{"id":3873,"date":"2017-12-25T01:00:41","date_gmt":"2017-12-24T23:00:41","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/?p=3873"},"modified":"2017-12-15T19:22:56","modified_gmt":"2017-12-15T17:22:56","slug":"happy-birthday-dear-jesus","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/?p=3873","title":{"rendered":"Happy Birthday Dear Jesus"},"content":{"rendered":"

Frederik Pohl was a science-fiction pioneer and a social critic\u2014and also a communist sympathizer despite his deep skepticism that social engineering can bring about utopia. And nothing better encapsulates Pohl in all his complexity than a short story he penned in 1956, Happy Birthday, Dear Jesus<\/i><\/a>.<\/p>\n

It’s\u00a08 000 words long, short for a story, maybe a bit long if you’re of the twitter generation, but well worth the read.<\/p>\n

1956. Science Fiction authors are sometimes true visionaries.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Happy Birthday, Dear Jesus<\/p>\n

IT WAS THE CRAZIEST Christmas I ever spent. Partly it was Heinemann\u2019s fault\u2014he came up with a new wrinkle in gift-wrapping that looked good but like every other idea that comes out of the front office meant plenty of headaches for the rest of us. But what really messed up Christmas for me was the girl. Personnel sent her down\u2014after I\u2019d gone up there myself three times and banged my fist on the table. It was the height of the season and when she told me that she had had her application in three weeks before they called her, I excused myself and got Personnel on the store phone from my private office. \u201cMartin here,\u201d I said. \u201cWhat the devil\u2019s the matter with you people? This girl is the Emporium type if I ever saw one, and you\u2019ve been letting her sit around nearly a month while\u2014\u2014\u201d Crawford, the Personnel head, interrupted me. \u201cHave you talked to her very much?\u201d he wanted to know. \u201cWell, no. But\u2014\u201d \u201cCall me back when you do,\u201d he advised, and clicked off. I went back to the stockroom where she was standing patiently, and looked her over a little thoughtfully. But she looked all right to me. She was blond-haired and blue-eyed and not very big; she had a sweet, slow smile. She wasn\u2019t exactly beautiful, but she looked like a girl you\u2019d want to know. She wasn\u2019t bold, and she wasn\u2019t too shy; and that\u2019s a perfect description of what we call \u201cThe Emporium Type.\u201d So what in the world was the matter with Personnel?<\/p>\n

Her name was Lilymary Hargreave. I put her to work on the giftwrap spraying machine while I got busy with my paper work. I have a hundred forty-one persons in the department and at the height of the Christmas season I could use twice as many. But we do get the work done. For instance, Saul & Capell, the next biggest store in town, has a hundred and sixty in their gift and counseling department, and their sales run easily twenty-five per cent less than ours. And in the four years that I\u2019ve headed the department we\u2019ve yet to fail to get an order delivered when it was promised. All through that morning I kept getting glimpses of the new girl. She was a quick learner\u2014smart, too smart to be stuck with the sprayer for very long. I needed someone like her around, and right there on the spot I made up my mind that if she was as good as she looked I\u2019d put her in a counseling booth within a week, and the devil with what Personnel thought. The store was packed with last-minute shoppers. I suppose I\u2019m sentimental, but I love to watch the thousands of people bustling in and out, with all the displays going at once, and the lights on the trees, and the loudspeakers playing White Christmas and The Eighth Candle and Jingle Bells and all the other traditional old favorites. Christmas is more than a mere selling season of the year to me; it means something. The girl called me over near closing time. She looked distressed and with some reason. There was a dolly filled with gift-wrapped packages, and a man from Shipping looking annoyed. She said, \u201cI\u2019m sorry, Mr. Martin, but I seem to have done something wrong.\u201d The Shipping man snorted. \u201cLook for yourself, Mr. Martin,\u201d he said, handing me one of the packages. I looked. It was wrong, all right. Heinemann\u2019s new wrinkle that year was a special attached gift card\u2014a simple Yule scene and the printed message:<\/p>\n

The very Merriest of Season\u2019s Greetings<\/p>\n

From<\/p>\n

To<\/p>\n

$8.50<\/p>\n

The price varied with the item, of course. Heinemann\u2019s idea was for the customer to fill it out and mail it, ahead of time, to the person it was intended for. That way, the person who got it would know just about how much he ought to spend on a present for the first person. It was smart, I admit, and maybe the smartest thing about it was rounding the price off to the nearest fifty cents instead of giving it exactly. Heinemann said it was bad-mannered to be too precise\u2014and the way the customers were going for the idea, it had to be right. But the trouble was that the gift-wrapping machines were geared to only a plain card; it was necessary for the operator to put the price in by hand. I said, \u201cThat\u2019s all right, Joe; I\u2019ll take care of it.\u201d As Joe went satisfied back to Shipping, I told the girl: \u201cIt\u2019s my fault. I should have explained to you, but I guess I\u2019ve just been a little too rushed.\u201d She looked downcast. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said. \u201cNothing to be sorry about.\u201d I showed her the routing slip attached to each one, which the Shipping Department kept for its records once the package was on its way. \u201cAll we have to do is go through these; the price is on every one. We\u2019ll just fill out the cards and get them out. I guess\u2014\u201d I looked at my watch\u2014\u201dI guess you\u2019ll be a little late tonight, but I\u2019ll see that you get overtime and dinner money for it. It wasn\u2019t your mistake, after all.\u201d She said hesitantly, \u201cMr. Martin, couldn\u2019t it\u2014well, can I let it go for tonight? It isn\u2019t that I mind working, but I keep house for my father and if I don\u2019t get there on time he just won\u2019t remember to eat dinner. Please?\u201d I suppose I frowned a little, because her expression was a little worried. But, after all, it was her first day. I said, \u201cMiss Hargreave, don\u2019t give it a thought. I\u2019ll take care of it.\u201d The way I took care of it, it turned out, was to do it myself; it was late when I got through, and I ate quickly and went home to bed. But I didn\u2019t mind, for oh! the sweetness of the smile she gave me as she left.<\/p>\n

I looked forward to the next morning, because I was looking forward to seeing Lilymary Hargreave again. But my luck was out\u2014for she was. My number-two man, Johnny Furness, reported that she hadn\u2019t phoned either. I called Personnel to get her phone number, but they didn\u2019t have it; I got the address, but the phone company had no phone listed under her name. So I stewed around until the coffee break, and then I put my hat on and headed out of the store. It wasn\u2019t merely that I was interested in seeing her, I told myself; she was just too good a worker to get off on the wrong foot this way, and it was only simple justice for me to go to her home and set her straight. Her house was in a nondescript neighborhood\u2014not too good, not too bad. A gang of kids were playing under a fire hydrant at the corner\u2014but, on the other hand, the houses were neat and nearly new. Middle-class, you\u2019d have to say. I found the address, and knocked on the door of a second-floor apartment. It was opened by a tall, leathery man of fifty or so\u2014Lilymary\u2019s father, I judged. \u201cGood morning,\u201d I said. \u201cIs Miss Hargreave at home?\u201d He smiled; his teeth were bright in a very sun-bronzed face. \u201cWhich one?\u201d \u201cBlond girl, medium height, blue eyes. Is there more than one?\u201d \u201cThere are four. But you mean Lilymary; won\u2019t you come in?\u201d I followed him, and a six-year-old edition of Lilymary took my hat and gravely hung it on a rack made of bamboo pegs. The leathery man said, \u201cI\u2019m Morton Hargreave, Lily\u2019s father. She\u2019s in the kitchen.\u201d \u201cGeorge Martin,\u201d I said. He nodded and left me, for the kitchen, I presumed. I sat down on an old-fashioned studio couch in the living room, and the six-year-old sat on the edge of a straight-backed chair across from me, making sure I didn\u2019t pocket any of the souvenirs on the mantel. The room was full of curiosities\u2014what looked like a cloth of beaten bark hanging on one wall, with a throwing-spear slung over the cloth. Everything looked vaguely South-Seas, though I am no expert. The six-year-old said seriously, \u201cThis is the man, Lilymary,\u201d and I got up. \u201cGood morning,\u201d said Lilymary Hargreave, with a smudge of flour and an expression of concern on her face. I said, floundering, \u201cI, uh, noticed you hadn\u2019t come in and, well, since you were new to the Emporium, I thought\u2014\u2014\u201d \u201cI am sorry, Mr. Martin,\u201d she said. \u201cDidn\u2019t Personnel tell you about Sundays?\u201d \u201cWhat about Sundays?\u201d \u201cI must have my Sundays off,\u201d she explained. \u201cMr. Crawford said it was very unusual, but I really can\u2019t accept the job any other way.\u201d \u201cSundays off?\u201d I repeated. \u201cBut\u2014but, Miss Hargreave, don\u2019t you see what that does to my schedule? Sunday\u2019s our busiest day! The Emporium isn\u2019t a rich man\u2019s shop; our customers work during the week. If we aren\u2019t staffed to serve them when they can come in, we just aren\u2019t doing the job they expect of us!\u201d She said sincerely, \u201cI\u2019m terribly sorry, Mr. Martin.\u201d The six-year-old was already reaching for my hat. From the doorway her father said heartily, \u201cCome back again, Mr. Martin. We\u2019ll be glad to see you.\u201d He escorted me to the door, as Lilymary smiled and nodded and headed back to the kitchen. I said, \u201cMr. Hargreave, won\u2019t you ask Lilymary to come in for the afternoon, at least? I hate to sound like a boss, but I\u2019m really short-handed on weekends, right now at the peak of the season.\u201d \u201cSeason?\u201d \u201cThe Christmas season,\u201d I explained. \u201cNearly ninety per cent of our annual business is done in the Christmas season, and a good half of it on weekends. So won\u2019t you ask her?\u201d He shook his head. \u201cSix days the Lord labored, Mr. Martin,\u201d he boomed, \u201cand the seventh was the day of rest. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d And there I was, outside the apartment and the door closing politely but implacably behind me. Crazy people. I rode the subway back to the store in an irritable mood; I bought a paper, but I didn\u2019t read it, because every time I looked at it all I saw was the date that showed me how far the Christmas season already had advanced, how little time we had left to make our quotas and beat last year\u2019s record: the eighth of September. I would have something to say to Miss Lilymary Hargreave when she had the kindness to show up at her job. I promised myself. But, as it turned out, I didn\u2019t. Because that night, checking through the day\u2019s manifolds when everyone else had gone home, I fell in love with Lilymary Hargreave.<\/p>\n

Possibly that sounds silly to you. She wasn\u2019t even there, and I\u2019d only known her for a few hours, and when a man begins to push thirty without ever being married, you begin to think he\u2019s a hard case and not likely to fall slambang, impetuously in love like a teenager after his first divorce. But it\u2019s true, all the same. I almost called her up. I trembled on the brink of it, with my hand on the phone. But it was close to midnight, and if she wasn\u2019t home getting ready for bed I didn\u2019t want to know it, so I went home to my own bed. I reached under the pillow and turned off my dreamster before I went to sleep; I had a full library for it, a de luxe model with five hundred dreams that had been a present from the firm the Christmas before. I had Haroun al Rashid\u2019s harem and three of Charles Second\u2019s favorites on tape, and I had rocketing around the moon and diving to Atlantis and winning a sweepstakes and getting elected king of the world; but what I wanted to dream about was not on anybody\u2019s tape, and its name was Lilymary Hargreave.<\/p>\n

Monday lasted forever. But at the end of forever, when the tip of the nightingale\u2019s wing had brushed away the mountain of steel and the Shipping personnel were putting on their hats and coats and powdering their noses or combing their hair, I stepped right up to Lilymary Hargreave and asked her to go to dinner with me. She looked astonished, but only for a moment. Then she smiled. I have mentioned the sweetness of her smile. \u201cIt\u2019s wonderful of you to ask me, Mr. Martin,\u201d she said earnestly, \u201cand I do appreciate it. But I can\u2019t.\u201d \u201cPlease,\u201d I said. \u201cI am sorry.\u201d I might have said please again, and I might have fallen to my knees at her feet, it was that important to me. But the staff was still in the shop, and how would it look for the head of the department to fall at the feet of his newest employee? I said woodenly, \u201cThat\u2019s too bad.\u201d And I nodded and turned away, leaving her frowning after me. I cleared my desk sloppily, chucking the invoices in a drawer, and I was halfway out the door when I heard her calling after me: \u201cMr. Martin, Mr. Martin!\u201d She was hurrying toward me, breathless. \u201cI\u2019m sorry,\u201d she said, \u201cI didn\u2019t mean to scream at you. But I just phoned my father, and\u2014\u201d \u201cI thought you didn\u2019t have a phone,\u201d I said accusingly. She blinked at me. \u201cAt the rectory,\u201d she explained. \u201cAnyway, I just phoned him, and\u2014well, we\u2019d both be delighted if you would come and have dinner with us at home.\u201d Wonderful words! The whole complexion of the shipping room changed in a moment. I beamed foolishly at her, with a soft surge at my heart; I felt happy enough to endow a home, strong enough to kill a cave bear or give up smoking or any crazy, mixed-up thing. I wanted to shout and sing; but all I said was: \u201cThat sounds great.\u201d We headed for the subway, and although I must have talked to her on the ride I cannot remember a word we said, only that she looked like the angel at the top of our tallest Christmas tree.<\/p>\n

Dinner was good, and there was plenty of it, cooked by Lilymary herself, and I think I must have seemed a perfect idiot. I sat there, with the six-year-old on one side of me and Lilymary on the other, across from the ten-year-old and the twelve-year-old. The father of them all was at the head of the table, but he was the only other male. I understood there were a couple of brothers, but they didn\u2019t live with the others. I suppose there had been a mother at some time, unless Morton Hargreave stamped the girls out with a kind of cookie-cutter; but whatever she had been she appeared to be deceased. I felt overwhelmed. I wasn\u2019t used to being surrounded by young females, particularly as young as the median in that gathering. Lilymary made an attempt to talk to me, but it wasn\u2019t altogether successful. The younger girls were given to fits of giggling, which she had to put a stop to, and to making what were evidently personal remarks in some kind of a peculiar foreign tongue\u2014it sounded like a weird aboriginal dialect, and I later found out that it was. But it was disconcerting, especially from the lips of a six-year-old with the giggles. So I didn\u2019t make any very intelligent responses to Lilymary\u2019s overtures. But all things end, even eating dinner with giggling girls. And then Mr. Hargreave and I sat in the little parlor, waiting for the girls to\u2014 finish doing the dishes? I said, shocked, \u201cMr. Hargreave, do you mean they wash them?\u201d \u201cCertainly they wash them,\u201d he boomed mildly. \u201cHow else would they get them clean, Mr. Martin?\u201d \u201cWhy, dishwashers, Mr. Hargreave.\u201d I looked at him in a different way. Business is business. I said, \u201cAfter all, this is the Christmas season. At the Emporium we put a very high emphasis on dishwashers as a Christmas gift, you know. We\u2014\u201d He interrupted good-humoredly. \u201cI already have my gifts, Mr. Martin. Four of them, and very fine dishwashers they are.\u201d \u201cBut Mr. Hargreave\u2014\u201d \u201cNot Mister Hargreave.\u201d The six-year-old was standing beside me, looking disapproving. \u201cDoctor Hargreave.\u201d \u201cCorinne!\u201d said her father. \u201cForgive her, Mr. Martin. But you see we\u2019re not very used to the\u2014uh, civilized way of doing things. We\u2019ve been a long time with the Dyaks.\u201d The girls were all back from the kitchen, and Lilymary was out of her apron and looking\u2014unbelievable. \u201cEntertainment,\u201d she said brightly. \u201cMr. Martin, would you like to hear Corinne play?\u201d There was a piano in the corner. I said hastily, \u201cI\u2019m crazy about piano music. But\u2014\u2014\u201d Lilymary laughed. \u201cShe\u2019s good,\u201d she told me seriously. \u201cEven if I do have to say it to her face. But we\u2019ll let you off that if you like. Gretchen and I sing a little bit, if you\u2019d prefer it?\u201d Wasn\u2019t there any TV in this place? I felt as out of place as an Easterbunny-helper in the Santa Claus line, but Lilymary was still looking unbelievable. So I sat through Lilymary and the twelve-year old named Gretchen singing ancient songs while the six-year-old named Corinne accompanied them on the piano. It was pretty thick. Then the ten-year-old, whose name I never did catch, did recitations; and then they all looked expectantly at me. I cleared my throat, slightly embarrassed. Lilymary said quickly, \u201cOh, you don\u2019t have to do anything, Mr. Martin. It\u2019s just our custom, but we don\u2019t expect strangers to conform to it!\u201d I didn\u2019t want that word \u201cstranger\u201d to stick. I said, \u201cOh, but I\u2019d like to. I mean, I\u2019m not much good at public entertaining, but\u2014\u201d I hesitated, because that was the truest thing I had ever said. I had no more voice than a goat, and of course the only instrument I had ever learned to play was a TV set. But then I remembered something from my childhood. \u201cI\u2019ll tell you what,\u201d I said enthusiastically. \u201cHow would you like something appropriate to the season? \u2018A Visit from Santa Claus,\u2019 for instance?\u201d Gretchen said snappishly, \u201cWhat season? We don\u2019t start celebrating\u2014\u201d Her father cut her off. \u201cPlease do, Mr. Martin,\u201d he said politely. \u201cWe\u2019d enjoy that very much.\u201d I cleared my throat and started:<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the season of Christmas, and all through the house<\/p>\n

\u2018Tis the season of Christmas, and all through the house
\nSt. Nick and his helpers begin their carouse.
\nThe closets are stuffed and the drawers overflowing
\nWith gift-wrapped remembrances, coming and going.
\nWhat a joyous abandon of Christmastime glow!
\nWhat a making of lists! What a spending of dough!
\nSo much for\u2014<\/p>\n

\u201cHey!\u201d said Gretchen, looking revolted. \u201cDaddy, that isn\u2019t how\u2014\u2014\u201d \u201cHush!\u201d said Dr. Hargreave grimly. His own expression wasn\u2019t very delighted either, but he said, \u201cPlease go on.\u201d I began to wish I\u2019d kept my face shut. They were all looking at me very peculiarly, except for Lilymary, who was conscientiously studying the floor. But it was too late to back out; I went on:<\/p>\n

So much for the bedroom, so much for the bath,
\nSo much for the kitchen\u2014too little by half!
\nCome Westinghouse, Philco! Come Hotpoint, G.E.!
\nCome Sunbeam! Come Mixmaster! Come to the Tree!
\nSo much for the wardrobe\u2014how shine Daddy\u2019s eyes
\nAs he reaps his Yule harvest of slippers and ties.
\nSo much for the family, so much for the friends,
\nSo much for the neighbors\u2014the list never ends.
\nA contingency fund for the givers belated
\nWhose gifts must be hastily reciprocated.
\nAnd out of \u2014<\/p>\n

Gretchen stood up. \u201cIt\u2019s our bedtime,\u201d she said. \u201cGood night, everybody.\u201d Lilymary flared, \u201cIt is not! Now be still!\u201d And she looked at me for the first time. \u201cPlease go on,\u201d she said, with a furrowed brow. I said hoarsely:<\/p>\n

And out of the shops, how they spring with a clatter,
\nThe gifts and appliances words cannot flatter!
\nThe robot dishwasher, the new Frigidaire,
\nThe doll with the didy and curlable hair!
\nThe electrified hairbrush, the black lingerie,
\nThe full-color stereoscopic TV!
\nCome, Credit Department! Come, Personal Loan!
\nCome, Mortgage, come Christmas Club, come \u2014<\/p>\n

Lilymary turned her face away. I stopped and licked my lips. \u201cThat\u2019s all I remember,\u201d I lied. \u201cI\u2014I\u2019m sorry if\u2014\u201d Dr. Hargreave shook himself like a man waking from a nightmare. \u201cIt\u2019s getting rather late,\u201d he said to Lilymary. \u201cPerhaps\u2014perhaps our guest would enjoy some coffee before he goes.\u201d<\/p>\n

I declined the coffee and Lilymary walked me to the subway. We didn\u2019t talk much. At the subway entrance she firmly took my hand and shook it. \u201cIt\u2019s been a pleasant evening,\u201d she said. A wandering group of carolers came by; I gave my contribution to the guitarist. Suddenly angry, I said, \u201cDoesn\u2019t that mean anything to you?\u201d \u201cWhat?\u201d I gestured after the carolers. \u201cThat. Christmas. The whole sentimental, lovable, warmhearted business of Christmas. Lilymary, we\u2019ve only known each other a short time, but\u2014\u201d She interrupted: \u201cPlease, Mr. Martin. I\u2014I know what you\u2019re going to say.\u201d She looked terribly appealing there in the Christmassy light of the red and green lights from the Tree that marked the subway entrance. Her pale, straight legs, hardly concealed by the shorts, picked up chromatic highlights; her eyes sparkled. She said, \u201cYou see, as Daddy says, we\u2019ve been away from\u2014civilization. Daddy is a missionary, and we\u2019ve been with the Dyaks since I was a little girl. Gretch and Marlene and Corinne were born there. We\u2014we do things differently on Borneo.\u201d She looked up at the Tree over us, and sighed. \u201cIt\u2019s very hard to get used to,\u201d she said. \u201cSometimes I wish we had stayed with the Dyaks.\u201d Then she looked at me. She smiled. \u201cBut sometimes,\u201d she said, \u201cI am very glad we\u2019re here.\u201d And she was gone. Ambiguous? Call it merely ladylike. At any rate, that\u2019s what I called it; I took it to be the beginning of the kind of feeling I so desperately wanted her to have; and for the second night in a row I let Haroun\u2019s harem beauties remain silent on their tapes.<\/p>\n

Calamity struck. My number-two man, Furness, turned up one morning with a dismal expression and a letter in a government franked envelope. \u201cGreeting!\u201d it began. \u201cYou are summoned to serve with a jury of citizens for the term\u2014\u201d \u201cJury duty!\u201d I groaned. \u201cAt a time like this! Wait a minute, Johnny, I\u2019ll call up Mr. Heinemann. He might be able to fix it if\u2014\u201d Furness was shaking his head. \u201cSorry, Mr. Martin. I already asked him and he tried; but no go. It\u2019s a big case\u2014blindfold sampling of twelve brands of filter cigarettes\u2014and Mr. Heinemann says it wouldn\u2019t look right to try to evade it.\u201d So there was breaking another man in, to add to my troubles. It meant overtime, and that meant that I didn\u2019t have as much time as I would like for Lilymary. Lunch together, a couple of times; odd moments between runs of the gift-wrapping machines; that was about it. But she was never out of my thoughts. There was something about her that appealed to me. A square, yes. Unworldly, yes. Her family? A Victorian horror; but they were her family. I determined to get them on my side, and by and by I began to see how. \u201cMiss Hargreave,\u201d I said formally, coming out of my office. We stepped to one side, in a corner under the delivery chutes. The rumble of goods overhead gave us privacy. I said, \u201cLilymary, you\u2019re taking this Sunday off, as usual? May I come to visit you?\u201d She hesitated only a second. \u201cWhy, of course,\u201d she said firmly. \u201cWe\u2019d be delighted. For dinner?\u201d I shook my head: \u201cI have a little surprise for you,\u201d I whispered. She looked alarmed. \u201cNot for you, exactly. For the kids. Trust me, Lilymary. About four o\u2019clock in the afternoon?\u201d I winked at her and went back to my office to make arrangements. It wasn\u2019t the easiest thing in the world\u2014it was our busy season, as I say\u2014but what\u2019s the use of being the boss if you can\u2019t pull rank once in a while? So I made it as strong as I could, and Special Services hemmed and hawed and finally agreed that they would work in a special Visit from Santa Claus at the Hargreave home that Sunday afternoon. – Once the kids were on my side, I plotted craftily, it would be easy enough to work the old man around, and what kid could resist a Visit from Santa Claus?<\/p>\n

I rang the bell and walked into the queer South-Seas living room as though I belonged there. \u201cMerry Christmas!\u201d I said genially to the six-year-old who let me in. \u201cI hope you kiddies are ready for a treat!\u201d treat!\u201d She looked at me incredulously, and disappeared. I heard her say something shrill and protesting in the next room, and Lilymary\u2019s voice being firm and low-toned. Then Lilymary appeared. \u201cHello, Mr. Martin,\u201d she said. \u201cGeorge.\u201d \u201cHello, George.\u201d She sat down and patted the sofa beside her. \u201cWould you like some lemonade?\u201d she asked. \u201cThank you,\u201d I said. It was pretty hot for the end of September, and the place didn\u2019t appear to be air-conditioned. She called, and the twelve-year-old, Gretchen, turned up with a pitcher and some cookies. I said warningly: \u201cMustn\u2019t get too full, little girl! There\u2019s a surprise coming.\u201d Lilymary cleared her throat, as her sister set the tray down with a clatter and stamped out of the room. \u201cI\u2014I wish you\u2019d tell me about this surprise, George,\u201d she said. \u201cYou know, we\u2019re a little, well, set in our ways, and I wonder\u2014\u201d \u201cNothing to worry about, Lilymary,\u201d I reassured her. \u201cWhat is it, a couple of minutes before four? They\u2019ll be here any minute.\u201d \u201cThey?\u201d I looked around; the kids were out of sight. \u201cSanta Claus and his helpers,\u201d I whispered. She began piercingly: \u201cSanta Cl\u2014\u201d \u201cSsh!\u201d I nodded toward the door. \u201cI want it to be a surprise for the kids. Please don\u2019t spoil it for them, Lilymary.\u201d Well, she opened her mouth; but she didn\u2019t get a chance to say anything. The bell rang; Santa Claus and his helpers were right on time. \u201cLilymary!\u201d shrieked the twelve-year-old, opening the door. \u201cLook!\u201d You couldn\u2019t blame the kid for being excited. \u201cHo-ho-ho,\u201d boomed Santa, rolling inside. \u201cOh, hello, Mr. Martin. This the place?\u201d \u201cCertainly, Santa,\u201d I said, beaming. \u201cBring it in, boys.\u201d The twelve-year-old cried, \u201cCorinne! Marlene! This you got to see!\u201d There was an odd tone to her voice, but I didn\u2019t pay much at- tention. It wasn\u2019t my party any more. I retired, smiling, to a corner of the room while the Santa Claus helpers began coming in with their sacks of gear on their shoulders. It was \u201cHo-ho-ho, little girl!\u201d and \u201cMerry Christmas, everybody!\u201d until you couldn\u2019t hear yourself think. Lilymary was biting her lip, staring at me. The Santa tapped her on the shoulder. \u201cWhere\u2019s the kitchen, lady?\u201d he asked. \u201cThat door? Okay, Wynken\u2014go on in and get set up. Nod, you go down and hurry up the sound truck, then you can handle the door. The rest of you helpers\u2014\u201d he surveyed the room briefly\u2014 \u201cstart lining up your Christmas Goodies there, and there. Now hop to it, boys! We got four more Visits to make this afternoon yet.\u201d You never saw a crew of Christmas Gnomes move as fast as them. Snap, and the Tree was up, complete with its tinsel stars and gray colored Order Forms and Credit Application Blanks. Snip, and two of the helpers were stringing the red and green lights that led from the Hargreave living room to the sound truck outside. Snip-snap, and you could hear the sound truck pealing the joyous strains of All I Want for Christmas Is Two of Everything in the street, and twos and threes of the neighborhood children were beginning to appear at the door, blinking and ready for the fun. The kitchen helpers were ladling out mugs of cocoa and colored-sugar Christmas cookies and collecting the dimes and quarters from the kids; the demonstrator helpers were showing the kids the toys and trinkets from their sacks; and Santa himself was seated on his glittering throne. \u201cHo-ho-ho, my boy,\u201d he was saying. \u201cAnd where does your daddy work this merry Christmas season?\u201d I was proud of them. There wasn\u2019t a helper there who couldn\u2019t have walked into Saul & Cappell or any other store in town, and walked out a Santa with a crew of his own. But that\u2019s the way we do things at the Emporium, skilled hands and high paychecks, and you only have to look at our sales records to see that it pays off. Well, I wanted to stay and watch the fun, but Sunday\u2019s a bad day to take the afternoon off; I slipped out and headed back to the store. I put in a hard four hours, but I made it a point to be down at the Special Services division when the crews came straggling in for their checkout. The crew I was interested in was the last to report, naturally\u2014isn\u2019t that always the way? Santa was obviously tired; I let him shuck his uniform and turn his sales slips in to the cashier before I tackled him. \u201cHow did it go?\u201d I asked anxiously. \u201cDid Miss Hargreave\u2014I mean the grown-up Miss Hargreave\u2014did she say anything?\u201d He looked at me accusingly. \u201cYou,\u201d he whined. \u201cMr. Martin, you shouldn\u2019t have run out on us like that. How we supposed to keep up a schedule when you throw us that kind of a curve, Mr. Martin?\u201d It was no way for a Santa to be talking to a department head, but I overlooked it. The man was obviously upset. \u201cWhat are you talking about?\u201d I demanded. \u201cThose Hargreaves! Honestly, Mr. Martin, you\u2019d think they didn\u2019t want us there, the way they acted! The kids were bad enough. But when the old man came home\u2014wow! I tell you, Mr. Martin, I been eleven Christmases in the Department, and I never saw a family with less Christmas spirit than those Hargreaves!\u201d The cashier was yelling for the cash receipts so he could lock up his ledgers for the night, so I let the Santa go. But I had plenty to think about as I went back to my own department, wondering about what he had said.<\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t have to wonder long. Just before closing, one of the office girls waved me in from where I was checking out a new Counselor, and I answered the phone call. It was Lilymary\u2019s father. Mad? He was blazing. I could hardly make sense out of most of what he said. It was words like \u201cperverting the Christian festival\u201d and \u201cselling out the Saviour\u201d and a lot of stuff I just couldn\u2019t follow at all. But the part he finished up with, that I could understand. \u201cI want you to know, Mr. Martin,\u201d he said in clear, crisp, emphatic tones, \u201cthat you are no longer a welcome caller at our home. It pains me to have to say this, sir. As for Lilymary, you may consider this her resignation, to be effective at once!\u201d \u201cBut,\u201d I said, \u201cbut\u2014\u201d But I was talking to a dead line; he had hung up. And that was the end of that.<\/p>\n

Personnel called up after a couple of days and wanted to know what to do with Lilymary\u2019s severance pay. I told them to mail her the check; then I had a second thought and asked them to send it up to me. I mailed it to her myself, with a little note apologizing for what I\u2019d done wrong\u2014whatever it was. But she didn\u2019t even answer. October began, and the pace stepped up. Every night I crawled home, bone-weary, turned on my dreamster and slept like a log. I gave the machine a real workout; I even had the buyer in the Sleep Shoppe get me rare, out-of-print tapes on special order\u2014Last Days of Petronius Arbiter, and Casanova\u2019s Diary, and The Polly Adler Story, and so on\u2014until the buyer began to leer when she saw me coming. But it didn\u2019t do any good. While I slept I was surrounded with the loveliest of them all; but when I woke the face of Lilymary Hargreave was in my mind\u2019s eye.<\/p>\n

October. The store was buzzing. National cost of living was up .00013, but our rate of sale was up .00021 over the previous year. The store bosses were beaming, and bonuses were in the air for everybody. November. The tide was at its full, and little wavelets began to ebb backward. Housewares was picked clean, and the manufacturers only laughed as we implored them for deliveries; but Home Appliances was as dead as the January lull. Our overall rate of sale slowed down microscopically, but it didn\u2019t slow down the press of work. It made things tougher, in fact, because we were pushing twice as hard on the items we could supply, coaxing the customers off the ones that were running short. Bad management? No. Looking at my shipment figures, we\u2019d actually emptied the store four times in seven weeks\u2014better than fifty per cent turnover a week. Our July purchase estimates had been off only slightly\u2014two persons fewer out of each hundred bought airconditioners than we had expected, one and a half persons more out of each hundred bought kitchenware. Saul & Cappell had been out of kitchenware except for spot deliveries, sold the day they arrived, ever since late September! Heinemann called me into his office. \u201cGeorge,\u201d he said, \u201cI just checked your backlog. The unfilled order list runs a little over eleven thousand. I want to tell you that I\u2019m surprised at the way you and your department have\u2014\u201d \u201cNow, Mr. Heinemann!\u201d I burst out. \u201cThat isn\u2019t fair! We\u2019ve been putting in overtime every night, every blasted one of us! Eleven thousand\u2019s pretty good, if you ask me!\u201d He looked surprised. \u201cMy point exactly, George,\u201d he said. \u201cI was about to compliment you.\u201d I felt so high. I swallowed. \u201cUh, thanks,\u201d I said. \u201cI mean, I\u2019m sorry I\u2014\u201d \u201cForget it, George.\u201d Heinemann was looking at me thoughtfully. \u201cYou\u2019ve got something on your mind, don\u2019t you?\u201d \u201cWell\u2014\u201d \u201cIs it that girl?\u201d \u201cGirl?\u201d I stared at him. \u201cWho said anything about a girl?\u201d \u201cCome off it,\u201d he said genially. \u201cYou think it isn\u2019t all over the store?\u201d He glanced at his watch. \u201cGeorge,\u201d he said, \u201cI never interfere in employees\u2019 private lives. You know that. But if it\u2019s that girl that\u2019s bothering you, why don\u2019t you marry her for a while? It might be just the thing you need. Come on now, George, confess. When were you married last? Three years? Five years ago?\u201d I looked away. \u201cI never was,\u201d I admitted. That jolted him. \u201cNever?\u201d He studied me thoughtfully for a second. \u201cYou aren\u2019t\u2014?\u201d \u201cNo, no, no!\u201d I said hastily. \u201cNothing like that. It\u2019s just that, well, it\u2019s always seemed like a pretty big step to take.\u201d He relaxed again. \u201cAh, you kids,\u201d he said genially. \u201cAlways afraid of getting hurt, eh? Well, I\u2019ll mind my own business, if that\u2019s the way you want it. But if I were you, George, I\u2019d go get her.\u201d That was that. I went back to work; but I kept right on thinking about what Heinemann had said. After all. . . why not?<\/p>\n

I called, \u201cLilymary!\u201d She faltered and half-turned. I had counted on that. You could tell she wasn\u2019t brought up in this country; from the age of six on, our girls learn Lesson One: When you\u2019re walking alone at night, don\u2019t stop. She didn\u2019t stop long. She peered into the doorway and saw me, and her expression changed as though I had hit her with a club. \u201cGeorge,\u201d she said, and hesitated, and walked on. Her hair was a shimmering rainbow in the Christmas lights. We were only a few doors from her house. I glanced, half apprehensive, at the door, but no Father Hargreave was there to scowl. I followed her and said, \u201cPlease, Lilymary. Can\u2019t we just talk for a moment?\u201d She faced me. \u201cWhy?\u201d \u201cTo\u2014\u201d I swallowed. \u201cTo let me apologize.\u201d She said gently, \u201cNo apology is necessary, George. We\u2019re different breeds of cats. No need to apologize for that.\u201d \u201cPlease.\u201d \u201cWell,\u201d she said. And then, \u201cWhy not?\u201d We found a bench in the little park across from the subway entrance. It was late; enormous half-tracks from the Sanitation Department were emptying trash cans, sprinkler trucks came by and we had to raise our feet off the ground. She said once, \u201cI really ought to get back. I was only going to the store.\u201d But she stayed. Well, I apologized, and she listened like a lady. And like a lady she said, again, \u201cThere\u2019s nothing to apologize for.\u201d And that was that, and I still hadn\u2019t said what I had come for. I didn\u2019t know how. I brooded over the problem. With the rumble of the trash trucks and the roar of their burners, conversation was difficult enough anyhow. But even under those handicaps, I caught a phrase from Lilymary. \u201c\u2014back to the jungle,\u201d she was saying. \u201cIt\u2019s home for us, George. Father can\u2019t wait to get back, and neither can the girls.\u201d I interrupted her. \u201cGet back?\u201d She glanced at me. \u201cThat\u2019s what I said.\u201d She nodded at the Sanitation workers, baling up the enormous drifts of Christmas cards, thrusting them into the site burners. \u201cAs soon as the mails open up,\u201d she said, \u201cand Father gets his visa. It was mailed a week ago, they say. They tell me that in the Christmas rush it might take two or three weeks more to get to us, though.\u201d Something was clogging up my throat. All I could say was, \u201cWhy?\u201d Lilymary sighed. \u201cIt\u2019s where we live, George,\u201d she explained. \u201cThis isn\u2019t right for us. We\u2019re mission brats and we belong out in the field, spreading the Good News. . . . Though Father says you people need it more than the Dyaks.\u201d She looked quickly into my eyes. \u201cI mean\u2014\u201d I waved it aside. I took a deep breath. \u201cLilymary,\u201d I said, all in a rush, \u201cwill you marry me?\u201d Silence, while Lilymary looked at me. \u201cOh, George,\u201d she said, after a moment. And that was all; but I was able to translate it; the answer was no.<\/p>\n

Still, proposing marriage is something like buying a lottery ticket; you may not win the grand award, but there are consolation prizes. Mine was a date. Lilymary stood up to her father, and I was allowed in the house. I wouldn\u2019t say I was welcomed, but Dr. Hargreave was polite\u2014 distant, but polite. He offered me coffee, he spoke of the dream superstitions of the Dyaks and old days in the Long House, and when Lilymary was ready to go he shook my hand at the door. We had dinner. . . I asked her\u2014but as a piece of conversation, not a begging plea from the heart\u2014I asked her why they had to go back. The Dyaks, she said; they were Father\u2019s people; they needed him. Alter Mother\u2019s death, Father had wanted to come back to America . . . but it was wrong for them. He was going back. The girls, naturally, were going with him. We danced. . . . I kissed her, in the shadows, when it was growing late. She hesitated, but she kissed me back. I resolved to destroy my dreamster; its ersatz ecstasies were pale. \u201cThere,\u201d she said, as she drew back, and her voice was gentle, with a note of laughter. \u201cI just wanted to show you. It isn\u2019t all hymnsinging back on Borneo, you know.\u201d I reached out for her again, but she drew back, and the laughter was gone. She glanced at her watch. \u201cTime for me to go, George,\u201d she said. \u201cWe start packing tomorrow.\u201d \u201cBut\u2014\u201d \u201cIt\u2019s time to go, George,\u201d she said. And she kissed me at her door; but she didn\u2019t invite me in. I stripped the tapes off my dreamster and threw them away. But hours later, after the fiftieth attempt to get to sleep, and the twentieth solitary cigarette, I got up and turned on the light and looked for them again. They were pale; but they were all I had.<\/p>\n

Party Week! The store was nearly bare. A messenger from the Credit Department came staggering in with a load of files just as the closing gong sounded. He dropped them on my desk. \u201cThank God!\u201d he said fervently. \u201cGuess you won\u2019t be bothering with these tonight, eh, Mr. Martin?\u201d But I searched through them all the same. He looked at me wonderingly, but the clerks were breaking out the bottles and the runners from the lunchroom were bringing up sandwiches, and he drifted away. I found the credit check I had requested. \u201cCo-Maker Required!\u201d was stamped at the top, and triply underlined in red, but that wasn\u2019t what I was looking for. I hunted through the text until I found what I wanted to know: \u201cSubject is expected to leave this country within forty-eight hours. Subject\u2019s employer is organized and incorporated under laws of State of New York as a religious mission group. No earnings record on file. Caution: Subject would appear a bad credit risk, due to\u2014\u201d I read no farther. Forty-eight hours! There was a scrawl at the bottom of the page, in the Credit Manager\u2019s own handwriting: \u201cGeorge, what the devil are you up to? This is the fourth check we made on these people!\u201d It was true enough; but it would be the last. In forty-eight hours they would be gone. I was dull at the Christmas Party. But it had been a splendid Christmas for the store, and in an hour everyone was too drunk to notice.<\/p>\n

I decided to skip Party Week. I stayed at home the next morning, staring out the window. It had begun to snow, and the cleaners were dragging away old Christmas trees. It\u2019s always a letdown when Christmas is over; but my mood had nothing to do with the season, only with Lilymary and the numbers of miles from her & to Borneo. I circled the date in red on my calendar: December 25th. By the 26th they would be gone. . But I couldn\u2019t, repeat couldn\u2019t, let her go so easily. It wasn\u2019t that I wanted to try again, and be rebuffed again; it was not a matter of choice. I had to see her. Nothing else, suddenly, had any meaning. So I made the long subway trek out there, knowing it was a fool\u2019s errand. But what kind of an errand could have been more appropriate for me? They weren\u2019t home, but I wasn\u2019t going to let that stop me. I banged on the door of the next apartment, and got a surly, suspicious, whatdo-you-want-with-them? inspection from the woman who lived there. But she thought they might possibly be down at the Community Center on the next block. And they were. The Community Center was a big yellow-brick recreation hail; it had swimming pools and pingpong tables and all kinds of odds and ends to keep the kids off the streets. It was that kind of a neighborhood. It also had a meeting hall in the basement, and there were the Hargreaves, all of them, along with a couple of dozen other people. None of them were young, except the Hargreave girls. The hall had a dusty, storeroom quality to it, as though it wasn\u2019t used much\u2014and in fact, I saw, it still had a small Christmas tree standing in it. Whatever else they had, they did not have a very efficient cleanup squad. I came to the door to the hall and stood there, looking around. Someone was playing a piano, and they were having a singing party. The music sounded familiar, but I couldn\u2019t recognize the words\u2014 Adeste fideles, Laeti triumphantes. Venite, venite in Bethlehem.<\/p>\n

The girls were sitting together, in the front row; their father wasn\u2019t with them, but I saw why. He was standing at a little lectern in the front of the hall.<\/p>\n

Natum videte, regem angelorum. Venite adoremus, venite adoremus\u2014\u2014 I recognized the tune then; it was a slow, draggy-beat steal from that old-time favorite, Christmas-Tree Mambo. It didn\u2019t sound too bad, though, as they finished with a big major chord from the piano and all fifteen or twenty voices going. Then Hargreave started to talk. I didn\u2019t listen. I was too busy watching the back of Lilymary\u2019s head. I\u2019ve always had pretty low psi, though, and she didn\u2019t turn around. Something was bothering me. There was a sort of glow from up front. I took my eyes off Lilymary\u2019s blond head, and there was Dr. Hargreave, radiant; I blinked and looked again, and it was not so radiant. A trick of the light, coming through the basement windows onto his own blond hair, I suppose, but it gave me a curious feeling for a moment. I must have moved, because he caught sight of me. He stumbled over a word, but then he went on. But that was enough. After a moment Lilymary\u2019s head turned, and her eyes met mine. She knew I was there. I backed away from the door and sat down on the steps coming down from the entrance. Sooner or later she would be out.<\/p>\n

It wasn\u2019t long at all. She came toward me with a question in her eye. She was all by herself; inside the hail, her father was still talking. I stood up straight and said it all. \u201cLilymary,\u201d I said, \u201cI can\u2019t help it, I want to marry you. I\u2019ve done everything wrong, but I didn\u2019t mean to. I\u2014I don\u2019t even want it conditional, Lilymary, I want it for life. Here or Borneo, I don\u2019t care which. I only care about one thing, and that\u2019s you.\u201d It was funny\u2014I was trying to tell her I loved her, and I was standing stiff and awkward, talking in about the same tone of voice I\u2019d use to tell a stock boy he was fired. But she understood. I probably didn\u2019t have to say a word, she would have understood anyhow. She started to speak, and changed her mind, and started again, and finally got out, \u201cWhat would you do in Borneo?\u201d And then, so soft that I hardly knew I was hearing it, she added, \u201cDear.\u201d Dear! It was like the first time Heinemann came in and called me \u201cDepartment Head!\u201d I felt nine feet tall. I didn\u2019t answer her. I reached out and I kissed her, and it wasn\u2019t any wonder that I didn\u2019t know we weren\u2019t alone until I heard her father cough, not more than a yard away. I jumped, but Lilymary turned and looked at him, perfectly calm. \u201cYou ought to be conducting the service, Father!\u201d she scolded him. He nodded his big fair head. \u201cDoctor Mausner can pronounce the Benediction without me,\u201d he said. \u201cI should be there but\u2014well, He has plenty of things to forgive all of us already; one more isn\u2019t going to bother Him. Now, what\u2019s this?\u201d \u201cGeorge has asked me to marry him.\u201d \u201cAnd?\u201d She looked at me. \u201cI\u2014\u201d she began, and stopped. I said, \u201cI love her.\u201d He looked at me too, and then he sighed. \u201cGeorge,\u201d he said after a moment, \u201cI don\u2019t know what\u2019s right and what\u2019s wrong, for the first time in my life. Maybe I\u2019ve been selfish when I asked Lilymary to go back with me and the girls. I didn\u2019t mean it that way, but I don\u2019t deny I wanted it. I don\u2019t know. But\u2014\u2014\u201d He smiled, and it was a big, warm smile. \u201cBut there\u2019s something I do know. I know Lilymary; and I can trust her to make up her own mind.\u201d He patted her lightly. \u201cI\u2019ll see you after the service,\u201d he said to me, and left us. Back in the hail, through the door he opened, I could hear all the voices going at once. \u201cLet\u2019s go inside and pray, George,\u201d said Lilymary, and her whole heart and soul was on her face as she looked at me, with love and anxiousness. I only hesitated a moment. Pray? But it meant Lilymary, and that meant\u2014well, everything. So I went in. And we were all kneeling, and Lilymary coached me through the words; and I prayed. And, do you know?\u2014I\u2019ve never regretted it.<\/p>\n

 

Frederik Pohl was a science-fiction pioneer and a social critic\u2014and also a communist sympathizer despite his deep skepticism that social engineering can bring about utopia. And nothing better encapsulates Pohl in all his complexity than a short story he penned in 1956, Happy Birthday, Dear Jesus. It’s\u00a08 000 words long, short for a story, maybe a bit long if you’re of the twitter generation, but well worth the read. 1956. Science Fiction authors are sometimes true visionaries.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3873","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3873","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=3873"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3873\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3894,"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3873\/revisions\/3894"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=3873"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=3873"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.retro.co.za\/blog\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=3873"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}