Nativity

Mirage shook his head at Tracks antics and disappeared back into the orphanage to see if everything was ready for the children’s little Christmas skit. He found his way to another small room that was to be the make-shift theatre for the night and ducked inside. A small stage was set up at one end, complete with a blanket for a curtain, and cardboard and paper props.

“Miwage! Over here!” a voice called, and Martha came running up.

In the time Tracks had been showing off outside, some of the other children, Martha included, had gone to change into their “costumes” and his little friend now wore a long blue and white dress, complete with a white shawl over her head. He looked down at her.

“You look very pretty,” he said.

“Do you know who I am?” she asked.

Mirage shook his head. “I’m not too familiar with Earth religions.”

“I’m Mawy!” she replied as if that explained everything.

“That’s great.” Mirage made a mental note to ask Jazz or one of the humans about this when he got back. “And shouldn’t you be taking your place on stage now? Your play starts in a little while.”

“Yup! I better go. We get to wear make-up, too!”

The little girl ran back happily to where a group of ladies was standing and applying powders and other things to the children’s faces to make them look ‘nicer’. Mirage didn’t see the point in it, but the children – the girls especially – seemed to enjoy it. Another question for Jazz, he thought to himself.

Tracks and a normal-looking Raoul joined them at this point, and the three stood at the back of the room, while all the other children seated themselves around the stage. A melody started up on the newly-tuned piano, and Mirage beamed in pride at how well the instrument sounded now.

Martha came up and knelt in the middle of the stage, in front of a boy dressed all in white with a pair of feathery wings stuck to his back and a gold paper halo suspended on wires above his head. An angel, he figured from the decorations he’d seen.

He listened as the angel told Mary that she was to have a baby boy who would one day deliver all his people from plight and suffering and lead them to eternal peace and happiness, and that he would be known as the king of kings. He watched enthralled, as Mary and her husband Joseph traveled with their donkey to a large town called Bethlehem, where they had their baby in the lowliest of places – a barn just outside the town.

“If he was the king of all kings, shouldn’t he have been born in a palace somewhere?” he asked Raoul in a whisper.

“Naw man. Material stuff don’t make a king. Its what’s inside that counts, and how you treat other folks,” the boy replied.

Mirage kept this in mind, and turned his attention back to the play in time to see Mary place a little baby in a manger. Shepherds came with their lambs to see the child, and then three grandly-dressed humans known as the Wise Men, bearing gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. A group of angels in a corner began to sing.

Peace on the Earth, goodwill to Men
From heaven’s all-gracious King
The world in solemn stillness lay

To hear the angels sing.

The play came to an end to much applause from the audience, and somewhere in the distance, church bells began to ring out the dawning of Christmas. The sound of them snapped Mirage out of his dreamlike state and a part of him realized that he had just witnessed something very special.

He looked down to see Mary – Martha still in costume – standing by his leg.

“Mewwy Chwistmas, Miwage,” she said, smiling up at him.

He picked her up and cuddled her. “Merry Christmas, Martha.”

“You like the play?”

“Very much. I thought you were a very good Mary.”

She giggled, hugging him. “Glad I met you, Miwage.”

“I’m glad I met you, too, Martha.”

And he was. When he’d first come to the orphanage earlier that night, he’d been less than pleased about being there, much rather preferring to stay at home among his prizes and possessions. It had taken the innocent speech of one little child to make him realize that there were indeed things greater than material items. Like friends.

He looked over at Tracks. “Merry Christmas. I think we did good here, don’t you?”

“Oh definitely,” Tracks replied. “They wont be forgetting this one in a hurry.” He smiled and shook hands with the spy. “Merry Christmas, Mirage.”

END.