Why Won't Santa Visit Poor Children?

A Christmas story from the Philippines by Roy Thomsitt

 

Santa Claus And The Well  - 2

Di's mother watched with astonishment as her eldest daughter rushed past her in floods of tears, her face shocked almost beyond recognition. She wiped her hands and followed Di into her room.

Di had thrown herself face down on the mattress on the floor, weeping out of control, her body shaking with each wave of tears.

Her mother knelt beside her, patting Di gently on the small of the back, waiting for Di to calm sufficiently to speak. A moment later Crystal and Rose were standing beside their sister, filled with pity and confused by what may have overcome her.

Di was too upset to face anyone. Her mother looked at her two younger daughters, seeking some explanation of what had happened in the garden. The girls did not know; they had just seen Di rush inside after bursting into tears.

Ma asked Crystal and Rose to go and play in the garden while she spoke to their older sister. When they had gone, Ma laid next to Di and just held her close; but Di would not show her face, she would not speak. So Ma lay quietly with her for more than 10 minutes, until Di's crying subsided, without stopping completely.

"Di, Di what is it? What happened?", Ma asked gently.

Di could still not look directly at her mother. She sniffled deeply before blurting out into the pillow:

"It's Santa Claus, Ma. I think he fell down our well last Christmas. I think Santa is dead. He won't be visiting any children any more."

Di burst into tears again, and sobbed into the pillow as hard as when she had first run in from the garden.

"Di, Di, no, no, no, Santa did not fall down our well," Ma consoled, her arm around her shell shocked daughter. "Come, now, come, don't think such a thing."

It was some while before Di calmed enough for Ma to speak again.

"What makes you think that, Di? That Santa would do such a thing? Don't think he's dead, I'm sure it's not true," Ma said assuredly.

Whether true or not, Di's devastation was real; but she managed to splutter a few more words:

"Our well, Ma. It looks like a chimney. I know Santa would try to go down to deliver my gifts. But he couldn't get up again. I know it, Ma, I just know it."

For the first time, Di managed to look at her Ma; the sadness that drowned her eyes was total, the tears as flowing as the nearby creek.

"Ma, remember last Christmas morning? Pa went to use the well, and it was broken? He pulled hard then suddenly just the rope came up with nothing on the end."

Di looked pleadingly at her Ma:

"Ma, we killed Santa Claus because we had no chimney; we killed the nicest man on earth."

Ma tried to smile and assure Di that it could not have been so; but she did recall the strange thing that happened on Christmas morning; and even Ma began to wonder what, or who, could have broken the pail at the bottom of their very deep well.

 

 

 

Next: Santa Claus Story (cont)