Kathy let out a sniff and wiped her tears on her pajama sleeve. “Walter,” she said. “I trust them.”
He looked surprised at himself. “So do I.”
“Good,” said the Easter Bunny. “Santa, if you would be so kind.”
Only then did Kathy notice the surroundings. On the right side rose up half the bedroom she had slept in as a girl in Cedar Rapids, the closet, the dresser, the flowered wallpaper. The left side was decked out, she guessed, like Walter’s boyhood bedroom in Santa Fe. On one wall hung a plastic crucifix he had won at a sideshow.
Those bedrooms dimmed, but the scenes that surged up to replace them maintained the split. “Here you both are, taking your first steps.”
Kathy, captivated by the toddlers before them, delighted to see Walter not in faded black and white photos, but as he had been in life. There sat his parents and hers, young and spry, without a trace of gray hair or wrinkles.
“That’s my dad,” said Walter, a catch in his throat.
“Yes,” said the Easter Bunny, “and see how pure your hearts were then.”
Kathy looked. The toddlers shown with divine innocence and only a trace of the parental failings they had begun to absorb. Even their parents were far more free in spirit, observing those triumphant first steps, than she remembered from recent visits.
“Observe your first days at school.”
Kathy and her mom walked up the steps of Harrison Elementary, a buried memory at once brilliantly revived. In her frilly dress, she looked pouty-lipped and doleful as Mommy hugged her and spoke tearful assurances. On the other side stood Walter in a blue jumper and bright yellow shirt, bawling his heart out. Uncanny how every bit of him, as she knew him now, showed itself fully formed right there.
“One more glimpse from early childhood,” said the Easter Bunny, “and my favorite.” As well it might be: Easter egg hunts, hers in a park near her home, Walter’s in a schoolyard. Boys and girls scurried past, swift but deliberate, careful not to overlook any clump of grass that might conceal a splash of pastel.
Walter’s chubby legs carried him proudly to Ellie Stratton. “Mommy, look what I found,” he said in a voice that made Kathy fall in love with him all over again. He held up a bright blue egg capped by a canted oval of purple. “That’s great, Walter. Here, I’ll keep it with the others. Go find another, okay?”
Kathy’s younger self merely screamed in delight, half looking but mostly just dancing about, overjoyed to be inside a sunlit explosion of boys and girl yelling and running and going mad with glee.
“Now watch this.” He swept his paw. The children changed color, not just their faces and hands and legs but their clothing as well. A few were pure blue or pure yellow, but most were shades of green, from yellow green to olive, from hunter green to emerald, from olive green to chartreuse to teal. “My Easter egg children,” laughed the Easter Bunny. “The blue ones were born with the impulse to be completely enraptured by the opposite sex, the yellow ones by the same. Observe the engaging mix and mingle in most children at that age. Of course, the off-blue ones will shortly learn to suppress any hint of yellow. And many of the bright yellow ones will hotly insist they are nothing but blue, blue as a clear blue sky, and that they never have been, nor could be, anything else.”
“It looks,” said Walter, “as if I’m mostly blue.”
The Easter Bunny laughed. “Bluish-green as a deep dark sea. But you’ll accept the culture’s tinged lenses soon enough. You’ll convince yourself you’re a true blue American heterosexual boy from your cowlick right on down to your boots.”
Then Kathy saw that her child self was a solid lawn-green. “Look at me,” she said. “Are you sure that’s me?”
“Yes indeed, Kathy. The Almighty formed you to be attracted to males and females in just about equal measure.”
“But if that’s true, why don’t I feel it now?”
“If you allowed yourself, and if the messages you’ve heard all your life hadn’t been so powerful and pervasive, you would.”
Kathy felt robbed. The little girl gleefully giggling in all of her unabashed greenness seemed so much more fully dimensional than she felt herself now, a flat woman sitting in a flat bed, her mind sculpted to fit the grown-up world, her heart penned in by strictures, baffles on her eyes and filters on her thoughts. As if in response to what she was feeling, the Easter Bunny said, “Look at this.”
Gone were the Easter egg hunts, and in their place scenes of themselves growing up. Signals from parents and preachers and older peers and TV and songs, sights on the street, who got to hold hands and who did not, lumberjack women and sylphlike men shunned and made fun off—all of it impinged upon them. This was the process by which her heart had been darkened, her judgment warped, and the bright light of generous embrace had been extinguished from her soul.
Walter too Kathy watched turn from a smiling child to a confused preteen to a glum high-schooler, caught up in sports, clamping down on any exuberance save for team spirit, crazy yocks with his friends, and leering jokes at the expense of big-bosomed girls.
Then their childhood bedrooms returned.
“Let’s look in on your boys,” said Wendy. There slept Kurt and Jamie in their beds. The Easter Bunny swept his paw, and Kurt turned the same hue as his father. But Jamie lay there as yellow as could be, compromised by the merest tinge of green.
In that moment, Kathy loved her sons with all her heart and soul. “They’re perfect, aren’t they?”
“Indeed they are,” said the Easter Bunny. “And you must tell them so every day of their lives.”
“I like your boys very much, Missus Stratton,” said Wendy.
“They’re good lads,” chimed in Santa. “They, and all children, deserve unconditional acceptance from their parents in every stage of life, including their passage through puberty. I’ll tell you honestly, Kathy and Walter, I don’t have much truck with mortals once they turn nine or ten. You see why. That they stop believing in me isn’t so bothersome, really, except that it’s a warning signal that misguided judgmentalism is beginning to creep in. Young boys and girls resonate with me. But then, tricked into believing that grown-ups must surely be far wiser than they, they adopt their foolish manner of carving up the world. Precious few are brave enough to hang on to the fantastic realities they enjoy at seven or eight. You see what happens. Don’t let it happen to Jamie.”
“I won’t,” said Kathy, surprised at her vehemence.
“Me neither,” said Walter.
“Stay a little,” she went on. “Show us more.” But her limbs grew heavy and her eyelids ached to close. She felt Santa’s embrace and his comforting kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, dear one,” he said as sleep claimed her. “Be good always.”
“I will,” she murmured. “I promise.”
Chapter 20. Innocence Rescues a Preacher
“IT FEELS GREAT, HELPING these good people,” said Wendy.
“Yes, it does,” replied Santa.
“It looks as if it’s really going to happen.”
“Oh, but Wendy,” said the Easter Bunny, “you shouldn’t bite into the marshmallow chick before it’s reached your lips.”
Wendy laughed at that.
But Santa steamed, and cursed himself for steaming. What had gotten into him? Here they were, on the final leg of their journey, his team galloping triumphantly through the night sky, and he felt a large measure of discontent.
“Things are going well,” he said to fill the silence, then bit his lip and wished he hadn’t spoken at all. His voice was tight, and he knew that Wendy and the accursed creature in back could hear it.
His discontent stemmed in part of course from an inability to forgive the Easter Bunny his transgressions. Santa didn’t care how transformed he might be. It didn’t erase his past, and his apparent obliviousness to that past was downright infuriating. He ought to be humble, riddled with guilt, unable to make eye contact, eternally penitent. Instead, he charmed their visitants. He charmed Wend
y. He even charmed Saint Nick himself, which ticked the jolly old elf off all the more.
But mostly, it was envy. I’m out of my league, thought Santa. The rabbit’s right at home. He takes, in complete innocence, these fallen mortals as they are, accepting and loving them no matter what. He’s the soul of patience, while I lose all patience. That’s not how I was before Pan flared up. Oh, I would’ve been awkward in the presence of adults, but not angry to the point of giving in to the desire to smash their smug little faces. I can’t stand their moral blindness, their belligerence, their damned holier-than-thou attitude. Yet in my intolerance toward them, I fall into the same trap!
No matter. “On to the Reverend Taylor,” he continued.
“He’ll be a challenge,” laughed the Easter Bunny. “But I look forward to melting even his hard heart. Eh, Wendy girl?”
“We've simply got to win him over,” she said earnestly. “There’s no other way.”
“We will,” said Santa. But at precisely that moment, with even greater resolve, the Easter Bunny said, “We will,” and Santa let his words trail off.
One more visit, he thought. Just one more. Then it’s goodbye, Easter Bunny. Goodbye, grown-ups. And I’ll be in charge again. Things will settle down.
But alas, that was not to be.
* * *
When Ty Taylor awoke to the enticing aroma of roasting chestnuts, the crackle of Yule logs, and the warm flicker of a roomful of candle flames, he swiftly marshaled his mental faculties. All I have, he thought, is my resolve as a man and a Christian. Once more, I’m in my bedroom, at the argumentative mercy of a persuasive and plausible Santa Claus and child.
Indeed, when he sat up, there appeared before him not just the demons he had met previously but a new one. “And you, let me guess,” he said, surprised that the creature’s size did not terrify him, “are the Easter Bunny.”
“Why yes, I am,” said the creature in a voice that brought Ty’s boyhood, in all its richness, back to him.
“Oh you’re good,” said Ty. “Very good indeed.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’ll not sway me. I was close to falling, so guileful the show these two demons put on. But whatever you’re poised to do, you can tell your Master that Ty Taylor remains fixed upon his Lord and Savior. Homosexuality is a sin. The Bible says so, and that’s more than good enough for me. That you would think to convince a preacher of the Lord that such perversity is not only acceptable but to be embraced is, frankly, laughable.”
The Easter Bunny was taken aback. “Really, Reverend Taylor, sir, if I may be so bold, the truly demonic is what was forced upon you in your nightmare. The Tooth Fairy is a creature of chaos. We understand she has appealed to your prejudices, has indeed shored them up. All we have come for is to show you scenes from the past and let you draw your own conclusions.” His voice was simple and reassuring. His limpid eyes touched Ty’s heart.
“I will not fall,” Ty insisted. “I will be strong.”
“Be as strong as you like,” said the Easter Bunny.
“Don’t be upset, Mister Taylor,” said the little girl.
Santa Claus stood to one side. There was something off about him. Why wasn’t he more jolly? More spirited? He had certainly been so in prior visits. Was this bunny demon stealing his thunder? That was what Ty guessed was going on.
“Do you see where you are?”
Ty followed his raised paw to the closet with the sliding doors from his childhood, out of which he had been terrified a bear would emerge. There stood the dark-oak bookcase containing Treasure Island and Uncle Remus and other books. In one corner of the floor, his Bozo doll dozed against a Howdy Doody dummy.
Ty bristled. “I put away childish things long ago.”
“Well,” said the bunny demon, “if I might venture an opinion, maybe you put away too many of them. Observe yourself when you were rich in childish things. Perhaps you’ll decide to pick and choose differently tonight.”
The room exploded with overhead fluorescents from a ceiling as high as a three-story extension ladder. Below fidgeted rows of boys and girls in squat wooden chairs. “Calm down,” said the severe woman standing in front of them. “I know it’s Easter and your mothers and fathers are communing with God, and all you can think about are Easter baskets. Right?” A mumble of yeah’s rose up. “I know, I know. But we’re going to make a nice present for Mommy.” She brought out a large tray of alphabet letters, made out of pasta dyed red and blue and green.
Ty said, “‘Whatever your hand finds to do—”
“—do it with all your might,’“ completed the Easter Bunny. “Time passes, and here you are, prim little Ty, sitting dutifully at a table pasting on the last letter.”
His memory, even fifty years on, remained sharp. The plate, floral designs around the edges, the Bible verse in the center. But his eyes went again and again to the small diligent boy he had been, tonguetip pressed against the corner of his mouth. No demon could fake the profound impact this vision had on him. “He’s so...open.” On his left sat a Negro boy. As an adult, Ty had a well-nigh automatic judgmental response to him; but his eight-year-old self was completely at ease. He saw past the boy’s skin color, or rather, his acceptance embraced that skin, unquestioned, as part of his glory. To his right, another boy was going on and on about an Easter basket. “I got two gigantic bunnies, and nine big huge eggs with real bright colors, and jellybeans spilling over the sides and out into the streets so that people slipped and fell, and green grass that reaches clear on up to the sky!” Ty felt the innocent envy of his boyhood heart. But even that was engaging, not sinful, a simple wish for more than the boy on the right had received. Later, adults would teach him to censor that feeling, to name it and bury it deep in his soul.
“That’s right,” said Easter Bunny. “That’s how it happens. If we may show you...”
Ty watched in awe and horror, as the boy he was then, a look of pride in his eyes, appeared in brief scenes, some of them mute, some with telling comments from adults. Some scenes involved the boy he had been, others the adolescent, the young man, the mature man, the man getting on in years. From the first, he heard the intelligence in his voice, the power to string words together, to catch the rhythm of each phrase, to coat with gold the dross of spoon-fed conviction. But even spoon-fed conviction latched onto his spirit and that benighted spirit shaped his developing mind. Seeing the process sped up did nothing to reaffirm the correctness of his views; rather, it showed him how a fresh, open-minded boy let himself be shaped and sliced and penned in by narrow grown-ups who seemed to know what they were talking about but did not. They hid behind God. They claimed that God believed this or that, and that the Bible, here, here, and here, proved it. He saw what utter nonsense that was and how his elders’ predispositions had shaped his view of scripture.
He was stunned. “I was ready to quote chapter and verse.”
“Boy, were you ever!” said the Easter Bunny. “But you see now, don’t you, good sir, how utterly beside the point such an exercise would have been? Santa and Wendy have told me how, on their prior visits, you saw into the hearts of many fine people and understood that their sexual nature is cause for rejoicing and embrace. It isn’t a sin at all, but part of God’s plan.”
“I see now that that’s so. But my God, the Tooth Fairy and her imps were so persuasive. Won’t they invade my dreams again? And how am I to behave tomorrow morning? What sermon can I possibly deliver? I feel utterly changed, as if centuries of grime had been wiped away.”
Santa seemed relieved. “Regarding your dream,” he said, “the archangel assures me that the pure in spirit cannot, without willing it, be touched by evil. You will not forget the light. The Tooth Fairy will be powerless against you, no matter how much she rages, nor how much you are made to suffer. As for your frets about tomorrow’s sermon—”
“You’ll be okay, Mister Taylor.”
“As Wendy says, you’ll be okay. Trust to instinct. Trust to your rh
etorical skill. Tell the truth. Be forceful in telling the truth. Will it be easy? It will not. But there is no alternative. Once your eyes are open, it is impossible to close them again.” Santa pointed and there sat Ty once more in Bible school, holding up the plate, running his fingertip lightly over the letters, mouthing the words in wonder: “Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might.”
Then Ty’s childhood bedroom reappeared and there stood his three visitors, clustered around his bed like the wise men. He sobbed with joy. “What did an old sinner like me do to deserve this?”
Santa said, “Had we but world enough and time, we would visit all of humankind in this way. But our mission has been to save one little boy from suicide. If by saving you, we have saved him, why, that’s all to the good. Now, sleep. When you wake, you won’t recall our visit, but its effects will stay with you forever.”
“Goodnight, Mister Taylor.” Wendy blew him a kiss.
“Thank you for indulging us, kind sir.” The Easter Bunny’s eyes twinkled. “We have merely reintroduced you to your worthiest self. He has long been buried, but thanks to the grace you have allowed to bloom within, he has risen and breathes free once more.”
“God’s blessings on you all,” said Ty. Stifling a yawn, he slid beneath the covers, gave a weary wave to his departing guests, and surrendered to sleep.
* * *
As soon as Gronk witnessed the preacher’s fascination with his boyhood self, he knew the game was lost. He knew as well, pressed to the ceiling with his ribs strained to the cracking point, that he should have raced back to the island right after the immortals’ visit to the Strattons.
A tactical error.
But he hadn’t wanted to report failure if he could report even partial success. And the evangelical pontificator had seemed so firmly in their camp. Why, he might have been so incensed at the attempt to turn him, as to corral Walter and Kathy Stratton after his Thanksgiving sermon and sway them with even greater ferocity into obedience to his unChristlike Savior, even though it meant the death of their son.
Santa Claus Conquers the Homophobes Page 15