Untitled Document

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. His latest master was a woodcutter, who also owned four younger and therefore stronger donkeys."

"Was the woodcutter good to him?"

"His son was. It was the boy who saw to it that Small One always had dry straw for his bed and that the load of wood to be carried to town wasn't too heavy for Small One's aging back."

"They were what we call amigos?"

"That's right. Amigos. Friends. Very good friends. Well, early one morning, in that season of the year when even the sun itself seems loath to rise and thrust a shivering beam into the cold of the valleys, the woodcutter called his son to him and said, "Son, I have an errand for you to do in the town."

"Yes, father? A load of wood?"

"No. No, I wish you to take the old donkey-- the one you call Small One-- to a shop just inside the town gates."

"Yes, father."

"I have already spoken to the man who owns the shop. He will give you one piece of silver in exchange for the animal."

"You mean--?" There was sudden alarm and fear in the boy's face. "You don't mean you're going to sell Small One!"

"Why not?' The father pretended not to see his son's distress and hurried on. "Why, even when carrying half the load of other donkeys, his worn-out legs tremble and his sides heave like a bellows!"

"But he'll be as strong as the others soon!" The boy was all eagerness to defend any fault in his friend. "You wait and see! Just give him a few weeks!"

"An old donkey is of no use to anyone! One day soon he might drop dead on us up in the hills-- a total loss. It' better to take the piece of silver now and say good riddance to the beast. You will start at once."

The boy, striving to hold back the hot tears, nodded his head.

The father went on, trying to speak lightly as if it were a matter of little consequence. "The shop where you will take the donkey is the second to the left as you pass through the town gates."

"The second on the left?" The sudden realization of the fate in store for Small One turned the boy's grief into horror. "But-- but that's the tanner's!"

"And what of that?" The father spoke gruffly to cover his own discomfort. "The beast's hide is old, but it will make good leather."

"But he's been faithful! He's worked hard! He's done his best!" The boy's face was convulsed with misery and despair. "You can't sell him to the tanner to be killed!"

"Come now, I'll have no tears!" The father hardened his heart and made his voice stern. "Shame on you-- crying over a miserable donkey! Now, hurry-- be off with you! If you start at once, you can be home before nightfall. And remember-- take good care not to lose that piece of silver or you'll do without supper and be punished besides!"

The father strode off to begin the day's work, and the boy picked up the old strap that was Small One's single earthly possession and placed it around the little donkey's neck. Then, following the wood path to the road, the small boy and the small donkey began their sorrowful journey to the town.

People along the way wondered why the small boy was crying. They couldn't know that he was listening to Small One's hooves on the road-- and the hooves seemed to beat out the words: "Going to tanner's... Going to tanner's... Going to tanner's." And all along the miles, the boy tried to think of some way to save his friend.

Suddenly, as they came in sight of the great town gates, he remembered there was a horse market in the Square! Yes-- and if he could sell Small One to some new and kind master, the little donkey wouldn't be killed and yet his father would still receive his piece of silver!

There was no doubt at all in his mind that it would be easy to find an eager buyer for such a superior animal as Small One. Only one piece of silver? Why Small One was worthy fifty-- yes, a hundred pieces of silver!

The boy and his donkey were swallowed up by the crowd that moved in a steady stream, under the watchful, unsmiling eyes of the guards of the gates, toward the shops and markets of the town.

Lordly merchants, bearded soldiers, ragged beggers, haughty aristocrats, sun-browned farmers-- poor men, rich men, proud men, humble men. What one, among all these, would have the shrewdness, the sagacity, the divine wisdom to take advantage of a tremendous bargain and acquire the services of such a treasure of a donkey for but one single piece of silver?

It was high noon when the boy and Small One came to the horse market, a place filled with the shouts and loud voices of men and the acrid-sweet smell of leather and horse sweat. Tied to a long rail were all the animals to be sold-- twenty sleek, beautiful mares and stallions, long of mane and tail, rubbed and brushed and combed until their coats glistened and shone in the sunlight like burnished copper or polished ebony.

The auctioneer, a burly, red-faced man, stood on a platform and harangued the uplifted faces of the prospective buyers.

"And what am I offered for this fine animal, my friends? A mare whose sire was so famous that naught but princes ever sat his back! Strong of limb! Sound of wind! Who'll start the bid at fifty?"

"Fifty!" The bidder's voice rose shrill over the din of the market place. "Fifty it is! Who'll make it fifty-five? Do I hear fifty-five? Come, come, my friends-- are you going to let such a fine animal go for such a paltry sum? Fifty is the bid; will someone make it fifty-five before the owner cuts my throat?"

The auctioneer sliced at his neck with a thick finger and cried to see his imaginary head rolling in the dust. The crowd laughed at this pantomime, and the boy, taking advantage of this interruption, led Small One toward a man near the auctioneer's platform.

"Please, sir--" his voice quavered and the words seemed to stick crosswise in his throat, "please, sir-- would you like to buy a fine donkey?"

"What?" The man looked down at the white, frightened face. "What did you say, boy?"

"This donkey. He's for sale. Strong and very willing. And the price is very cheap! But one piece of silver!"

"No!" The man turned away. "No -- I have no use for a donkey."

The boy moved off, holding fast to the strap around Small One's neck-- and the voice of the auctioneer rose again over the sounds of the horse market. "Fifty-five is the bid! Thank you my friend, for you are a friend, I assure you! Now, could I hear sixty? Sixty would be music to my ears! Won't someone say sixty? Has anyone GOT sixty? Come on-- turn out your purses and let's count it together! Who's got sixty pieces of silver?"

The crowd laughed again and the boy, leading his small donkey, approached a bearded farmer, who sat on a box of fat geese.

"Please-- this donkey-- he's for sale-- would you like to buy him?"

"What?" The farmer turned around and frowned down at him. "What is it you want, boy?"

This fine donkey! He can be bought for only one piece of silver!' The boy was desperately eager. "Isn't that a great bargain?"

"Go away!" The farmer scowled and spat into the dust. "Go away and don't bother me."

"But they've already bid fifty-five for the mare, and I know she can't do half the work of Small One! See-- he's very strong!"

"Go on!" The farmer swung his ox whip. "Go on or I'll lay this across both your backs!"

The boy and the donkey hid themselves in the crowd, and they were pushed and shoved until they were close by the auctioneer's platform.

"Sixty pieces of silver! Sixty is the bid-- do I hear more? Will anyone say sixty-two? Won't anyone say sixty-one? Very well, then-- sixty, once! Sixty, twice! Sold to that lucky buyer over there for sixty pieces of silver. Now-- who has the next animal to be offered for sale?"

The boy, surprised at his own courage, lifted his hand and tugged on the auctioneer's robe.

"Please, sir-- this small donkey's for sale!"

"Eh?" The auctioneer looked down over his cascade of fat chins. "Go away, boy, go away!"

"But he's a very fine donkey! He's not nearly so old as he looks-- and this ear, the one that doesn't stand up straight as a donkey's should-- that was the fault of a careless master! He's very strong and he eats very little!"

"This is a horse market, boy!" The auctioneer tried to shake off the hand that held tight to his robe. "I haven't time to waste on a miserable donkey!"

"But, please-- please-- wouldn't a small donkey take such a small time?"

The auctioneer burst into a mountainous roar of laughter that shook the platform. "All right! All right, my boy-- since you insist!" Then, lifting his voice, he addressed the crowd. "Gentlemen, your attention, please! This is indeed a day of days, for I have a wonderful bargain to offer you! Just feast your eyes on this strange object in front of my platform. What is it, do you ask? Well, the owner assures me that it is a donkey, but to my poor old eyes it has the appearance of an animated pile of shaking bones!"

The auctioneer paused while the crowd laughed its approval of his statement. "Look closely, my friends, and you will observe how the moths have been at his hide! And the tail! Is it a tail? I believe it's only the stub of an old broom, worn out from sweeping the courtyard!"

The market place echoed with shouts, howls and guffaws of the men. "A true and rare museum piece, my friends-- moldy with age and loose in the joints!"

"He's not!" The boy's outraged voice rose over the din. "He's not like that at all!"

"Ah!" The auctioneer struck a pose of mock humility. "But it is not seemly to laugh, my friends, because-- so his proud owner assures me-- because this ancient ruin is distinguished enough to share a stall with the king's horses!"

"Don't say those things about him; it isn't true!" The boy's voice was almost drowned out by the rolling waves of laughter. "Maybe he isn't so handsome as all your animals, but he's better!"

He hugged the little donkey's head close to his breast and his angry tears fell on the rough, brown hairs of Small One's nose. "Yes-- and he IS fine enough to be in a king's stable-- and maybe someday that's where you'll find him!"

"All right, all right, my boy!" The auctioneer was anxious to get on with the bidding while the crowd was in a good mood. "Take your precious donkey and move along; we've used up enough good time on you! Go on-- hurry up!"

Then, lifting his voice: "Now, gentlemen-- now that we've had our fun and disposed of the king;s donkey, I wish to call your attention to those fine Arab stallions! Suppose we start the bid at two hundred pieces of silver. Do I hear two hundred? Will someone say two hundred?"

And so, with the auctioneer's fading voice in their ears, the boy and his donkey left the market place.The hours were slipping swiftly by, and before long he must start for home-- and when he arrived there, he must have the piece of silver for his father.

Two small weary legs and four old ones began a dogged, despairing journey through the town. A frantic childish voice called to people as they hurried by on the streets. A trembling whisper spoke of a tremendous bargain at doors that were angrily closed with a shouted, "Be off with you!" No one in all the town desired to buy an old, tired donkey.

It was close to sundown when the boy and Small One returned to the town gates and stood outside the tanner's door. The boy's hand fondled the rough brown nose, caressed the drooping ear, and patted the worn coat for the last time. Then, just as he lifted the latch of the tanner's door, a voice spoke to him from the street.

"My son!"

"Yes?" The boy turned hopefully. "Yes, sir?"

A bearded, poorly dressed man detached himself from the crowd that was moving toward the town gates.

"Tell me-- are you the owner of this small donkey?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have a long journey to make and my wife is not well. I have a great need of a strong, gentle animal to carry her safely."

"Oh, Small One is very strong-- and very trustworthy!"

The man looked from the donkey's old eyes to the two young ones. "Oh, yes-- I can believe that. Would you be good enough to sell him to me?"

"Oh, yes, sir!" The boy's heart sang at the miracle. "The price is but one piece of silver!"

The man was looking at Small One's drooping ear

"Is that too much, sir?"

"Too much?" The man smiled down at him. "No, indeed! Why, that's very reasonable for such a beautiful animal."

The boy was almost overcome by this unexpected appreciation of Small One. "Well -- well, he's not really very beautiful, but he's good."

"One piece of silver, you said." The man took a worn leather pouch from his belt, a pouch that was so flat that its contents could be only a few coins. "What is it that you call him?"

"Small One." The boy watched the man's fingers explore the bottom of the pouch. Suppose the man was only joking like the auctioneer? Suppose he didn't have the piece of silver?

"Ah, yes-- Small One.," The man held out a shining piece of silver and dropped it into the boy's hand. "There you are, my son-- and I promise you I'll be very kind to him. Come, now, Small One, we have to hurry! It's near to sundown, and the guards will be closing the town gate!"

The little donkey seemed puzzled at the tug of a strong hand on his strap, and then he started slowly but obediently off at the side of his new master. The boy watched them disappear into the crowd, standing on tiptoe to catch a last glimpse of that one long ear that stood up straight as a donkey's should. His happiness at having saved Small One's life was now lost in the dreadful pain of losing him.

Suddenly his legs started to run, carrying him through the crowd in swift pursuit. He overtook Small One and his new owner just a few steps from the great town gates.

"Please, sir--!" his breath had been left far behind at the tanner's door-- "Please, may I watch you through the gates? You see, Small One and I …!"

"Why, of course!" The man nodded his head in understanding. "You want to say good-by to your friend. You can do that while I see my wife safely on his back. Easy now, Small One."

Standing in the shelter of the wall was a woman wrapped in the folds of a heavy traveling robe.

There was suffering in the deep shadows of her face, and yet, as the boy's eyes met hers, it seems to him that a bright radiance shown about her head. It must have been his imagination, or some strange and momentary reflection of the setting sun, because this radiance faded away almost immediately.

Then, as the man went to her side and took her arm to guide her slow footsteps, the boy whispered his last good-by to Small One.

"Good-bye, Small One. You must be very faithful-- and this isn't forever, you know. When I grow up-- and earn many pieces of silver-- I'll buy you back. Then you'll have a fine stable, and nothing to do but eat and sleep. Wouldn't that be wonderful, Small One?

" "All right, my son." The man's hand touched his shoulder. "We're ready to start." The old donkey lifted his head at the pull on his strap, and hearing the woman on his work-worn back, moved slowly and carefully toward the gates.

Suddenly the voice of the guard called out a sharp command. "Wait! One moment, traveler!"

"Yes?" The man's voice was patient. "Yes, soldier?"

"Didn't you know the gates close at sundown? By all rights I should make you remain here the night! However--" the guard shrugged his shoulders-- "your name?"

"My name is Joseph."

"And your wife?"

"They call her Mary."

"Your destination?"

The man looked toward the hills beyond the gates.

"We journey to Bethlehem."

"Pass, traveler."

And so Joseph and Mary and Small One passed through the town gates, and the donkey's hooves rang sharply on the stones of the road-- and the sound was very much like music.

The boy called a last farewell into the gathering dusk. "Good-by! Good-by, Small One! Be gentle and sure of foot, and carry her safely to Bethlehem …"

The voice of the padre who sat in the cool shade of the pepper tree by El Camino del Norte, Old Mexico, was silent-- his thoughts still far away on his story of a boy and a donkey in the long ago.

Cupido, the little donkey that had inspired the telling of the story, stood with his eyes closed and seemed asleep. Pablo, his young master, waited for a moment and then said, "And so, Padre?"

"And so, Pablo. the Small One traveled the weary miles to Bethlehem; there, in a stable, which became a King's stable, he saw a King born. A King of men-- of centuries -- of life-- of death. Yes, and the Small One's tired old eyes saw the Wise Men and Shepherds who came to pay homage to his small Master and his dim old ears heard the voices of angels rejoicing and singing the very same notes his own small hooves had rung out on the stones of the road.

"Then it came to pass that all those who had laughed at his ragged coat, and his limping gait, and his drooping ear, they all came to envy the Small One, for he had traveled the road to Bethlehem to become a part of a great miracle.

"Lazy, did you say, Pablo? Ah, no, little donkeys are proud! You and I and all men have far to travel, but long centuries ago they fulfilled their destiny. Yes, and that's why all small donkeys stand and dream-- especially at Christmas time-- dream of the Small One, the Small One of Bethlehem."

The Padre, Pablo and the small donkey were quiet. A cool breath of air from the hills ventured down El Camino del Norte, foretelling that soon the long evening shadows would creep across the road from their hiding place among the tall yucca plants. The air was sweet with sage and carried the sound of music.

Was it the distant bells in the tower of the great cathedral, rehearsing their chimes for Christmas morning, or was it merely the sound of some small donkey's hooves as he plodded his way homeward?

They listened-- the Padre, the boy and Cupido, his little donkey. They listened-- yes-- but only the little donkey really knew.