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The author of "The Small One", Charles Tazewell, modestly denies that he is its sole creator. "I am merely his biographer," he says, "because 'The Small One' is real, and he did travel the road to Bethlehem.
This story about The
Small One was found by Monika Roleff and Shari Vogt after I
requested help to find the text of my favourite Christmas story,
a story immortalized by Bing Crosby. I have reproduced it here to
ensure that the story is preserved. ©C. W. Tazewell, |
The Small One A Story For Those Who Like Christmas and Small Donkeys By Charles Tazewell The late December sun that dances on the winter snow up north sprawls indolently at ease in the thick warm dust of El Camino del Norte, Old Mexico. Travelers will give their oath that the Norte is the laziest road south of the Rio Grande. It is a dawdler-- an idler that takes its own sweet time about unwinding the miles from the small village of Santa Maria to the even smaller one of Buena Vista. At the slightest excuse it will wander away form its true direction-- to avoid a slight rise or to circle gingerly a prickly clump of cacti. And never, within the memory of the oldest traveler, has it neglected to make a wide detour into every farmyard it passes, zig-zagging frantically to avoid the attacks of unfriendly dogs, merely to call out a friendly but dusty "hola!" into the doorway of each adobe dwelling. It was once upon a Christmas time that a padre, his robe gray from the Norte's dust, and his cheeks two ripe holly berries from the heat, sought out the cool dripping shade of a pepper tree and dropped off to sleep-- a habit and privilege of the very old. Then suddenly his midday siesta was shattered by a shrill, indignant voice. His heavy eyelids opened to see a small boy standing with bare brown legs wide apart in the middle of the road and bitterly addressing a small, discouraged and most disreputable donkey. "A donkey! A DONKEY, you call yourself, Estupido! A fine animal with a stout leg on each corner-- with a splendid and serviceable tail to shoo away the flies and two handsome ears stuck on the front to point the way you are going! Asi! And of what use do you make of all this excellent equipment with which the good God has blessed you? Nothing! Nothing but NOTHING!" The padre sighed and closed his eyes, but the boy's voice continued, riding the heat waves that rose in giddy spirals from the dust of El Camino del Norte. "You a donkey? You are a disgrace to all the donkeys of all Mexico! Of all the world! Of all the universe!" "Pablo!" The padre abandoned all hope of midday dreaming. "Pablo, my son!" "Si? Oh, ... Oh, buenas dias, Padre! I - I did not know you were there!" "That I can believe. Whatever is the trouble? What has the poor beast done that you should be so angry?" The boy hung his head and his toes drew embarrassed doodle marks in the dust. "The donkey has done nothing, Padre." "Then why do you scold him?" "Because nothing is all he wants to do! Here it is-- but two days until Christmas, when a load of wood could be sold in the village to buy gifts for my mother and a candle for the church! But does that matter to this donkey? No, not at all!" The padre laughed and the boy's donkey raised one questioning ear. "Well-- a donkey's a donkey, Pablo. One is like all the others." "But, why? Why, of all the beasts must a donkey be so-- so stubborn?" "Stubborn?" The padre's face became serious. "Oh, no, Pablo, that's wrong! A donkey isn't stubborn." "But, Padre--!" "Oh, I know, I know! Everyone says they are. People curse them and belabor their small backs with sticks and call them lazy and stupid. They do that because they don't know the truth about little donkeys." The boy's eyes studied his diminutive animal seeking some hidden and incredible mystery. "The truth, Padre?" "Yes! It's really not stubbornness but pride that makes all small donkeys so-- well-- so aloof. No sun, wind, storm, pain of adversity can ever touch them. That's because their pride is a shield against anything that men of the elements can offer." "Pride?" The boy's eyes were scornful. "What has a donkey to be proud of?" "Oh, a great deal, Pablo! Yes, indeed. Come, bring your little animal over here in the shade and I'll tell you all about it." The boy gave a tug on the frayed and knotted rope and the donkey opened his eyes. Upon seeing that their probable destination was only a few steps away, and that a succulent yucca might be within easy nibbling range, he plodded docilely along behind the boy to the shelter of the pepper tree. The padre turned his head and listened, and a smile illuminated the intricate pattern of lines on his benevolent face. "Listen, Pablo! Do you hear that? Only a small donkey can make that sound with his hoofs as he walks on the stones of the road. It's almost like music. Yes, yes, it's very like a song I once hear the chimes playing from the tower of the great cathedral one Christmas morning.... Sit down-- sit down, my son." "Si, Padre." "Now, Pablo, as I said, people are all wrong about little donkeys. What people often mistake for laziness is pride-- pride in a very great honor that came to one of them a long, long time ago. This honor was so final and complete that it lifted him and all his many, many descendants to an exalted place. Yes, a place that you and I and all the world might envy! And so, ever since that time, all small donkeys have been content to stand and drowse in the sun or shade, for he, alone, of all other animals-- and of all men-- has already fulfilled his destiny." The boy puzzled for a moment over this baffling statement. "His destiny, Padre?" "Yes, Pablo. You see, once upon a time, many miles and years from here, there lived a small donkey. He was fourteen unhappy years old, and he had worked hard and long for at least twice fourteen masters. He was battered and scarred, and his tail was naught but a piece of limp rope, unraveled down at the end. One of his ears stood straight up like a cactus plant, while the other ear hung down like a wilted cabbage leaf. Yes, and his off-hind leg had a decided limp." "And what did they call this miserable donkey?" "His name as Small One. |
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