Monday, December 1, 1986
Supplement to the Daily Nebraskan
Don't want no ndr'cles
9 C
Old Sam shuffled out of the grocery store, his
gnarled old hand clutched a small paper bag
containing six cans of plain-label tuna and a box
of tea. He'd used the last of the December social
security money to buy them. He and Luke would
have to tighten their belts a bit in the next week,
until January's social security check came.
He moved slowly down the dark, deserted
street, tottering a bit in the brisk winter wind.
"Shoulda borrowed Luke's walking-stick," he
thought to himself as a particularly strong gust
nearly stole his feet from beneath him.
He turned the corner and discovered the
sidewalk and most of the street blocked by a
miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer. They
Chris McCubbin
were quite real, he could see the hot breath
streaming out of their little nostrils. A green
clad dwarf, about two feet high, was perched on
the enormous sack that occupied the rear of the
sleigh. The dwarf was merrily playing "God Rest
Ye Merry Gentlemen" on a set of pan-pipes.
"Ho, ho, ho!" the driver boomed out predicta
bly. "If it isn't old Sam!" The fat man reached
behind him and pulled from his sack a brand
new wool, plaid parka with bright red quilting on
the inside. "Merry Christmas, Sam!" he cried
holding out the coat.
"Mind moving that thing a foot or two?" Sam
asked politely, ignoring the coat. The sleigh
didn't move. Sam heaved a sigh and turned
towards the street to go around the long way.
With a puzzled look on his ruddy face the driver
cracked his whip and the deer edged forward a
bit. "Thank'ee," Sam mumbled, continuing on
his way.
The next corner was even worse. A glowing
angel 30-foot high floated over the sidewalk.
"Behold, Sam, I bring you glad tidings of great
joy!" the angel changed to the accompaniment of
thousands of invisible stringed instruments.
"Many years ago I appeared to a group of
shepherds with news of a great gift . . ." the
angel went on. Sam idly reached into his grocery
sack, wondering if the pleasure was worth the
sacrifice.
"Like you, those shepherds were poor and
simple men . . ." That did it. It was worth it.
"Now I am come to this plaaugh . . ." the angel
stopped, choking, as a can of plain-label tuna,
thrown with surprising force, flew into it's
trashcan-sized mouth and lodged in its throat.
Sam moved on, chucking to himself.
At last Sam reached his own building. He
opened the door and found himself in a
medieval banqueting hall. A bonfire roared in
the enormous hearth. "Right this way, my lord,"
a liveried butler said, bowing low and indicating
an immense buffet, groaning under towering
trays of delicacies.
Sam stepped back outside, shut the door
firmly, and reopened it. The familiar, rickety
stairs to his apartment stretched before him.
As he entered the apartment a feeble but
comforting glow from the space-heater greeted
him at the door. His roommate, Luke, was sitting
at the ancient card table, tin plates and a box of
crackers were aleady set out. "Get the tuna
fish?" Luke asked.
"Yup, tea too." Sam put the sack down and
went to get the can-opener.
"Got mir'cles agin this year." Sam remarked
as he returned from the kitchenette.
"You had one too, eh?" Luke asked.
"Had three. What happened here?"
Some little brown elf fellers. I shooed 'em out
with the broom."
"Umm." Sam opened a can of tuna and the two
old men ate it on stale saltines while they sipped
tea made with luke-warm tap water. Sam told
Luke of his adventures on the way home.
At the end of the meal Luke pulled out his
pocket-watch and checked the time. "Half-past
nine. Couple more hours, it'll be Christmas and
we won't have to worry 'bout no more mir'cles
this year," he remarked.
"Good thing," Sam said.
The front door opened and the room filled
with light. A warm breeze, scented with rare
spices, blew across the apartment. Somewhere,
far off, an immense choir sang.
"That's it," Sam said, rising. "I'm gonna throw
this one out with my own two hands!"
"Be respectful, Samuel," Luke admonished
him, "It's the Lord."
Sam turned around. Sure enough, it was God.
The Lord stood over ten-feet tall, but He didn't
need to stoop as He entered the room. He wore a
white robe and was built like a football player.
Long, snow-white hair and a beard cascaded
down the front and back of his garment.
"Evening, boys," God said, "I think you
dropped this, Sam." He put a can of plain label
tuna down on the table. "Mind if I sit down?"
The roommates stood, respectfully. "Evenin'
Lord, take my chair," Sam offered.
"No need," the Lord said, settling into the
solid gold throne that appeared behind Him.
"Uh, Lord, these old floors ain't too sturdy,"
Luke said as the room groaned ominously under
the throne's weight.
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The Daily Nebraskan Advertising Staff
Standing from left: Jami Berry, Bob Bates, Clarey Castner, Marcia Miller, Greg
Kersten, tree, Bill Mattern, Amy Struthers, Tom C. Macy, Bryan Peterson (student
advertising manager).
Kneeling from left: Mindy Comine, Lesley Larson (advertising manager), tree
again, Cindy Iske, Lynn Lewandowski.
Seated in front: Lisa Henkel, Patti Miklos, Kelly Wirges (creative director) and Jan
Esteraich.
Not pictured: Colleen Coyle.
Photo by Paul Vonderlage at Nebraska Bookstore.
Dailv v
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