From: FNYK09A@prodigy.com (Gary Himes)
Newsgroups: alt.ql.creative
Subject: SPIRIT OF THE SEASON 2/3
Date: 17 Jun 1995 14:38:12 GMT
Message-Id: <3rupck$1siq@usenetw1.news.prodigy.com>

     A nun's life, Sam was quickly discovering, was not too
different from any other woman's.  Mostly it consisted of
work, whether it was taking care of the class or cleaning the
halls.  Now, as he scrubbed away at the wooden floors on his
hands and knees, the physicist decided that Al was not
entirely unjustified at his dislike of this place.
     A quick tour had done little to buck up his spirits.
Most of the building was old and worn down, while even the
children's sleeping quarters were bare to the point of being
spartan;  just a single bed and locker for clothes done in a
barracks-style arrangement.  At least he had located Mike's
bed during his tour. What holiday decorations there were were
faded and tarnished, the remnants of better days.  Even the
presents under the tree were only small boxes containing new
clothes and, at best, a few donated trinkets.  The whole
place reminded him of something out of a Dickens novel.
     One place Sam knew he had always differed from Al was in
their remembrances of their respective childhoods.  For him,
childhood was full of fond memories of growing up with a
loving family on an Indiana farm, a true slice of Americana.
Seeing this place gave Sam an unhappy glimpse into his
friend's past, a youth that Al had always spoke of as if he
could not have waited until it was over.  No wonder, Sam
mused, considering the dismal place he spent it in.
     The nun he had met earlier (her name he had learned was
Sister Catherine and she was the mother superior) appeared
and bent over him.  "I'd say you've just about worn away
those floorboards with your polishing,"  she said with a
trace of wryness.  "Why don't you go summon the children to
dinner?"
     "Yes ma'am."  The younger children were in their
quarters, going through a daily ritual of cleaning and
polishing.  As Sam entered he noticed they were dutifully
shining their shoes.
     "All right kids, time for dinner."  Most of the children
began to form an orderly line, except for the one boy who
tried to push ahead to the front.
     "Remo, you get in line and behave!"  Sam ordered.
     "Not gonna!"  he yelled back.
     "You'd better, or Santa ain't gonna visit ya!"  another
little boy admonished.
     "There ain't no Santa,"  Remo grumbled, but took his
place in line anyway.
     Sam looked at the young "killer" with sympathy.  A
kindergartner was entirely too young to stop believing in
Santa Claus.
     The children marched dutifully down the hallway to the
cafeteria, leaving Sam to notice one little boy staring
morosely out of the window.  Judging from the bed he was
standing by, there was no doubt as to his identity.
     "Dinner's ready--aren't you coming Michael?"  Sam asked.
     " 'm not hungry,"  the boy replied flatly.
     "C'mon, it'll get cold and you'll be hungry later."
     The boy turned to face him with sad, brown eyes.  Eyes,
Sam noted, that seemed to shine with an intelligence unusual
for a child Mike's age.
     "Do you really help the angels?"  he asked in a small,
plaintive voice.
     Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, motioning the
youngster to come closer.  When he did Sam picked him up and
put him in his lap.
     "I'm here to help you," he said gently.  "I know you
miss your mom and dad."
     "I wish they'd come and get me," Mike answered,
returning his gaze to the window.  "If I don't get home by
Christmas I don't think Santa Claus will be able to find me."
     Sam felt himself fighting back emotion.  "Mike, I want
you to understand that your mom and dad would come back for
you if they could.  They didn't want to leave you, it's just
that...God is always looking for good people, right?"
     "Guess so."
     "Well, sometimes he needs good people to help him in
heaven, and sometimes he needs people to help him on earth.
He needed your mom and dad to help him in heaven, but he
needs you to be a good boy and help people here.  Do you
understand?"
     "But I need my mommy and daddy!"  Mike protested.
     "I know Mike, I know,"  Sam answered with sympathy.
"But I'll tell you, your parents are always watching over you
from heaven, and they'll always love you and be proud of you.
But right now they are people who don't have a little boy and
they need someone like you..."
     "NO!"  Mike shrieked, pulling away from Sam's grasp.  "I
don't want another mommy and daddy!  I want MY mommy and
daddy!  I wanna go home!"
     "Mike!"  Sam shouted after the boy's retreating figure.
     "Don't wanna be 'dopted!"  the orphan cried as he ran
from the room.  Apparently this had not been the first time
the prospect of his acquiring a new family had been brought
up.
     Sam cursed softly under his breath.  "You know," he
said to the one observer he knew was always watching, "this
would be a lot easier if you'd just sent me back a little
further and let me save his parents."
     His only answer was a cold wind howling mournfully
outside the window.

                          * * * * *

     Al silently paced the halls of St. Theresa's Home For
Orphans, scratching his head absently as he pondered what
brought him back to this place.  Certainly it wasn't Sam;
the time traveller already had the information he needed to
complete his mission, and Al knew he was taking a real chance
strolling casually around a building filled with children
young enough to see him.
     Still, a certain grim nostalgia had drawn him back here,
back to see one last time the scene of so many of his youth's
misadventures.  Here he had taken his first drink (behind the
alter in the chapel, he remembered with amusement),
experienced his first real crush (Shirley Mulcahey in the
seventh grade), and developed skills from lock picking to
boxing that had served him well in his adventurous life.
     A cockroach skittered across his path.  "Probably one of
Kenny's great-great-grandkids," he mused, recalling the only
pet he had had in those long ago days.
     Damn!  He'd almost allowed himself to forget this place;
to forget the lonely nights when he'd struggled to muffle his
tears because the older boys were fond of beating up
crybabies; to forget the stern-faced nuns and their harsh,
wrist-slapping discipline; and to forget especially the
moment when the very same Sister Mary Margaret who now paced
the Waiting Room came and come and told him his father was
dead.
     But, Al realized, there are some things that can't be
forgotten just because they are too big a part of who you
become.
     "Al!" The observer looked around to see Sam coming up
the hall behind him.  "I think you were right; even if I
manage to keep Mike from running away tonight, he's so scared
and hostile to the idea of adoption I don't think he'll allow
himself to accept any new parents, or let them get close
enough to want to adopt him."
     "I told you Sam;  a kid like Mike, he doesn't want any
substitutes, he wants his real folks."  Al shook his head
sadly.  "Take it from somebody who knows, it's not easy to
think of yourself walking out of here with a couple of
strangers and calling them 'mom' and 'dad' the rest of your
life."
     "What happens to him if I fail?"
     Al checked the handlink.  "He grows up, never finishes
high school and drifts from job to job, never gets married,
never finds a real home and family."
     Taking a drag on his cigar, Al continued.  "We can't let
that happen.  Nobody deserves a life that lonely, not a kid
like Mike, not even..."  Al couldn't bring himself to finish
the thought.
     "Not even you?"  Sam ventured.
     "Who, me?"  Al asked innocently.  "Who ever said I was
lonely?  Between watching your butt and having Tina nag me
about playing Santa Claus, it's a wonder I ever have a spare
moment."
     "Right."  Sam checked an old clock hanging over a nearby
doorway.  "What time tonight is Mike supposed to turn up
missing?"
     "Ah, Ziggy hasn't nailed that down yet,"  Al said as he
slapped the side of the handlink.  "Could be hours yet."
     Just then the two men were taken by surprise by a little
voice from behind.  "Mister Sam, who's the man in the funny
white suit?  Is he an angel too?"  It was Susan, the little
girl from Mary Margaret's class.
     Quickly Sam stepped in front of Al.  "He's sort of
my...helper.  You know, like Santa has elves for helpers?"
     "Great,"  Al complained.  "Now I'm an elf."
     Sam ignored his tirade. "Susan, shouldn't you be at
dinner right now?"
     She shook her head.  "Hadda ask you somethin'."
     Sam bent down level to speak to her directly.  "Okay,"
he began cautiously, "what do you want to know?"
     "Does Santa Claus know where we live?"
     "I wondered that myself sometimes," Al interjected.
     Sam shushed his partner. "Of course he does! He knows
where all good little boys and girls live.  Why would you
even need to ask?"
     "Mikey said Santa Claus couldn't find him here.  He said
he was gonna go find him and ask him to bring his mommy and
daddy back."
     Sam and Al traded concerned looks.   "Susan honey, when
did Mike tell you this?"
     "Just 'bout five minutes ago,"  Susan said, pointing to
the clock.  "I can tell time real good, see?"
     The two men relaxed.
     "It was right before he climbed out the lunchroom
window,"  she added.
     "Oh boy,"  Sam said.
     "No shinola,"  Al added.  "Let me see if Ziggy can get
fix on him."  Al played with the buttons on the handlink,
getting a mixture of screeching and squealing sound from it.
Occasionally Sam wondered how Al could get any information
out of it at all, as the scientist could never quite see a
display of any kind on its surface.
     Al's eyes grew wide with concern.  "Uh-oh;  now Ziggy
says Mike dies in a traffic accident five minutes from now!
Your little pep talk must've set him off ahead of schedule
Sam, and it changed history!"
     "Where Al!  Where was he hit?"  Sam's voice rose
frantically.
     "Corner of Eleventh Street and Main--just two blocks
from here."  Al turned and pointed out the window.  "It's in
that direction, right in front of the old Rialto Theater."
     Sam started sprinting down the hall.  "Meet you there!"
he yelled back to his holographic friend.
     As Sam disappeared from sight Al noticed Susan staring
up at him, her eyes wide in amazement.  "Don't worry honey,"
he assured her.  "Mike is going to be okay."
     "Oh, I know that,"  she answered matter-of-factly, as if
she couldn't believe Al was foolish enough to think
otherwise.  "I was just wonderin' something."
     "What?"
     "If You and Mister Sam are angels, how come he didn't
just fly out the window to go get Mike?"
     Al chuckled.  "Susie, real angels always travel first
class."  With that, he hit a button on his handlink and
disappeared.
     Susie gave a shriek of laughter and clapped at the
trick;  real angels, she decided, were much more fun than the
ones the nuns taught about in Sunday School!

                          * * * * *



TO BE CONCLUDED...