That night after Taps I told Ruth about the Council meeting and about
my chat with Hoppy at the ship. She came and sat beside me and, in the
age-old manner of a loyal wife, assured me that everything was going to
be all right.
I stood up and began prowling around the room. "It's _not_ all right.
The plain and simple truth is that we've thrown away twenty years on
this pipe dream. All for _nothing_!"
"You don't mean that, Harry. Not for _nothing_."
"The hell I don't! Remember how skeptical we were when we first heard
about this place? Then old Hogarth, Daddy-Two, came to see us. Remember
how we fell for it? We were going to be doing something _important_! We
were the vanguard of a world revolution--the greatest thing since the
invention of people. A great sociological advancement.... What a laugh!
Fairyland is nothing but a--an _orphan_ home! And mark my words, sooner
or later they're going to come and close the place down!"
Ruth patted the seat beside her. "Harry, come back and sit down."
I scowled at her. But I sat.
"Harry," she said, "I'm just a woman. I don't know much about world
revolutions or sociology. But I know one thing. No matter what happens,
these twenty years haven't been wasted. We've been _happy_, Harry. And
so have the Kids."
"I wonder.... _Are_ they happy, Ruth? Do we even know what happiness
is?"
She smiled. "Darling, please don't go abstract on me. I _know_ they're
happy."
"And what about Adam?"
She shook her head. "I suppose he's not. But the percentage is still
pretty high, don't you think? You said Fairyland is nothing more than
an orphan home, and maybe you're right. I guess I never really thought
of it any other way."
I stared at the woman who had been my wife for twenty-three years as
if I'd never seen her before. "You mean you never, not even at the
beginning, believed in the idea of Fairyland?"
"I just didn't think much about it, Harry. I believed in the Kids,
that's all. I figured that our job was to look after them and keep them
happy and well. We've done that job, and I think it's a pretty fine
achievement. I'm proud--for both of us!"
"Thanks," I said dully. "You know, Mommy, I'd almost forgotten...."
"Almost forgotten what, Daddy?"
I laughed shortly. "What it feels like to find out there's no Santa
Claus!"
* * * * *
In the two-week interval between Uncles' Day and Christmas-Two, the air
in Fairyland became super-charged with a kind of hushed expectancy,
and of course everybody was being extra-special good in the manner of
kids everywhere during Santa's Season. The holiday spirit should have
been contagious, but this season I wasn't having any. My pet theory and
private dream had been scuttled, so I sulked around feeling sorry for
myself.
Even Adam-Two was a model of juvenile deportment. Never late for meals,
always washed behind his ears, and--best of all--he stopped asking
embarrassing questions. This sudden change probably would have made
me suspicious if I'd been thinking clearly. As it was, I merely felt
grateful. And of course Mommy was too busy helping the girls make
popcorn and candy to concern herself with such things.
On Christmas Eve, I turned the weather machines to _Snow_--a category
specially reserved for our two Christmases--and the big, soft white
flakes came drifting lazily down into Fairyland. The lights were out in
all the buildings, the Kids were asleep, and our two moons were bright
and full. Ruth and I stood silently on the front porch, watching the
snow and the moonlight.
"Harry...."
"Mm?"
"Do you still think these twenty years were wasted?"
I slipped an arm around her waist. "It isn't fair to ask me that on a
night like this.... But if they were, I'm glad we wasted them together."
She leaned over and kissed my cheek. "Thank you, Daddy. Merry
Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Mommy."
* * * * *
Next morning, I donned my pillow-stuffed Santa uniform and itchy white
whiskers and stood with Mommy on the Auditorium stage, beaming into a
bright sea of expectant faces.
"Merry Christmas, everybody. Mer-r-r-y Christmas! _Ho-ho-ho-ho-ho!_"
"_Merry Christmas, Santa Claus!_" came the answering chorus.
"Did you all manage to bust up your toys from last Christmas?"
"Ye-e-e-s!"
"Good!" I boomed. "Ho-ho-ho! Can't get new ones unless we bust up the
old ones, you know!"
We all sang "Christmas in Fairyland," and then it was Present Passing
Time. Santa's Space Sled was behind me, chock full of toys. I reached
back and pulled out a package.
"Julia-Three!"
"Here I am, Santy!" She came running down the aisle, a lovely blonde of
about twenty-five, curls flying.
"Have you been a good girl, Julia-Three?"
"Yes, Santy."
"And you wanted a new dolly?"
She nodded emphatically.
"You broke your dolly from last Christmas?"
"Yes, Santy."
"_Fine._"
She took her present and went skipping off the far side of the stage.
Everything went smoothly for perhaps half an hour and the sled was
about half empty when I snagged a small, flat package marked "Adam-Two."
He strolled down the aisle and up onto the stage. His eyes were
bright--a little too bright--and there was just the hint of a smile on
his thin face.
"Well, well, Adam-Two! Have you been a good boy?"
"Not very."
I gave him a fierce Santa Claus frown. "Well, now, that's too bad. But
old Santa's glad that you're honest about it.... By the way, you didn't
send old Santy a letter, did you?"
"No. I didn't think I'd get a present because I wasn't good. Anyway, I
didn't know what I wanted." He was staring fixedly at my beard.
"Well, suppose we give you a present anyway, and you try very hard to
be good between now and next Christmas, eh? Ho-ho-ho-ho!"
We'd gotten him a set of chess men. He took the package without looking
at it. "Where's Daddy?" he asked suddenly.
It was so unexpected, so matter-of-fact, that it caught me off balance.
The Kids were always too excited on Christmas morning to worry about
where Daddy might be.
"Well, sir ... ho-ho-ho ... ah, Daddy was kinda sleepy this morning, so
he thought he'd rest up a bit and let Mommy and Santa Claus look after
things--Merry Christmas, Adam-Two! Now, let's see who's next--"
I turned to pull another package from the sled, and Adam took one quick
step forward, grabbed my beard and yanked hard! It came away in his
hands, and there I stood with my naked Daddy-face exposed to all the
Kids.
The silence was immediate, and deadly.
Then I heard Adam's sudden, sharp intake of breath that was almost
like a sob. I glanced at him for just an instant, but in that instant
I glimpsed the terrible disappointment he must have felt. It was all
there, in his eyes and in his face. He hadn't wanted that beard to come
off. He'd wanted Santa Claus to be real....
He turned away from me and faced the Kids, holding that phony beard
high over his head. "You see!" he shrilled. "It's just like I said!
There really _isn't_ any Santa Claus. He's just--just make-believe,
like the fairies and--and--" His voice broke and he threw the beard
down, jumped off the stage and ran toward the exit.
Ruth called to him. "_Adam!_ Come back here at once!"
"Let him go, Mommy." I looked ruefully out at our stunned and silent
audience. "We've got something more important to do first."
I stepped forward and pulled off my Santa Claus hat. For a long moment
I just stood there, trying to decide what to say. Even if I'd had my
speech rehearsed, I don't think I could have talked around the lump in
my throat.
I couldn't shake the feeling that somehow I had failed them. It was a
feeling that went much deeper than my inability to cope with Adam-Two
and his problem. It was a real, deep-down hollow feeling that stemmed
from my conviction, ever since the Uncles' visit, that the whole idea
of Fairyland was a mistake. I wanted to talk to each and every one of
them, alone. I wanted to tell them, "It's going to be all right. Mommy
and Daddy love you and will always look after you, so you mustn't
worry."
And so I stood there on the stage in my ridiculous, padded Santa suit,
and somehow managed a smile. "Kids," I said, "Daddy's sure sorry, but
you see Santa Claus just couldn't make it today. He--his spaceship
broke down--like our merry-go-round, remember? So Santa asked Daddy to
sort of ... to pretend--"
Down in the front row, nine-year old Molly-Five suddenly began to sob.
Two rows behind her, thirteen-year old Mary-Three took up the cry. Then
across the aisle from Mary, another girl wailed, "I want Santa Claus!"
In the back of the Auditorium, fifteen-year-old Johnny-Four shouted,
"We hate you! You're a mean old Daddy!"
And there in the aisle, pointing an accusing finger at me, was
thirty-eight-year old Mike-One, who brought his Santa-problem to
me--was it only three weeks ago? Mike-One, his arm extended, his chin
trembling, yelling: "You lied to me! You lied, lied, lied!"
* * * * *
It took the better part of an hour to restore a semblance of order.
When the first shock was over and the hysterical, contagious tears
had subsided a little, Mommy and I managed to convince the Kids, at
least most of them, that Santa was alive and well, that he was very
sorry he couldn't make it, but if they'd be good and not fuss about it
they'd all get something extra special _next_ Christmas. Just for good
measure, we doubled the Ice Cream Ration for the next two weeks.
When it was over, I went looking for Adam-Two.
I was boiling mad, and I knew I ought to wait until I cooled off before
having it out with him. But after what he'd pulled today, I didn't
dare trust him out of my sight that long. I knew that my anger was
irrational, but the knowledge didn't help much.
I found him behind the Picnic Grounds, throwing snowballs at the Great
Wall. He was using the force field like a billiard cushion to bank his
shots back in toward the trees.
He saw me coming and waited quietly, idly tossing a snowball from one
hand to the other. For a moment I thought he might be going to heave
it at me. But then he looked down at it, as if it were something he'd
outgrown, and tossed it indifferently aside.
The expression on his face was not one of defiance, or arrogance--but
neither was it that of a boy who was sorry he'd been naughty. I guess
it was a sort of waiting look.
"Well, son," I said, surprised that my anger had suddenly evaporated,
"you sure messed things up, didn't you?"
"I guess I did, all right."
"You're not sorry?"
"I had to find out."
I nodded. "And you figure you _did_ find out, is that it?"
"Yes."
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you that Santa just couldn't get
here--that he asked me to pretend to be him so the Kids wouldn't be
disappointed?"
He shook his head. "No, I wouldn't believe it."
For a moment the anger boiled up in me again and I wanted to grab him
and shake him. I had a crazy notion that if I shook him hard enough I
could shake him back into the mold, and make him once again just a Kid
in Fairyland. Then everything would be all right....
I bent over and made a snowball and heaved it at the Wall, to give my
hands something to do. My throw was too straight and the force field
kicked it back at us. We both ducked as it whizzed over our heads, then
grinned at each other.
"Come on over to Mommy and Daddy's House," I said. "I want to talk to
you."
We trudged along through the three-inch snow, down the path between the
Circus Grounds and the dormitories. The Kids were drifting back from
lunch, and I noticed the noise level was considerably lower than on any
other Christmas I could remember. They hadn't completely recovered yet,
and they probably wouldn't for a long time. I didn't know what to do
about it except to sweat it out.
Ruth greeted us at the door. "Hello, Adam," she said. "Come on in."
"You're not angry with me?"
She shook her head. "We know you couldn't help yourself, don't we,
Daddy?"
"I guess so," I said drily.
We went into the living room and I waved Adam to a seat. I stretched
out in my favorite chair-lounge, feeling suddenly very old and very
tired. Adam sat forward in his chair, watching me with that waiting
look--defiant yet shy, courageous, yet a little afraid, resigned and
yet hopeful....
"Adam," I said at last, "what are you trying to prove? What is it you
want?"
He wet his lips and lowered his eyes for a moment. Then his gaze
met mine without flinching. "It's like I told you once before," he
said quietly. "I just want to know the _truth_, the real truth about
_everything_!"
I got to my feet and began to slowly pace the floor. I paused in front
of Ruth's chair and looked down at her. She caught my hand, gave it a
squeeze and nodded.
I turned back to Adam. "You won't like it," I said.
"Maybe not. But I gotta know. I just gotta!"
"Not 'gotta'," Ruth corrected automatically. "'Have to'."
"I have to know."
I paced three more laps, still hesitating. I felt like a surgeon,
trying to decide whether or not to operate when it's a toss-up whether
the operation will kill the patient or cure him.
"All right, Adam," I said wearily. "You win. But you have to promise me
something. Promise me that you'll never say anything to the other Kids
about what I'm going to tell you."
Now it was his turn to weigh a decision, and I could feel the battle
going on behind those crystal-clear eyes. His innate honesty, battling
with his insatiable curiosity. He considered for perhaps a full minute,
then he nodded. "Okay. I don't think it's right not to tell Kids the
truth--but I promise."
"Cross your heart?"
"Cross my heart."
I took a deep breath, signalled Ruth to make some coffee, and began.
"You were right about Santa Claus, Adam. He's just make-believe, and
so are the fairies. Santa Claus was invented by Mommies and Daddies to
represent the _spirit_ of Christmas for kids too little to understand
its real meaning. People on Earth still observe the holiday, although
they've gradually forgotten what it really stands for. I'll explain
that part to you later."
"What's Earth, Daddy?"
"Earth is where everybody lived before there were any spaceships. It's
a big place, and some of it's nice and some of it not so nice. The
people live in houses, something like this one, and the ones in a house
are called families. There's a Mommy and a Daddy for each family, and
their kids live in the house with them."
"Where do the kids come from?"
"From the Mommy. It's the same as what we call 'making a Dolly'."
"Oh."
* * * * *
I talked for six hours, until I was so hoarse my voice was cracking
on every other word. He took it all in stride, injecting a question
here and there, absorbing it all like an unemotional sponge. But when I
began to talk about war, he became a little upset. I explained how it
had begun as individual struggles for survival or supremacy in the days
of the cavemen, how it had evolved along with society into struggles
between families and tribes, then nations, and now--between planets.
"But why do they _kill_ each other, Daddy? That doesn't prove anything."
I laughed. "Son, if I could answer that one, I'd be Daddy Number One of
the whole universe!"
* * * * *
We finally packed Adam off to bed in the spare room, after promising
him we'd talk some more the next night. I'd shown him my library and
told him he could come and read any time he liked, though of course he
mustn't take any books out of the house where the Kids might see them.
Ruth and I stood on the front porch for awhile in the moonlight, gazing
out over our once-peaceful little world.
"Harry, what will become of him?"
"I don't know.... He'll have to decide for himself. He became a man
tonight, you know. I'd like him to stay, but I imagine he'll want to
go to Earth. He's got a mind that just won't stop. The best thing we
can do is try to teach him the things he'll need to survive in that
cock-eyed world, and turn him loose. It's no good trying to hang onto
your kids once they're grown up, Mommy."
She shivered a little and moved closer to me. "I suppose you're right.
I think I know now why mothers hate to see their children grow up."
I put my arm around her and gave her an affectionate squeeze. "He'll
be all right.... You know, in a way I'm almost glad this happened.
Maybe--just maybe--Adam has given us the answer. Maybe the thing to do
is not to keep them Kids all their lives, but to let them grow up more
slowly, in their own time instead of to some prescribed formula. The
world has kept getting more complicated all the time, and a kid just
can't grow up in it as easily as before."
When we were in bed, just before I put out the light, I said, "I guess
I can answer your question now, Mommy. I _don't_ still think these
twenty years were wasted. If I had it to do over again, I'd still want
to be Daddy of Fairyland."