The Drummer Boy, Page 2

  “What is it?” the chairman asked.

  “I have a petition,” Daniel said, repeating words that he’d heard all day long.

  “Well, then move yourself down here so that you don’t have to yell,” the chairman said. “Hurry now.”

  Daniel walked timidly down the stairs and then headed up the long aisle, past the chairs toward the front, trying to ignore all the stares. He stopped ten feet from the long table. Only half the members were even looking at him. The Mayor was listening to someone speaking in his ear.

  “Speak up, boy,” the chairman said.

  Daniel cleared his throat, but his voice squeaked when he spoke. “I would like to play my drum for Baby Jesus,” he said.

  Silence gripped the room. The Mayor now stared directly at Daniel, whose knees began to shake. The television cameras focused on him and whirred loudly.

  “What?” the chairman asked.

  “I . . . I said that—”

  “I know what you said,” the man interrupted.

  “It’s against the law.”

  “Can you change the law?” Daniel asked.

  A murmur broke out. The Mayor, a large man with an imposing stare, straightened and gave Daniel a smile that didn’t seem friendly.

  “Laws exist for a good reason, lad. Reasons you wouldn’t understand. Fables that offend people have no place in our City.”

  “But I don’t think it’s a fable!” Daniel said. “I know the story of Jesus and how he loved the poor and healed the sick. Why can’t I play my drum for him?”

  The Mayor blinked. Sweat glistened on his upper lip. “It’s a fable, everyone knows it’s a fable,” the Mayor snapped. “No one believes that absurd little story. There is no such thing as . . .” He stopped short.

  “Christmas?” Daniel said. “That’s what they used to call the Holiday. A king came and saved the world, and everyone used to celebrate his birthday on December 25. I’m poor and can’t give much of anything, but I think I could play this drum for him. Can I do that?”

  The black–suited men stared. The camera whirred. Daniel’s heart thumped.

  “No,” the Mayor said, his face turning red. “Little boys don’t understand how things work, but adults do, and we say no. Christmas is a silly fable that only hurt the world.”

  Then the Mayor snatched the gavel from the chairman’s hand and struck the table hard. “This meeting is adjourned.”

  DANIEL STOOD IN THE LIVING ROOM with Chelise and his parents, staring at the television. He didn’t understand why his small question could cause such big trouble, but Father’s scowl told Daniel he was in for it.

  “You’re like a star,” Chelise said, watching the tube with wide eyes.

  “How could you do this to me, Daniel?” Father demanded. “You’ve never disobeyed me like this. Never!”

  The television showed Daniel standing in front of the Mayor with his drum. “I’m sorry, Father. You said that I could only play the drum for Jesus if the Mayor changed the law. I only went to ask him.”

  “Did you really think you could just walk in and change history? There’s a reason why Christmas has been unlawful since before you were born.” He shook his head. “You’re lucky they didn’t throw you in prison, boy!”

  “Father,” his mother said, “Daniel was only trying to honor you by getting permission.”

  “He’s a movie star!” Chelise said. “I want to be on television, too.”

  “Hush, Chelise,” Mother said. She faced Father. “It’s just an interesting story, dear. There’s no damage.”

  “I know the City,” Father said. “It won’t take much to throw these people into a fit.”

  Daniel felt terrible for making Father so upset.

  “Did you ever believe in Christmas, Father?” he asked.

  Father hesitated. “No,” he said. “Not really, no. The Christmas story is a fable and caused enough trouble, that’s for sure.”

  “So then the king named Jesus never was born?” Daniel cried. “He never healed the man’s hand?”

  Father’s pause was even longer this time. “Where did you hear such a thing?”

  “But is it true?”

  “Maybe once upon a time it was, Daniel,” Mother said. “But it doesn’t really matter. We live in a new world now.”

  “The drum should be burned,” Father said.

  Daniel snatched his drum off the counter. “Burned? No, please! Please . . .”

  “All this Christmas nonsense has caused too much trouble. It’s just a drum!”

  Daniel’s mind whirled.

  “If it’s just a drum, then it can’t cause any real trouble, right? What can a little boy with an old wooden drum do to upset the City?”

  They all looked at each other for a few moments. Father frowned.

  “He’s just a boy,” Mother said.

  “Can I be on television?” Chelise asked.

  “Hush, Chelise,” Mother and Father said in unison.

  Father stood and took the drum from the sofa. He put it in a cabinet, turned the key to lock it in, and shoved his finger at the locked door. “The drum stays locked up until this nonsense is done.”

  Then he stormed out of the room.

  DANIEL CLIMBED INTO BED feeling very sad that night. Maybe Father was right. Maybe he’d just imagined the drum coming to him. Maybe it was all just a fairy tale.

  He pulled the papers out from under his mattress where he’d hidden them and read them again, late into the night, three times, and with each reading he became more convinced that Christmas was real. That a king named Jesus had been born in a town called Bethlehem long ago. That the baby had grown up and done wonderful things that no ordinary man could ever have done.

  How could the City pretend such an amazing man never lived?

  But none of that mattered now. The drum was locked away. He loved Father and must obey him. The trip to City Hall had been a mistake.

  And yet, Daniel couldn’t stop feeling sad. He sat on the side of his bed and began to cry. He felt a little foolish, so he locked his door, but he couldn’t stop crying as he thought about the forgotten king. How could anyone say that Christmas was hurtful?

  He finally stopped crying and fell asleep. And he dreamed.

  Play for him, Daniel. Go on, play for him.

  It was perhaps the most wonderful dream he’d ever had. If he couldn’t actually play for the king, then he would do it in his dream, at the manger with Mary and Baby Jesus smiling. The song seemed so real that he wondered if it might wake up the house.

  Daniel woke and sat up with a start. Gray light filtered through the curtain with an early dawn. The house was still except for his own breathing.

  And then he saw the drum, sitting on his dresser. There in his room, not in the locked cabinet downstairs.

  He caught his breath. A tick sounded in the rafters. The drum had come to him again? Unless Father had changed his mind and placed it on his dresser.

  Daniel jumped out of bed and ran to the cabinet door. It was still locked! He whirled to the dresser, and stared at the drum in awe. It had come to him!

  He picked up the drum and examined it carefully. Still the same drum that he’d played yesterday. But this obviously was no ordinary drum.

  He almost ran from the room to show Mother and Father, but immediately thought better of it. Father would only say he’d taken it from the cabinet and lock it up again. He couldn’t risk that, because he now knew that he would, he must, play this drum for the king.

  Daniel returned to his bed, thoughts of wonder spinning in his head, and he lay quiet until he heard his father leave for the Circus an hour later.

  Today was December 22. Only three more days until the Holiday. Three more days until Christmas, which was no longer Christmas.

  Daniel heard the door slam downstairs. He quickly dressed, scooped up the drum, and slipped out the back before Chelise could corner him.

  Once again Daniel took the subway downtown and walked up the steps to t
he City Hall, hiding his drum as best he could. Once again he found his way to the balcony above the council meeting where the same dark suits from yesterday were arguing the same ways over many important things.

  When the meeting neared the end, he slipped down to the main floor and waited at the back.

  The chairman said, “So if there aren’t any more items of business . . .”

  “Excuse me,” Daniel said, stepping into the aisle. “I have something.” All watched in astonishment as he walked toward the front.

  “I think the world should know that Jesus was born in a town called Bethlehem in a manger a long time ago. And I think the City should honor him with a celebration, just like we celebrate George Washington and Martin Luther King, Jr. and Independence Day.”

  “Hold on, boy,” the chairman said, raising his gavel.

  “I think Christmas is real,” Daniel said. And although he hadn’t planned such a daring thing, he began to beat on the drum hanging from his neck.

  Pa rum pum pum pum. Pa rum pum pum pum.

  The cameras whirred in the background. Otherwise, the council and all those gathered remained perfectly silent.

  Pa rum pum pum pum. Pa rum pum pum pum.

  Daniel couldn’t hold himself back any longer. He began to sing in a small but clear voice.

  Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum

  A newborn King to see, pa rum pum pum pum . . .

  They watched him with gaping mouths, too stunned to stop him. So he sang the next verse.

  Little Baby, pa rum pum pum pum

  I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum

  I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum . . .

  He was so frightened, standing all alone, that he couldn’t play the beat well, but his voice gained strength and he sang the words clearly.

  “I object!” a council member finally cried. “This is an outrage! The boy should be whipped and thrown in prison!”

  “Who let him back in?” another yelled.

  And still another, “Does this boy have parents?”

  Arguments broke out, and Daniel thought he might be crushed by the loud voices. His knees were shaking so badly that he thought he might have to sit down.

  The Mayor took the gavel and banged it. “Silence!”

  The room quieted.

  “Are you deaf, boy? I told you yesterday, this ridiculous fable does nothing but cause trouble, and your being here today is proof of that. No one is interested in the birth of this Jesus. The Holiday is about prosperity and gifts and food, not some mythological child born over two thousand years ago!”

  “Punish him!” the Chairman snapped.

  “Do you want to go to prison?” the Mayor asked angrily.

  “I . . .” What could he say? “I think that he was born for me, so maybe I should play for him,” Daniel said.

  “If you do,” the Mayor shot back, “then you and your family will be in terrible trouble, young boy. I suggest you leave and never come back.”

  SNOW FELL LIKE A HEAVY BLANKET as Daniel walked back to his house. The moment he stepped inside, he met Father’s stern gaze.

  “How dare you break into the cabinet and remove the drum!”

  “I didn’t! The drum came . . .”

  “To your room,” Father said. “You’ll not have any supper tonight! It’s time you learned your lesson.”

  His mother and Chelise both looked at him with sympathy in their eyes.

  Daniel went up to his room with a heavy heart, sat on his bed, and began to cry. After he ran out of tears, he crossed his legs and sat quietly.

  Mother and Father were arguing loudly downstairs about what he’d done, arguing over whether Christmas was real. And it sounded like Father was having second thoughts about being so hard on Daniel.

  He could hear people on the television talking as well. The cameras had recorded his singing, and they were playing it over and over. He’d put the City in an uproar.

  Daniel woke up the next morning to the sight of Chelise standing in his doorway.

  “It’s still snowing,” she said.

  He looked at her without speaking.

  “Are you sad?” she asked.

  “Yes. I think I am,” he said.

  “You’re like a star. You sang on television.”

  “I don’t feel like a star.”

  “They all want to know if you’re going to do it again,” she said, sitting on the end of his bed.

  “Do what?”

  “Disobey the council and sing the song about Christmas again. Is it true?”

  It occurred to Daniel that if everyone had heard the song on television, then thousands, maybe even millions of children just like Chelise were hearing about the king’s birth for the first time. How many others were whispering questions about Christmas this morning, just like Chelise?

  He sat up and nodded. “Yes! It is true. It has to be true.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because if it wasn’t true, no one would be so upset, would they? And can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “The cabinet was locked. The drum came into my room by itself.”

  She stared at him for a moment. “Tell me more. And tell me about this Jesus.”

  And so Daniel told Chelise all about the baby who was born to be king. And as he did, he knew that he really was the Drummer Boy, letting all who would dare hear that the king had been born to save this world.

  THE SNOW FELL FOR TWO MORE DAYS without letting up, immobilizing the City, stopping the big rush for gifts that normally crowded the streets right before the Holiday.

  Daniel woke early on Holiday morning and looked around his bedroom curtain to the street below. It was December 25 and the City was blanketed by a falling white sky. Not a single soul disturbed the thick layer of powder.

  A great sadness flooded Daniel. This was the day that the world had once celebrated the coming of the Savior, but today that truth was smothered like the snow smothered the ground.

  But beneath the silence, Daniel knew the whole City was talking in whispers, arguing like Mother and Father.

  Maybe Daniel really was meant to play the Drummer Boy’s drum so that the world would know once again that the Holiday really was about the Baby Jesus.

  Maybe Daniel really was the Little Drummer Boy.

  He suddenly knew what he would do. What he must do. Daniel slipped on his jacket, picked up his drum, and sneaked out the front door.

  The snow was cold and the sky was still gray. He walked out to the middle of the street and looked north, toward City Hall’s tall spire.

  He hung the drum on his neck and looked around. The street was empty.

  “This is for you, my king,” he said. And then he began to pat the drum softly. Pa rum pum pum pum.

  His arms were stiff and he didn’t strike the beat perfectly every time, but that didn’t matter.

  No one was listening anyway. No one except the king, who smiled like he did the last time the drum had been played for him.

  Pa rum pum pum pum. Daniel beat the drum with a little more force, gaining confidence. And then he began to sing:

  Come, they told me, pa rum pum pum pum

  A newborn King to see, pa rum pum pum pum

  Our finest gifts we bring, pa rum pum pum pum

  To lay before the King, pa rum pum pum pum,

  rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

  So to honor Him, pa rum pum pum pum,

  When we come.

  “Shut up, boy!” a voice cried from the next building.

  Daniel looked at the man who was leaning out of the window.

  “That’s divisive, don’t you know?”

  Daniel wanted to play more, he really did. What if the man did something nasty?

  But Daniel couldn’t help himself. He played anyway, beating the drum gently.

  “Are you deaf, boy?”

  “He’s playing for the king!” a shrill voice called to his right. Chelise st
ood on the front steps, holding an old toy drum that Father had given her two years earlier. She held the old man’s gaze for a moment.

  “He has to play,” she said, and then she started to beat her drum.

  Daniel began to sing again as they played together.

  Little Baby, pa rum pum pum pum

  I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum

  I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum

  That’s fit to give a King, pa rum pum pum pum,

  rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

  Shall I play for You, pa rum pum pum pum,

  On my drum?

  “If you don’t stop this foolishness this minute,” the neighbor called, red-faced, “I swear I’ll . . .”

  “You’ll go back into your house, Graham,” a familiar voice boomed.

  Daniel twisted back to the corner of their house. Father stood in the snow. A large tom-tom drum hung from his neck. Beside him stood Mother holding a plastic bucket.

  And then Father began to beat on the drum, taking up the same beat with the confidence of a master drummer. Three drums now, beating in unison. Mother beat on her bucket.

  Daniel smiled wide and hit his drum harder. Pa rum pum pum pum. And he sang in a clear voice that rang down the street now.

  Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum

  The ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum

  I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum

  I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum,

  rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

  Then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum,

  Me and my drum.

  Then he started all over again, playing his drum for the whole world to hear. A window slid open down the street. Daniel could hear the drum being beaten before he saw it, just inside. Four drums and a plastic bucket now, in unison.

  Another window slid open and Mary Summers leaned out, beating the rhythm on her window sill. Down the street Jerry Roth flipped a garbage can over and started to beat on his makeshift drum like a champ.