairs facing our tree, drinking a brew, and discussing the events of the long day.

"Alright," said the father eventually. "Time for bed."

The little boy lingered as the others departed.

"Good night, Mr. Christmas Tree!" he uttered.

And perhaps the little boy discerned as he left the room, the tremble of a frond, the dipping of a branch, or a twinkle of the star that stood atop our tree.