“This is the story,” Mrs. Schiff began, as she’d begun so many times before, “of Bunny Honeybunny and his sister Honey Honeybunny and of the beautiful Christmas they spent in Bethlehem, the very first Christmas of all. One night, just about at bedtime, when Bunny Honeybunny was about to turn in for a well-deserved rest, for he had had, as usual, a very busy day, his dear little sister Honey Honeybunny came hopping, hippity-hop, into their cozy little burrow deep in the roots of a gnarly old oak tree, and she said to her brother — ‘Bunny! Bunny! You must come out and look at the sky!’ Bunny had seldom seen his sister so excited, so, sleepy as he was (and he was very sleepy)—”
Incubus knew better than to succumb to such hints. He was wide-awake and intent upon the story.
“—he hopped, hippity-hop, out of their dear little burrow, and what do you think he saw, shining up there in the sky?”
Incubus looked at Daniel.
“What did he see?” Daniel asked.
“He saw a star! And he said to his sister Honey Honeybunny, ‘What a beautiful and truly amazing star! Let us follow it.’ So they followed the star. They followed it over the meadows where the cows had settled down to sleep, and across the broad highways, and over the lakes as well, for it was winter and the lakes were all covered with ice, until at last they arrived in Bethlehem, which is in Judea. By this time, naturally, they were both quite tired from their journey and wanted nothing so much as to go to bed. So they went to the biggest hotel in town, the Bethlehem Hotel, but the night-clerk was very rude and said there was no room at the hotel, because of the census the government was taking, and that even if there had been room he wouldn’t have let rabbits into his hotel. Poor Honey Honeybunny thought she would cry, but as she didn’t want to make her brother unhappy on her account she decided to be brave. So, with a merry twitch of her long furry ears, she turned to Bunny and said, ‘We don’t need to stay at any silly old hotel. Let’s go find a manger and stay there. Mangers are more fun anyhow!’ So they went to look for a manger, which was no problem at all, for lo and behold, there was a cheery little manger just behind the Bethlehem Hotel with oxen and asses and cows and sheep… and something else besides! Something so wonderful and soft and warm and precious they couldn’t believe their bunnyrabbit eyes.”
“What did they see in the manger?” asked Daniel.
“They saw Baby Jesus!”
“No kidding.”
“Yes, there he was, the little Lord God, and Mary and Joseph too, kneeling beside him, and any number of shepherds and angels and wise men, all kneeling down and offering Baby Jesus presents. Poor Bunny Honeybunny and Honey Honeybunny felt just terrible, of course, because they didn’t have any presents for Baby Jesus. So, to cut a long story short—”
Incubus looked up vigilantly.
“—the two darling rabbits hopped off into the night, hippity-hop, all the way to the North Pole, which represents a lot of hopping, but there was never a word of complaint from them. And when they got to the North Pole, what do you suppose they found?”
“What did they find there?”
“Santa’s workshop is what they found. It was still early in the evening, so Santa was still there, and Mrs. Santa Claus as well, and all the little elves, millions of them, who help Santa make his toys, and the reindeer who help Santa deliver them, but I’m not going to name all the reindeer.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m tired and I have a headache.”
Incubus began to whine.
“Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen. And Dasher and Prancer and… and… Help me.”
“Rudolph?”
“With his nose so bright, of course. How could I forget Rudolph? Well, after everyone had sat down in front of the blazing fire and warmed their little paws and enjoyed a nice slice of Mrs. Santa’s carrot cake, the two Honeybunnies explained why they’d had to come to the North Pole. They told Santa about Baby Jesus and how they’d wanted to give him a present for Christmas but didn’t have any. ‘So what we were hoping,’ said Honey Honeybunny, ‘was that we could give him ours.’ Santa Claus, naturally, was deeply touched by this, and Mrs. Santa had to turn away to dry her tears. Tears of happiness, you understand.”
“Is there any other kind?” Daniel asked.
Incubus shifted his head uneasily.
“Well,” said Mrs. Schiff, folding her hands purposefully in her lap, “Santa told the Honeybunnies that of course they could give their presents to Baby Jesus, if they would help him load them into his great bag and put it into his sleigh.”
“And what were the presents they put in the bag?” Daniel asked.
“There were rooty-toot-toots and rummy-tum-tums and dolls and frisbees and doctor kits with candy pills and tiny little thermometers for pretending to take a temperature. Oh, and a hundred other lovely things: games and candy and myrrh and frankincense and opera records and the Complete Works of Sir Walter Scott.”
Incubus laid down his head, content.
“And he loaded the bag of presents into his sleigh, and helped the two Honeybunnies in behind him, and gave a crack of his whip and—”
“Since when does Santa have a whip?”
“Santa’s had a whip time out of mind. But he rarely if ever has to use it. Reindeer know instinctively where they should fly. So — away they all flew, instinctively, like the down of a thistle, straight to the manger in Bethlehem where Jesus and Mary and Joseph and the shepherds and angels and wise men, and even the night-clerk at the hotel, who’d experienced a change of heart, were waiting for Santa and the Honeybunnies, and when they saw them up there in the sky, which was lit up, you’ll remember, by that beautiful star, they all let out a great hurrah. ‘Hurrah!’ they shouted. ‘Hurrah for the Honeybunnies! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!’”
“Is that the end of the story?”
“That’s the end of the story.”
“Do you know what, Mrs. Schiff?”
“What?”
“Incubus just went wee-wee in your bed. I can see it on the sheets.”
Mrs. Schiff sighed, and nudged Incubus, who was dead.
16
There seemed to be general agreement among the commentators, many of them not given to expressions of easy optimism, that a new day was dawning, that a corner had been turned, that life would go on. Those for whom the word was not a bugaboo said there had been a revolution, while those less millenially-minded called it a time of reconciliation. The weather was nicer, of course, as it invariably is in May and June. No one was quite sure what marked the commencement of this brighter era, much less whether the forces of darkness were in full retreat or had only stopped to catch their breath, but when the country woke up from the nightmare of its long collapse, a lot of problems had disappeared from the headlines along with a number of people.
The most amazing change, from Daniel’s point of view, was that flight had been decriminalized in four of the Farm Belt states (though not yet in Iowa). Further, the government had dropped its prosecution of the publishers of the anonymous under-the-counter shocker, Tales of Terror, which purported to be the confessions of the man who’d blown up the Alaska pipeline nineteen years ago, single-handed, and who now regretted this and subsequent crimes, all the while plainly glorifying in their depiction. The government, by ceasing to require the publishers to divulge the author’s identity, was saying, in effect, that by-gones were by-gones. The result was that people could now afford to buy the book at its lower (over-the-counter) price, and were, by the millions, Daniel among them.