Christmas in a Cave

CHRISTMAS IN A CAVE

“I’m pretty sure it’s Christmas,” I said.

Bart and I were wandering around the perimeter of the cave we were being held in, looking for a way out.

“Christmas?” my companion queried.

“Yeah, Christmas,” I said. “You know, the Sweet Baby Jesus, son of God, Blessed Virgin Mary, Joseph, Christmas carols, Santa Claus, presents, food, parties, stockings hung by the chimney with care, reindeer … Christmas.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

I looked across the room at him.

“You don’t know about Christmas?”

“Nope. I don’t have a clue.”

We lapsed into silence, me looking at Bart, Bart examining the walls for a means of escape,

“So, you don’t celebrate Christmas?” I asked.

“No. Why would I?”

“Well, you know, it’s a pretty common celebration.”

“For who?” he asked, turning to look at me.

“Well, for everyone. Even people who aren’t Christian celebrate some of the the traditions.”

He snorted, looking at me, saying nothing.

“You know, peace on Earth, good will towards men.”

He arched an eyebrow, watching, waiting for me to realize what I had said …

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.  

“Oh, right. Men. Sorry.”

He snorted again, sending a waft of smoke towards me.  

We continued to explore the rough walls of the cave.

“So,” he asked, “what is this Christmas? Some kind of celebration?” He looked at me, yellow eyes glowing.

I thought about it for a second.

“It’ kinda like an origin story, but not really. The birth of the Son of God, Jesus Christ. It’s Christianity’s second most important celebration.”

He looked at me, eyebrow again raised.

“Right. Christians. Religion.” I paused. “Okay, so I don’t suppose you have any deities that you worship.”

“I have no idea. I was raised by humans, but they never mentioned gods or deities — human or otherwise.”  

He thought a moment. “I have heard the phrase ‘Holy Christ,’ but it was used in conjunction with the other phrase, ‘Will you look at the size of it’ when referring to me. But as a construct of formal worship, I’ve got nothing.”

“Okay, so humans, for the most part, worship different gods and deities. For Christians, it’s God — with a capital G — and His designated deity on Earth, Jesus Christ, His son.”

Bart was nodding.  

“Okay. Seems weird, but you are humans, after all." He shook his head.  "So much weirdness.”

I snickered. “Oh, just wait.” I said, “The story gets better.”

“Do go on,” he said, with may or may not have been a smile. Hard to tell. Dragons don't have lips.

“So, apparently Jesus was born in a stable in a small town called Bethlehem — no room at the inn — to a virgin mother, named Mary and her husband Joseph. There was a bright star in the sky that led everyone to Jesus. There were three wise men visited bearing gifts to celebrate His birth — gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”

“Huh?”

So, gold—“

“I know what gold is, I’m a dragon.” 

A small stream of smoke escaped from his snout.

“Ah, right. Of course. So the other two — frankincense, and myrrh — I’m not too sure about. I think you burn them, maybe. Now, if we could get cell reception down here, I’d be able to tell you. But no such luck, and my phone’s dead.”

I took a moment to think about the predicament I — we — were in. We were really in deep. When I’d been captured, I’d been thrown into this cave. I think Bart was supposed to eat me. But lucky for me he was lonelier than he was hungry, and we struck up a friendship. Or as much of a friendship as you can in three days.  

“Anyways ….” he prompted.

“Right," I said, shaking off my worry.  "The Sweet Baby Jesus was also visited by some shepherds and their flocks. I don’t know why.”

Bart looked wistful. 

“I love sheep.” He paused. “They’re so tasty.”

I wanted to get past the tasty sheep. Nobody wants to be around when a dragon realizes it’s hungry.

“So, that’s why we celebrate Christmas — the birth of God’s only son. But for some reason we celebrate it in December. Scholars actually believe that Jesus was born in April. I would have liked April. December is dark and cold. But some Roman emperor wanted December twenty-fifth because that was believed to be the winter solstice. It’s been celebrated since the third century AD—”

“Blah, blah, blah,” said Bart. “T.M.I.”

“Sorry. Anyway it’s a very important celebration for Christians.”

Bart just grunted, while he continued to examine the walls, looking for a way to escape.

“We’re never getting out of here,” he mumbled under his breath, and snorted again filling the cave with the smell of brimstone.

I was beginning to think he was right.

“You were put in here. So there’s got to be a way out. Dragon-sized.”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. “But I wasn’t completely grown when they put me in here.”

“Why are you in here?” I asked. I’d never thought about it before.

“Because I was too big to control. And I hadn’t bonded with any particular human when I hatched, so I wasn’t loyal to anyone. I was seen as a ‘problem.’” He made air quotes with his claws.

He thought for a minute. “I think they want me for a weapon, but aren’t sure they can trust me. They’re right not to trust me. First chance, I’m gone.”

“Where would you go?” I asked.

“I dunno. Just not here.”

We continued our search. Once we finished looked around the walls, I started examining the floor.

“So, what was the other stuff you were talking about. What is a Santa. And what about the presents. I love presents. Especially sheep.”

Move away from the sheep.

“Right. So in modern times people started to give each other gifts in the name of Christ. The real Santa is based an old time-y saint from around the same time as Christmas was first celebrated, who was known for his generosity. He some how morphed into modern day Santa Claus — a jolly old elf who lives at the North Pole with a bunch of elves who make toys for all the good boys and girls. He delivers all the toys and gifts all over the world on Christmas eve.”  

"Are you kidding me?" Bart asked.

I just nodded affirmative.

“So from a generous ancient saint to a dude living at the North Pole. That’s a stretch.” He looked at me, confused. “How’s he get all the gifts around the world? Does he have a dragon?”

“No. Actually he has eight flying reindeer who pull his sled around the world.”

Bart slowly nodded his head. 

“I understand that reindeer are very tasty.”  

He chuckled. More smoke.

“You humans are whack. So very weird.”

“There’s more.”

“Really?”

“Yup. Sometime in the sixteenth century, people decided to put the gifts under a Christmas tree — a conifer. That you’d cut down. And put in your house. And put decorations on it. And lights.”

He looked at me, confused.

“So many questions.”

“I know, right?” I said.

“Why pine trees?”  

“Egypt. Some sort of tradition.”

“Are there a lot of Christians in Egypt?”

“About ten percent of the population, but a not the same kind of Christians, mostly. Coptic Christians. Different Christmas.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

“Good, cuz I have no idea how it works.”

We went back to searching.

“Hey, what’s this?” I asked.

Bart lumbered over, peering down. We were looking at a fissure in the rock floor. But it was too straight to have occurred naturally. It looked manmade. He swept his tail across the floor to expose the outline of a trap door.

“Bingo!” he said.

I looked around for a way to pry open the door.

Bart just smiled, I assumed.

“Here, hold my beer!” he laughed, and stuck a thick black claw down the side of trapdoor, and heaved. A stone door opened up, leading down into the dark earth.

“We did it!” he said.

“Now what?” I asked.

He looked down the hole, and breathed out a small shoot of flame, illuminating the dark maw, the bottom unseen.  

“We go down.”

There wasn’t enough room for him to unfurl his wings, so using his claws he clung to the walls and disappeared from sight.

“Come on!” he yelled. “It’s only about fifty feet down.”

I looked into the blackness. I didn’t have claws to help me cling to the sides of the tunnel.

“Uh, I’m not sure I can.”

Disappointment spread through me. I sat back.

“You go ahead,” I said. “Find a way out.”

I thought of being alone in the cave. I thought abut how much I’d miss Bart. I hung my head between my knees.

“Hop on!”

I wiped my head up. There was Bart, head and shoulders out of the shaft.

A smile split my face.

“Yes!”

I ran over, and jumped on — sort of. His back was covered in scales, and there wasn’t really anywhere for me to hang on to.

“Grab my ears, and wrap your legs around my neck.

I did as I was told, and Bart decended quickly and nimbly. For a full-sized dragon he could move like the wind.  

Within seconds we were at the bottom of the shaft. A small snout of flame lit the bottom of the tunnel which continued in two opposite directions, disappearing into the dark. We could go left, or we could go right.

“Which way?” I asked.

Bart extinguished his flame, dousing us in darkness. I heard him suck in a breath.

“Left. I smell fresh air.”

We raced down the tunnel, me still clinging to Bart’s back. Within minutes, I could smell the the fresh air, as well.  

Bart suddenly stopped.

“Dang,” he said. 

In front of I could see stars sparkling in the night sky, feel the cool air washing away the dampness of the cave. But between us and freedom, was a metal gate, with a giant padlock, securely keeping us in.

“Dang,” I said, slipping from his back.

I walked over and examined the lock — it was big and heavy, but old.

“I could probably pick the lock. But I need a lock pick of to do it.” I looked at him. “I don’t suppose you have a piece of metal I could use.”

Snort.

“Like this,” he said, using his front claw to remove what looked, for all the world, like a paperclip from under his wing.

I just stared at him.

“Sometimes my back gets itchy, you know, under the scales. And I can’t really reach it, so when I found this I kept it.” He smiled. I think he smiled. It’s hard to tell with a dragon. “Will it work?”

“Wow!” I said reaching for the metal. “It’s like a Christmas miracle!”

“Wait! You guys have miracles? Really?”

It was my turn to snort.

“Just wait til I tell you about Easter!”

I had the lock picked in no time, and Bart launched us into the air towards freedom.