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One night, not long after the closing of the gym, Incubus came into Mrs. Schiff’s room and insisted on being helped up onto her bed, though until now he’d accepted the new prohibition against this. His incontinence and the ensuing drastic overhaul of the apartment had inspired Incubus with an almost human sense of guilt, which each new spontaneous defecation served to keep alive.
Daniel, passing the room and seeing Incubus sprawled on the bed, set in to scolding him, but both dog and mistress gave him such pitiable looks that he didn’t have the heart to insist. He came in the room and sat in the armchair by the bed. Incubus lifted his tail a scant inch off the sheets and let it drop. Daniel patted him on the rump. He began to whine: he wanted a story.
“I think he wants you to tell him a story,” said Daniel.
Mrs. Schiff nodded wearily. She had developed a kind of subdued horror of her own whimsies from having had to recite them so many times when she was feeling the opposite of whimsical herself. Her Scheherazade complex, she called it. It was useless, at these times, to try and abridge the tale being told, for Incubus could always sense when she’d departed from the established format and formulae and would whine and worry her until the straying story-line had been brought back to the narrow paths of orthodoxy. At last she’d learned, like a good sheep, not to stray.
“This is the story,” Mrs. Schiff began, as she’d begun so many times before, “of Bu
Incubus knew better than to succumb to such hints. He was wide-awake and intent upon the story.
“—he hopped, hippity-hop, out of their dear little burrow, and what do you think he saw, shining up there in the sky?”
Incubus looked at Daniel.
“What did he see?” Daniel asked.
“He saw a star! And he said to his sister Honey Honeybu
“What did they see in the manger?” asked Daniel.
“They saw Baby Jesus!”
“No kidding.”
“Yes, there he was, the little Lord God, and Mary and Joseph too, kneeling beside him, and any number of shepherds and angels and wise men, all kneeling down and offering Baby Jesus presents. Poor Bu
Incubus looked up vigilantly.
“—the two darling rabbits hopped off into the night, hippity-hop, all the way to the North Pole, which represents a lot of hopping, but there was never a word of complaint from them. And when they got to the North Pole, what do you suppose they found?”
“What did they find there?”
“Santa’s workshop is what they found. It was still early in the evening, so Santa was still there, and Mrs. Santa Claus as well, and all the little elves, millions of them, who help Santa make his toys, and the reindeer who help Santa deliver them, but I’m not going to name all the reindeer.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m tired and I have a headache.”
Incubus began to whine.
“Comet and Cupid and Do
“Rudolph?”
“With his nose so bright, of course. How could I forget Rudolph? Well, after everyone had sat down in front of the blazing fire and warmed their little paws and enjoyed a nice slice of Mrs. Santa’s carrot cake, the two Honeybu
“Is there any other kind?” Daniel asked.
Incubus shifted his head uneasily.
“Well,” said Mrs. Schiff, folding her hands purposefully in her lap, “Santa told the Honeybu
“And what were the presents they put in the bag?” Daniel asked.
“There were rooty-toot-toots and rummy-tum-tums and dolls and frisbees and doctor kits with candy pills and tiny little thermometers for pretending to take a temperature. Oh, and a hundred other lovely things: games and candy and myrrh and frankincense and opera records and the Complete Works of Sir Walter Scott.”
Incubus laid down his head, content.
“And he loaded the bag of presents into his sleigh, and helped the two Honeybu
“Since when does Santa have a whip?”
“Santa’s had a whip time out of mind. But he rarely if ever has to use it. Reindeer know instinctively where they should fly. So — away they all flew, instinctively, like the down of a thistle, straight to the manger in Bethlehem where Jesus and Mary and Joseph and the shepherds and angels and wise men, and even the night-clerk at the hotel, who’d experienced a change of heart, were waiting for Santa and the Honeybu
“Is that the end of the story?”
“That’s the end of the story.”
“Do you know what, Mrs. Schiff?”
“What?”
“Incubus just went wee-wee in your bed. I can see it on the sheets.”
Mrs. Schiff sighed, and nudged Incubus, who was dead.