I stepped forward and pulled off my Santa Claus hat. For a long moment I just stood there, trying to decide what to say. Even if I'd had my speech rehearsed, I don't think I could have talked around the lump in my throat.
I couldn't shake the feeling that somehow I had failed them. It was a feeling that went much deeper than my inability to cope with Adam-Two and his problem. It was a real, deep-down hollow feeling that stemmed from my conviction, ever since the Uncles' visit, that the whole idea of Fairyland was a mistake. I wanted to talk to each and every one of them, alone. I wanted to tell them, "It's going to be all right. Mommy and Daddy love you and will always look after you, so you mustn't worry."
And so I stood there on the stage in my ridiculous, padded Santa suit, and somehow managed a smile. "Kids," I said, "Daddy's sure sorry, but you see Santa Claus just couldn't make it today. He—his spaceship broke down—like our merry-go-round, remember? So Santa asked Daddy to sort of ... to pretend—"
Down in the front row, nine-year old Molly-Five suddenly began to sob. Two rows behind her, thirteen-year old Mary-Three took up the cry. Then across the aisle from Mary, another girl wailed, "I want Santa Claus!" In the back of the Auditorium, fifteen-year-old Johnny-Four shouted, "We hate you! You're a mean old Daddy!"
And there in the aisle, pointing an accusing finger at me, was thirty-eight-year old Mike-One, who brought his Santa-problem to me—was it only three weeks ago? Mike-One, his arm extended, his chin trembling, yelling: "You lied to me! You lied, lied, lied!"
It took the better part of an hour to restore a semblance of order. When the first shock was over and the hysterical, contagious tears had subsided a little, Mommy and I managed to convince the Kids, at least most of them, that Santa was alive and well, that he was very sorry he couldn't make it, but if they'd be good and not fuss about it they'd all get something extra special next Christmas. Just for good measure, we doubled the Ice Cream Ration for the next two weeks.
When it was over, I went looking for Adam-Two.
I was boiling mad, and I knew I ought to wait until I cooled off before having it out with him. But after what he'd pulled today, I didn't dare trust him out of my sight that long. I knew that my anger was irrational, but the knowledge didn't help much.
I found him behind the Picnic Grounds, throwing snowballs at the Great Wall. He was using the force field like a billiard cushion to bank his shots back in toward the trees.