The Jungle Boy’s Christmas Miracle

 

 

The Jungle Boy’s Christmas Miracle

(A Short Story)
Maria Concepcion Panlilio

         Bending ankle deep in water teeming with crabs and tadpoles, the loin-clothed young Bundoc plucked crabs from the mountain stream for supper. As though they were delicate jasmines for his mother, he was careful in depositing them into a flat-woven basket hanging from his waist. He stared at the wriggling tadpoles and thought they looked playful and happy.

         "Magagalit si Inay," he murmured, knowing his mother would not be pleased, but he simply could not bother the dancing tadpoles. He secured the lid of the basket and splashed back to the jungle’s tangles. He stopped not far from their nipa hut to pick fragrant jasmines and sampaguita—his mother’s favorite flowers.

         Suddenly, a huge flying machine roared and shrieked above the trees. Frightened, with huge, rounded black eyes, Bundoc cowered, throwing his arms over his head as the deafening snarl of the giant insect drowned the sound of the jungle. The helicopter scooped closer, and the boy jumped and crouched behind a big rock, clutching his precious basket of crabs. To him, the howling bird looked like a giant grasshopper that had swallowed two white men.

         Almost as suddenly as it had come, the copter and the noise disappeared into the white puffy clouds. Bundoc was relieved. Since his beloved peaceful mountain started to yawn and occasionally release a menacing growl, these flying machines had been frequenting his home. He had never seen so many white people in his life since the Peace Corps came last year from a faraway place called America, and started a school for the children.

          “There are other lands beyond your rainbow,” Bundoc was elated to hear from his teacher. “People of different sizes, color of skin, hair and eyes, and who worship different gods, exist in various parts of the world.”

         Gods? The first time Bundoc had met Santa Claus, he thought the jolly big man with the big belly, sparkling eyes, and cottony beard that framed his head and puffy face, was the white man’s god.

         "Ho-Ho-Ho! What would you like for Christmas, young man?"

          “I . . .I don’t know. What is Christmas?”

         Till the white men came to his village, Bundoc never knew about this special day the white men called Christmas. He wondered why the happy fat man gave gifts to children. He could not think of anything he wanted, so Santa gave him a pair of Reeboks. The shoes were of no use to him. He preferred to feel the earth beneath his feet; and when climbing trees, he could grip the bark better with his calloused toes than rubber soles.

         One thing that fascinated and thrilled Bundoc with his gift was the picture of a mystical snow scene printed on the shiny paper that wrapped the shoebox. He had never seen a house made of stone and smoking on top. Why were the trees bare? And what kind of bird was that on a branch the color of blood? He placed the box next to his sleeping mat. It was the first thing he saw when he woke, and the last when he went to sleep. Between wakefulness and unconsciousness, he saw himself frolic in the splendor of his snow-covered village. He felt as happy as the dancing tadpoles.

         Upon Bundoc’s passionate request, his teacher conducted a session about snow, showing the class picture books of winter all over the world. Eyes and mouth wide, Bundoc was absorbed by the images.

         “We call this winter wonderland,” the teacher explained. “The white powder that covers everything is called snow. It usually comes down from the sky during the coldest months, from November through February. In other places, winter starts early and lasts a lot longer.”

         Most of the tribal children shuddered at the thought of people freezing to death. Bundoc could not suppress his excitement. “I know what to ask Santa for Christmas this year. Snow! I can’t wait for Santa to come soon.”

          Bundoc's enthusiastic words incited a chorus of groans from the class.

          “That’s nice,” the Peace Corps volunteer said smiling. “Not to disappoint you, but Santa cannot grant that kind of wish.”

         A shadow crossed Bundoc’s face. His lips quivered when he spoke. “But isn’t that what Santa is all about . . .making wishes come true?”

         ”It’s impossible to snow in the tropics,” the teacher explained, “especially on your island, which is situated right on the equator. It’s just too hot here.”

         Bundoc refused to listen. He had made up his mind, and could not wait for Santa to come so he could tell him what he wanted for Christmas.

* * *

         The day before Christmas, the village received word that Santa was coming. Bundoc could not contain his excitement. He was already up at dawn waiting on top of a ridge for Santa’s arrival. “I have to be the first to spot him,” he said repeatedly to himself. “I have to be the first to tell him what I want for Christmas.”

         A helicopter flew loudly overhead. After months of seeing the strangers and their strange-looking instruments, their presence had become a commonplace in his village. They poked devices at every swelling and vents, the way the village shaman would listen to the insides of a pregnant woman. He looked up towards the north slope of the mountain, and he noticed a swelling on its summit. He scratched his head, frowning. And he thought he knew every ridge, rock, tree, hill, and mound on the mountain.

         “Could there be a huge monster pushing the earth outward?” he murmured. Loud music coming from the trail below interrupted his observation.

You better watch out, you better not cry
You better not pout, I’m telling you why
Santa Claus is coming to town

         The song from a boom box announced the arrival of Santa Claus and friends. Bundoc saw Santa carrying a huge bag over his shoulder.

         His heart somersaulting inside his chest, Bundoc ran down the hillside to greet the group. “I am going to have a white Christmas!” he screamed. “I will have my snow in the village!”

         Upon hearing Bundoc’s wish, Santa laughed so hard the boy feared it would wake up the mountain again. “My dear boy . . .I have just the right gift for you.” Santa pulled a box out of his bag and shook it vigorously then handed it to Bundoc. “Here, open it and you’ll find what you want in that box.”

         Bundoc frowned when he opened the box and saw a snow globe. He had seen something like it in one of the pictures his teacher showed the class. Inside the glass was an amazing miniaturized city in America called New York, with fake snow falling over it.

         ”This is very nice, Santa. But it is not what I want.”

         ”Hey, you got your gift. Go away now,” yelled the girl in front of the developing line of children waiting for their turn.

         Ignoring the mean girl, Bundoc forced himself back in front of the line and begged Santa to take the snow globe back. “I want the real thing,” he implored. “Not this. Please make it snow!”

         ”You’re so stupid,” yelled the girl. “Didn’t you understand what the teacher told us? It’s too hot here. Snow doesn’t fall here!” At that, the girl pushed Bundoc who lost his balance and fell down, dropping the globe on a rock, which then tumbled down on the ground. Everybody watched as the glass shattered into small pieces, scattering the fake snowflakes in the air and showering Bundoc in slow motion.

         ”Bundoc got his snow!” one of the children yelled. Laughter erupted from the line.

I’m dreaming of a white Christmas
just like the ones I used to know
Where the tree tops glisten, and children listen

         The song was coming from the snow globe, which was triggered when it hit the rock. Bundoc had never heard anything sound more beautiful. The singer’s voice flowed like a gentle-flowing stream.

         Santa castigated the unruly children and threatened to leave if they did not behave. He then assisted Bundoc to his feet, and with a soothing voice said, “You can have anything else from my bag, my dear boy. But snow . . . I cannot give you. Only a miracle from God can give you what you ask of me.”

         Bundoc cocked his head quizzically then life returned in his eyes. “Is this God you speak of the Jesus who was born on Christmas day?”

         ”Well, that’s what I believe . . . but—“

          “Then it is to God that I ask for the snow now.”

         Bundoc ran to the hillside and stood upon the highest point. “God, Jesus, please let it snow! Let it snow! Let it snow!”

         Shaking his head, Santa resumed the distribution of gifts to the children, only to be interrupted again by a couple of geologists running toward them. “The mountain is going to erupt soon. Everybody must evacuate!”

         The mountain rumbled as if stirring from its slumber. From where he stood, Bundoc saw a thick cloud of gray-white smoke rise from the mouth of the mountain. The ground shook, sending him staggering and falling to his knees. He thought of his mother and father, and his instinct was to run home and be with them. But a powerful blast from above rocked the mountain as it belched a gigantic mushroom cloud. He felt as if it were going to open up and swallow him.

         Bundoc stood frozen in awe as he watched snowflake-like ash rain down on him. He caught some of the ashfall in the palm of his hands. It felt warm to his touch.

* * *

         Christmas day. From the distance, the monochromatic village looked as though it had rained snow overnight. The volcano’s eruption only lasted a few seconds, but it was enough to cover everything with the whitish powdery ash. Miraculously, no creature of any kind perished in the explosion.

         Bundoc got his miracle.

~~END~~

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