A Bachelor's Christmas

Doctor Leo Roncalli was a bachelor.

He didn't regret being a bachelor. After all, he was an archaeologist by profession.

How can you look after your wife and kids when you're on archaeological digs all the time?

The only time he regretted not having a family was this time of year.

On Christmas Eve particularly.

Which was now.

And here he was.

In the cardio unit of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital.

He had been having severe heart trouble the past couple of years now.

As such, he hadn't been on any major digs or excavations the past couple of years.

He spent most of his time in the classroom rather than in the field these days. Teaching budding young students who wanted to be the next Indiana Jones or the next Lara Croft.

And one of his students Joel (whom he had regarded as the son he never had) had sent him a package from Italy which he had only received today.

It was an item Joel said he had dug up in Rome this past summer according to the email Joel had sent Doctor Roncalli last week.

It was an item that Doctor Roncalli should be particularly interested in, Joel had written in his email.

Doctor Roncalli when he read the lengthy email Joel had sent him wondered how Joel had received a permit so soon to send such a valuable antiquity out of Italy to the U.S.

Joel had answered his question in the very next line of the email that Doctor Roncalli was reading, "Well Professor, you're probably wondering how I got the permit to send such a recently discovered antiquity out of Italy to you? Well, lol, the bar I frequent in Rome, the bartender Simone and I have become quite good friends. Anyhow it turns out Simone is one of Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi's many young nymphettes that he likes to romp in the night with. So that's how I got a permit so quickly."

Doctor Roncalli (who was of Italian ancestry himself) laughed when he read those words.

He had received the package this morning. But he decided to do some Christmas shopping for his nephews and nieces.

When he got home, he was feeling exhausted and his heart seemed to be palpitating.

He decided to visit the emergency room of Saint Bartholomew's to make sure everything was okay.

He decided to bring the package along with him.

The heart specialist had come in to see him and was called away after examining Doctor Roncalli.

At that point, Doctor Roncalli opened the package.

There in a box was a toy. A wooden toy. A wooden toy horse to be exact. A child's toy.


There in a box was a toy. A wooden toy. A wooden toy horse to be exact. A child's toy.

It looked to be very ancient yet perfectly preserved.

Doctor Roncalli read the accompanying note with the package. It was from Joel.

Joel had known that one of his professor's specialties was toys of the ancient world. Of course it was not very often that such children's toys could be found.

The wood itself was made from a tree found only in ancient Palestine Joel had written.

The toy was somehow miraculously preserved and in mint condition.

How delicately and lovingly was it carved Doctor Roncalli thought to himself as he looked down at it.

The nurse entered the room and mentioned to him that the specialist didn't think the palpitations were very serious.

But he should return the day after Christmas for further tests.

Doctor Roncalli put on his coat. And picked up the package.

But he had forgotten to put the top on the box.

He walked down the hall and then walked through the children's heart unit.

There his heart specialist was talking to a young couple standing outside one of the children's rooms. The mother was in tears and the father looked like he was on the brink of crying.

"I'm sorry," the specialist said, "a heart had been lined up for William but due to the extreme blizzard conditions in the northeast, the plane is unable to fly out of the airport. I'm sorry. I don't think your son will be able to last the night."

The woman collapsed into a nearby chair and started sobbing uncontrollably.

Doctor Roncalli looked in on the young boy who was attached to numerous tubes and monitoring equipment.

He was blonde and blue eyed. Like a painting of a young angelic cherub by Botticelli. He looked to be no more than 5 or 6 years old.

The boy looked up at him and smiled.

"Is Santa here with my new heart?" the boy asked.

Doctor Roncalli tried to choke back tears.

"Umm... no, not yet," Doctor Roncalli stammered.

"What's in the box?" the boy asked.

Doctor Roncalli showed him the contents of the box.

"A toy horse, a toy horse," the boy shouted with glee, "I asked God if I couldn't get a new heart for Christmas, I'd settle for a toy horse instead."

Doctor Roncalli hesitated for a moment. The horse was an antique. A rare specimen for Dr. Roncalli's collection of toys from the ancient world.

But the archaeologist looked at the expression in the boy's eyes.

"Yes, it's your toy horse," Doctor Roncalli handed him the box, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," the boy smiled up at him with a warm angelic smile.

Doctor Roncalli left the room and walked slowly down the hall still hearing the sobs of the boy's mother behind him.

He walked out the hospital doors and looked around for a cab.

It was then that he felt the sharp pain in his heart.

God, it was intense, yet the specialist had told him via the nurse that he shouldn't worry.

As he sank to his knees, his last mortal thought was, "The specialist was wrong."

"Leo," a loving voice called to him.

Doctor Roncalli turned towards the stranger calling him.

A stranger whose face he had recognized from stained glass windows and paintings from days he had served as an altar boy a long long time ago.

"Well done, thou good and faithful servant," the stranger said.

"What have I done?" Leo asked hesitantly.

"For as much as you have done it unto the least of my bretheren, you do it unto me," the Stranger said, "if you give a cup of cold water unto those little ones who believe in me, you shall have your reward. And you gave the very first toy I had as a child in Bethlehem to the child who needed it the most on this night where you mark my birth."




-A short story written by Dracul Van Helsing
Christmas Eve, December 24th 2009