The pageant moved forward into the small posada scene, as "Joseph" lead "Mary", on Jeff's back, through a procession around the church, followed by the crowd, being symbolically turned away by child after child playing innkeeper after innkeeper. Meanwhile over and over in his head, Jeff was begging, pleading, praying for a miracle. In a particularly dark moment, as they passed through the darkest shadow of the church, the roof blocking them from the light of the moon, he even wondered if his soul was still human.
"Please, let me be human again, or let me die - so long as I don't go to a donkey afterlife!" he begged within his own head.
And then, as they approached the front of the church again from the opposite side, Jeff began to hear music. A woman's voice, singing softly. The words, of course, meant nothing to him...but he found the tune strangely comforting. It was a carol, obviously, but not one he recognized.
But...
Something was odd. Jeff cocked his ears.
It...the words. He could tell they were words! He would have brayed for joy but for the bit in his mouth. He listened intently, feeling the gentle weight of the Mary actor on his back. It wasn't...he couldn't understand it. It wasn't English, he decided...
'Natten går tunga fjät runt gård och stuva.
Kring jord som sol'n förlät, skuggorna ruva...'
But what did that matter? Words! Human tongues! His heart lept in his furry breast.
"Oh God, it's so beautiful! After all this time...!" he thought to himself.
'Drömmar med vingesus under oss sia,
tänd dina vita ljus, Sankta Lucia....'
He saw her, then. A strange woman, all in white, an odd crown on her head - with candles on it? So strange, he didn't remember this from his childhood Christmases. She quietly joined in with the procession, singing her strange, beautiful song. No one else seemed to notice...
Finally, they returned to the creche scene. The woman did a strange thing, bowing towards the scene in reverence. No one else did. Everyone else continued on, telling the story. "Mary" was lifted off Jeff's back, and he was lead into the stable, to stand - almost like a prop, really, less even than an animal - behind her. It should have been distressing to Jeff, this further sign of his loss...but all he could do was listen to the song.
Trollsejd och mörkermakt ljust du betvingar,
signade lågors vakt skydd åt oss bringar.
Drömmar med vingesus, under oss sia,
tänd dina vita ljus, Sankta Lucia...
He looked at the strange woman. He wondered what she was doing, why no one else seemed to be looking at her.
And then...
His heart lept.
She looked him right in the eye, smiled, and made a shushing gesture with her fingers.
'Shh.' she seemed to say to him. 'Don't ruin the scene! Be here, now.'
He nodded his head, slightly. Coincidentally this made it appear, to those watching the scene, as if the donkey were bowing his head to the manger as Mary put the infant in it. Assuming this to be all part of the show, there were approving murmurs. Jeff even heard at least one "Oh, what a cute donkey!"
"Cute! I haven't been that in a while..." he thought, but, strangely, without bitterness. It wasn't that he wasn't upset anymore. He felt strange. Disconnected. Like he was having an out of body experience.
Stjärnor som leda oss, vägen att finna,
bli dina klara bloss, fagra prästinna.
Drömmar med vingesus, under oss sia,
tänd dina vita ljus, Sankta Lucia.
Where was he? He was at a church, in the snow, at their nativity play...but...he was somewhere else too.
He felt he could almost look into his family's home, his living room. His mother...she was crying. His father was comforting her. There were...flyers, on the coffee table. Flyers with his face! Missing persons flyers! They'd looked for him! They WERE looking for him! He looked at the calendar on the wall...He could read it! He didn't know how, but he could! December 13, twelve days to Christmas...
Tänd dina vita ljus, Sankta Lucia.
Where was he? He was at a church, in the snow, at their nativity play...but...he was somewhere else, too.
It was a barn, yes, or a stable, but it seemed to be part of the larger structure. A lower story where the livestock were kept. The woman, she looked so frightened. Her husband's distant - VERY distant - relations looked on, trying to help as best they could, but they hadn't even had room in the family compound! They'd had to put her here with the donkey, with him. She was so afraid; her husband was trying to comfort her, telling her to breathe, to push, but he was clearly as scared as she was. Finally, with a cry, the baby came. The man's face lit up. He held it to his wife, who wept for joy. Light...light was coming in from somewhere, although it was the middle of the night, soft light, gentle. She held her baby. "Yeshua..." she muttered. Jeff thought it was a good name, but he could only barely understand her.
Tänd dina vita ljus, Sankta Lucia.
Where was he? He was at a church, in the snow, at their nativity play...but...he was somewhere else too.
He was there. Home. He was there. Then. He was here. Now.
He felt a tear rolling down his muzzle.
"Help me." he thought. Simply. Sincerely. "If you don't, no one can."
He heard the woman in white singing. Her song was the same, but the words, they were in English now. He could hear them. He didn't know why or how, but he was grateful.
'Night walks with a heavy step
Round yard and house,
As the sun departs from earth,
Shadows are brooding.
Dreams of wings rustling over us in prophesy,
Light your white candles, Saint Lucia.
Spells and dark powers, with light you subject.
Guard of the blessed flames, protection for us brings.
Dreams of wings rustling over us in prophesy,
Light your white candles, Saint Lucia.
Stars that lead us, the way to find,
become your clear flares, fair priestess.
Dreams of wings rustling over us in prophesy,
Light your white candles, Saint Lucia.'
The nativity play was ending. The woman came up, took his bridle gently in hand, working the bit from his mouth. The people went processing back into the church, singing as they went, lead by the girl who had played Mary in that most ancient hymn:
"My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord,
My spirit rejoices in God my Savior..."
And Jeff was left with the strange woman in the crown of light, standing in the snow. No one seemed to notice that she'd 'stolen' the donkey.
She took the bridle off him, then put a hand on his neck, gently, leading him away from the church, into the dark of the night. They walked for quite some way in silence. Jeff didn't feel tired, although he knew he should have.
After a while, he turned to her.
"Who are you?" he brayed.
She smiled. "Lucia. Didn't you hear my song?"
He was at his house, now. He could see, by the light of the windows, that the scene he'd witnessed earlier had been now. Or was he there now what he saw then, or was he seeing...ugh, the whole thing was making his head hurt. Lucy giggled, stroked his mane comfortingly.
"I'll never see them again..." he brayed sadly.
"Don't be silly. You'll see them tonight. Look down."
He did, and saw, for the first time, his hooves - they were shifting! Breaking apart, splaying out, into...into...
"FINGERS!" He brayed. But...it wasn't quite a bray. You could almost imagine it was what a donkey would say if it were trying to say 'fingers'.
Lucy nodded. Slowly, excruciatingly, his body began to return to normal. He felt his teeth pull back into a smaller, human configuration. His ears began to shrink. His bodyweight shifted, reduced, as his spine realigned to walk upright, his fur going bald. He shivered in the cold.
"Thank you, thank you for turning me back!" he said, tears streaming, voice still a hoarse halfway between human and donkey.
Lucia shook her head, gently.
"I'm just a messenger."
She stroked his hair, his HUMAN hair!, gently.
"You had brought this on yourself, you know."
Jeff hung his head in shame.
"I know, I don't know what came over me, I just - "
"I recommend therapy, Jeff. You've got a lot of psychosexual issues to work out."
Jeff blinked, stared at Lucia. She grinned.
"What? It's good advice."
"Yeah, but you're a...you know..."
"A saint."
"Right. Shouldn't you be telling me to, like, pray it away?"
"That's not what prayer is for, Jeff. And the One I serve, the one I was willing to die for, did die for? That One has never been as hung up about sex as the living have tended to think. Lust is...well, sin is about thinking of people as things. Lust is the sin of thinking of people as just things for sex. And you did do that - you thought of yourself as a thing for sex."
She cups his increasingly human face in her hands as his muzzle shrinks down.
"You're more than that, Jeff. Everyone is. The meaning of this holiday...it's about the value of every life. So valuable that Life Itself wanted to share it. Do you understand?"
Jeff stood there, now almost entirely human, shivering, but he nodded.
"I...think I'm starting to."
"Good. You'll notice you've still got some gray hair, especially on the top of your back, and a patch on the inside of each thigh. You can shave that off, but it'll grow back. Think of it as a reminder of what you've been through, battle scars."
Jeff nods again, still shivering. He'd rather have none of it it's true, but a few patches of gray hair, in exchange for his humanity? SOLD! Lucia smiles gently at him, takes off her white shawl, wraps it around him. It's suddenly a full-length white blanket. He wraps it around himself gratefully.
"Go now. Return home."
"Thank you, for everything. And..."
"It's ok, Jeff."
"...Thank God." he said, tears streaming down his face. He'd collapse from emotion if she weren't holding him up, if he weren't desperate to get inside, to his mom and dad. Lucia strokes his hair, leads him up to the door. He reaches out a hand to knock and she's gone, without a trace - except the white blanket.
He sobs in joy, bangs on the door, bangs with everything he has.
"MOOOOOOM! DAAAAAAD!"
There's a sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, then the door is open, his father there red-faced. He goes white when he sees Jeff. Then grabs him, yanks him into a bone-crushing hug.
"MY BOY!"
"DADDY!"
His mother comes running. She screams in joy. They embrace there, on the floor of the kitchen. Huddled together, weeping. Rejoicing. Christmas had come, at last.
"When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.
With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil’s walking parody
On all four-footed things.
The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.
Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet." - G. K. Chesterton, "The Donkey"
Fin.