That didn’t come till the morning of the twenty-sixth. We made that day Christmas. Dad had a day off, and Mom baked the turkey a day late. It wasn’t till after dinner that we talked about it again.
Mom said, “I suppose the person, whoever it was, couldn’t find any way of planting the bomb once the Department drew the security strings tight.”
Dad smiled, as though he appreciated Mom’s loyalty. He said, “I don’t think you can make security that tight, but what’s the difference? There was no bomb. Maybe it was a bluff. After all, it did disrupt the city a bit and it gave the Soviet people at the United Nations some sleepless nights, I bet. That might have been almost as good for the bomber as letting the bomb go off.”
I said, “If he couldn’t do it on Christmas Day, maybe he’ll do it another time. Maybe he just said Christmas to get everyone keyed up, and then, after they relax, he’ll-”
Dad gave me one of his little pushes on the side of my head. “You’re a cheerful one, Larry. No, I don’t think so. Real bombers value the sense of power. When they say something is going to happen at a certain time, it’s got to be that time or it’s no fun for them.”
I was still suspicious, but the days passed and there was no bombing, and the Department gradually got back to normal. The F.B.I. left, and even the Soviet people seemed to forget about it, according to Dad.
On January second the Christmas-New Year’s vacation was over and I went back to school, and we started rehearsing our Christmas pageant. We didn’t call it that, of course, because we’re not supposed to have religious celebrations at school, what with the separation of church and state. We just made an elaborate show out of the song, “The Twelve Days of Christmas,” which doesn’t have any religion to it-just presents.
There were twelve of us kids, each one singing a particular line every time it came up and then coming in all together on the “partridge in a pear tree.” I was number five, singing “Five gold rings” because I was still a boy soprano and I could hit that high note pretty nicely, if I do say so myself.
Some kids didn’t know why Christmas had twelve days, but I explained that on the twelfth day after Christmas, which was January sixth, the Three Wise Men arrived with gifts for the Christ child. Naturally, it was on January sixth that we put on the show in the auditorium, with as many parents there as wanted to come.
Dad got a few hours off and was sitting in the audience with Mom. I could see him getting set to hear his son’s clear high note for the last time because next year my voice changes or I know the reason why.
Did you ever get an idea in the middle of a stage show and have to continue, no matter what?
We were only on the second day, with its “two turtledoves,” when I thought, “Oh, my, it’s the thirteenth day of Christmas.” The whole world was shaking around me and I couldn’t do a thing but stay on the stage and sing about five gold rings.
I didn’t think they’d ever get to those “twelve drummers drumming.” It was like having itching powder on instead of underwear-I couldn’t stand still. Then, when the last note was out, while they were still applauding, I broke away, went jumping down the steps from the platform and up the aisle, calling, “Dad!”
He looked startled, but I grabbed him, and I think I was babbling so fast that he could hardly understand.
I said, “Dad, Christmas isn’t the same day everywhere. It could be one of the Soviet’s own people. They’re officially atheist, but maybe one of them is religious and he wants to place the bomb for that reason. Only he would be a member of the Russian Orthodox Church. They don’t go by our calendar.”
“What?” said Dad, looking as though he didn’t understand a word I was saying.
“It’s so, Dad. I read about it. The Russian Orthodox Church is still on the Julian Calendar, which the West gave up for the Gregorian Calendar centuries ago. The Julian Calendar is thirteen days behind ours. The Russian Orthodox Christmas is on their December twenty-fifth, which is our January seventh. It’s tomorrow.”
He didn’t believe me, just like that. He looked it up in the almanac, then he called up someone in the Department who was Russian Orthodox.
He was able to get the Department moving again. They talked to the Soviets, and once the Soviets stopped talking about Zionists and looked at themselves, they got the man. I don’t know what they did with him, but there was no bombing on the thirteenth day of Christmas, either.
The Department wanted to give me a new bicycle for Christmas, but I turned it down. I told them I was just doing my duty.
