The Great Santini (45 page)

"Sure, Mom," Ben said, smiling," that's what you say every Christmas."

"Well mark my words. I just don't want you to be disappointed. I can still remember how disappointed I was when I was a little girl and Santa Claus skipped my house."

"I'm a little old to believe in Santa Claus."

"No you're not," Lillian said. "Always believe in things and people that bring you pleasure. What good does it do to throw those things out the window?"

At that moment, Bull had climbed out the attic window onto the roof. Every Christmas since Ben could remember Bull had clambered out on the roof of mobile homes, quonset huts, Capehart houses to make Santa Claus laughs and reindeer noises.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!" Bull bellowed from the roof.

"Get a gun, Mama. There's a pervert on the roof," Mary Anne called out from the next room.

"Hush, sugah, and let your daddy have his fun. Did you leave out the cookies and the milk for Santa Claus?"

"I did, Mama," Karen answered.

"Is Dad going to do his reindeer act?" Matthew asked from his bedroom.

"Moo! Mooooo! Mooo!" came the voice from the roof.

"Why does Daddy do a reindeer like a cow?" Karen asked.

"Cows and reindeer come from the same family. That's as close as he can get," Lillian explained.

"Moooo, Mooo," the reindeer lowed again.

"On Dasher and Donner and Comet and all you other guys with the weird names," Bull called out from the roof. "Now whoa, you horny sons a bitches."

"Bull!" Lillian admonished. "Don't get carried away."

"Mooooooo," he answered.

"Good night, children. Santa Claus has to get to work now. Remember what I told all of you. It's going to be a lean Christmas so don't be disappointed."

"Good night, Mama," Lillian's children called as she went to her room and began removing hidden presents.

At five o'clock in the morning, a hand touched Ben's shoulder. He awoke slowly and unrefreshed. Stretching, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes along with a dream he would never recover. He made out Mary Anne's outline when his eyes adjusted to the dark.

"How can you sleep?" she asked.

"Oh, I don't know," he answered, looking at the clock by his bed. "I'm kind of eccentric. I've always been one of those weird guys who likes to sleep at five o'clock in the morning."

"I'm too excited to sleep. You ought to see all the presents under the tree."

"I'll see them when I wake up," Ben yawned, putting the pillow over his head.

Mary Anne was not going to give up, however. "I'm not going to let you sleep," she answered.

"Let me remind you," Ben said, his voice muffled under the pillow," that I can kick the hell out of you because I'm a lot stronger."

"You used to stay up all night with me waiting for morning," she said.

"I know, Mary Anne. That's true. I used to be a little kid. I used to believe in Santa Claus and leave him milk and cookies on the mantelpiece."

"Karen and Matt are down there by the tree now."

"Good," Ben sighed," tell them I'll be down in about six hours."

"You're coming now. They sent me to wake you," she said.

"I'm tired, Mary Anne," Ben replied," but it's been fabulous having this conversation with you. I feel much closer to you after having this talk this early in the morning. Now don't let the door hit you on the fanny on the way out."

"O.K., O.K.," she said, nodding her head sadly, "but I'm gonna tell you every present you got right now so that you won't have a single surprise when we finally open the presents."

"Don't do that, Mary Anne," Ben whined.

"Let's see," she teased," Matt bought you a can of tennis balls and Karen bought . . ."

"All right, goddam it, I'm getting up. I'm getting up."

"That's more like it, feces face."

They padded through the hall past their parents' bedroom door and down the stairs. Matt had plugged in the lights of the tree. The sight of the presents piled beneath the tree startled Ben. It was a massive pile of silver and gold paper; ribbons streaked the pile with bands of deep color. Once again, he thought, the two children of the depression had fought the misery of past holidays by spending a modest fortune on their own children. Presents spilled off a three foot stack that surrounded the tree. Each stocking, hanging from the fireplace and swollen fat as sausages, could not have held another item. Each child, mesmerized by the assault of color, stared into the drift of presents with a seasonal greed as pure as angel hair.

"Isn't it beautiful, Ben?" Karen said.

"Beautiful," he agreed," just beautiful."

"That's my present for you, right on top," Karen said to Ben.

"I'll open it first, Karen."

"That huge one over there is mine," Matt said. "It's the biggest present under the tree."

"I know what it is," Mary Anne said.

"What is it, Mary Anne? Tell me what it is. I'm too excited to wait," Matt said.

"It's a chemistry set," Mary Anne said.

"Why'd you tell me that," Matt half-screamed. "Now it won't be a surprise. What a crummy thing to do."

"If you don't want to know, don't ask," Mary Anne said.

"I can't wait till you see what I gave you, Matt," Karen said.

Then Mary Anne spoke," You know what I love about Christmas? Really love? I hear people talking all the time about the spirit of giving. How it feels better to give than to receive. I don't believe that at all. I've analyzed myself very carefully and I've come to the conclusion that I love the spirit of getting. I'd much rather get things than give things. I hate to give things. I hate to spend money on someone else when I could be spending it on myself. I hate to see other people ripping open presents that are not for me. Being truly honest, I wish every present under that tree were marked, 'To Mary Anne, with love.' Christmas is a time for getting things. I like things. All kinds of things. Nice things. Heavy things. Fragile things. Some people like to collect stamps, coins, or antiques. Me? I just like to collect things. I like having things very much. More than I could ever explain. I heard ol' Sister Loretta saying after catechism class that she's afraid that Christ is being taken out of Christmas. That makes me happy. I'd like to see the Christ removed altogether. Then I could get more things."

"That's the most selfish thing I've ever heard," Matt said.

"Oh it is, Matt-midget?" Mary Anne hissed. "Well why don't we just go through every present under the tree with your name on it and give it to someone else. Then you'll be giving and we all know that's the true spirit of Christmas. Anybody that says they enjoy giving more than getting is a tacky hypocrite."

"You're a big asshole sometimes, Mary Anne."

"Little brother is learning how to cuss," Mary Anne said.

"All right, let's cut the crap," Ben said with an inconsequential wave of the hand. "It's getting time to wake up Mom and Dad."

"Let's do it now," Karen squealed.

"I demand an apology," Mary Anne said.

"For what?" Ben asked.

"For Matt-creep calling me a big asshole," she said, folding her arms like a Buddha and setting her jaw.

"Apologize, Matt," Ben said. "Tell her she's not a big asshole. Tell her she's a little asshole."

"Very funny," Mary Anne said," but I demand an apology."

"Sweet Jesus, Mary Anne. As much as you tease Matt and make his life miserable, it's stupid to expect him to apologize to you."

"Yeah, especially because you're such a big asshole," Matt said.

"I'm very sensitive. My feelings get hurt very easily. So you can tell the Lilliputian that I am not going to move until he apologizes."

"What's a Lilliputian, Ben?" Matt asked.

"It's a real cool guy, Matt. Why don't you just tell her you're sorry, Matt. Or shell mope around for days."

"I'm sorry," Matt said without vigor.

"Your apology is certainly not accepted, creep. But it will do for now."

"I had my fingers crossed anyway," Matt retorted.

Then Mary Anne rose and ran for the stairs. "Last one up to Mom's room is part colored," she yelled.

From that moment on, they adhered to the unwritten law of Christmas past. Now, they moved in ritual.

They ran up the stairs; their bare feet drumming against the wood, their laughter announcing their arrival at their parents' door. Entering the room like resistance fighters, they vaulted the bed, pulled covers and blankets from their parents' dreaming bodies. Colonel Meecham cursed. Karen tugged at her father's arms, while Ben tried to pull his legs off the bed. Catching Ben off guard, Bull kicked him into the open closet where his uniforms hung. Matt leaped on his father's chest trying to drag him off the bed by attacking Bull close to the center. It only took a moment for Matt to fly off the bed onto the floor. Lillian had already gotten up and was putting on her robe and house shoes in preparation for the impending predawn ritual at the tree.

All four children concentrated their energies on their father. They came at him from every angle, wrestling for control of an arm or a leg, trying to get him to the floor. Each year they had to fight him to the floor before they would even consider going downstairs. Ben finally got on Bull's back at the same moment Mary Anne locked onto a piece of his ear. Mary Anne twisted the ear, Ben pushed off from the headboard, Karen grunted at the legs, and Matt had his head under his father's buttocks shouting" Simba Barracuda. "Slowly, and very heavily, Colonel Meecham fell to the bedroom floor, one limb at a time.

"Who dares attack the Great Santini?" he roared from the floor.

"The children of Santini," Mary Anne yelled.

"What do the children of Santini wish?"

"They wish to open their presents, O Great Santini," Karen said.

"Then I must ask a question," Colonel Meecham said, growing serious for a moment, then exploding with an exultant cry," Who's the greatest of them all?"

"The Great Santini!" his children yelled in unison.

"Who is the king of them all?"

"The Great Santini!"

"Who is lord of all he sees?"

"The Great Santini!"

"Who is the greatest fighter pilot that ever lived?"

"The Great Santini!"

"Who sees all, hears all, and knows all?"

"The Great Santini!"

"Then Santini commands his children to assemble by the tree," Colonel Meecham said with a flourish. "The Santini will dress, go to the tree, and give out presents at approximately 0535 hours. But Santini must have a cup of coffee before he begins."

At the bottom of the stairs, Lillian bestowed a long holiday kiss on each one of her children and wished them a Merry Christmas. Mary Anne rushed into the kitchen and poured two cups of hot coffee from a pot she had brewed three hours before. Matthew plunged into the middle of the pile around the tree and threw presents over himself until he almost disappeared from view.

"No, Matt," Lillian said. "Wait until your father hands you a present."

"I just want to feel 'em on top of me," Matt said from under the pile.

"Hurry up, Daddy," Karen pleaded from the bottom of the stairs.

"No one rushes Santini," a voice answered.

Finally, Colonel Meecham began his descent, every step a deliberate one, tortoise-slow, designed to augment the impatience of his giddily avaricious offspring. He was dressed in his fatigues which were cleaned and pressed. His brass glittered when it caught the reflection of the Christmas lights. He was wearing his flight jacket and his inspection shoes.

Mary Anne brought him his cup of coffee as he eased into his chair near the tree. Lillian was already drinking hers. Bull thanked his daughter with an exaggerated southern accent, then took a sip of coffee.

"Too hot," he said sadly. "I'll have to wait until it cools."

"We ain't playin' the three bears, Popsy," Mary Anne said.

Matthew ran to his father's side and began blowing into the cup. "I'll cool it off, Dad. "He blew wildly and coffee spilled out of the cup.

"Get outta here, jocko," Colonel Meecham ordered. "Nature will cool it off in her own good time. Ya got it? With your snotty germs, you could be givin' me a cancer or somethin'. Do you read me loud and clear, mister?"

"Yes, sir."

For a good thirty seconds, Colonel Meecham sat reflecting in his chair staring at his steaming coffee with an ineffable sadness. Finally, he took a cautious sip. He smacked his lips together, shook his head in serene affirmation, purred, and took another sip. His children applauded. He sipped his coffee as delicately as a debutante, as slowly as an octogenarian. He savored it, moaned his approval of it, praised it with clucking poultry sounds, and cries of delight. "I have drunk coffee all over the world, in two wars, before and after battles, on liberty in exotic ports and I do have to declare that this here is the finest cup of coffee I have ever put to my lips. I'd rather drink a good cup of coffee than bomb Moscow."

"I gotta open me a present," Matt blurted out.

"Not until your father hands it to you," Mrs. Meecham said.

"I'll start soon, Matt," his father yawned, relishing the drama," right after I get me another cup of coffee."

"Boo!" his children yelled. "Boo, Santini!"

But Mary Anne grabbed his cup and sprinted for the kitchen at full speed. She returned in less than half a minute; Colonel Meecham tasted the coffee, then shook his head mournfully. "It's just too hot," he said.

Without hesitation, Mary Anne dropped an ice cube into his coffee. The other children applauded her foresight.

The second slowest cup of coffee ever consumed by man was finally empty as every eye in the Meecham living room remained fastened on the figure of Colonel Meecham. At last he set his cup down with a final, definitive click against the saucer. He picked a present at random from under the tree. He pretended to have difficulty reading the name. He squinted dramatically. He asked for a magnifying glass. Then he said," To Karen, from Santa Claus."

His wife, sitting now under the tree, said," I hope ya'll aren't disappointed. It's going to be a lean Christmas."

It had begun. The giving of gifts hand-delivered by Bull Meecham to his family on his finest day. In the year of our lord 1962. In the reign of Santini.