MIRACLE IN JULY

 One of the favorite stories from the Toyland series:  

~ MIRACLE IN JULY ~

blistering heat wave engulfed Toyland and surrounding areas for a good part May and all of July.   The parched earth begged for water—none was coming.  Strong men, working in the fields or streets of Toyland passed out from heat stroke.  Everywhere tension was high and nerves were frayed.  But this day the tension and frustration grew even greater as it was the day the summations to the jury in the trial of Jo-Jo the Piper’s Son were to be given and in all likelihood, the verdict itself.

 “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the evidence against Jo-Jo the Piper is, as you can plainly see, overwhelming.  You must, according to your charges, convict the defendant and return with a guilty verdict.”  Wee Willie Shat bowed deeply to the jury and took his place at the prosecutor’s table.

Outside and inside the courtroom an ugly “blood fever” gripped the once peaceful town of Toyland, for outside the Magistrate’s court, Muggsy and the entire troop of the Mystic Knights of the Sea surrounded the building.  They were clad in peasant clothes that easily concealed their weapons.  Those weapons included swords, clubs, maces and all manner of stick with nails in them.  They were prepared for a violent conflict if a guilty verdict was handed down, which was a virtual certainty.  And that would just be the beginning.  It was clear now that a complete purge of the government was necessary beginning with the Magistrate himself, who must be killed, they believed, along with his entire staff, and whatever member’s of the King’s Men that remained loyal to them, falling short of killing the King himself, whom was still held in almost mythical regard.  They would not kill him, but his role would be reduced to that of figurehead, a King without real power, the real power going to the people of Toyland in the form of a rudimentary republic based on that of the ancient legends. 

Inside and around the perimeter of the wooden building, stood 200 members of the King’s Men, bristling with armor, staffs, swords and daggers at the ready.  They had been warned of a possible uprising. 

As word got around town that the Mystic Knights were present and ready to fight, the townspeople began to choose sides and arm themselves.  Other armed themselves without choosing sides, but simply to protect themselves, as that need seemed inevitable.

Tension soared as did the thermometer, which at noon read, 235 degrees platypus.    The crowd grew in number as the hot summer sun rose in the sky.   Thirst, heat, and the mounting dryness, made everyone more uncomfortable and short tempered.  And the jury deliberated.

The town's well became a place where occasional fisticuffs broke out, and although calmer heads prevailed, the fear of violence increased and thus increased its own likelihood.   

“I thirst!  Make way, as I will get to the well!” shouted Cornelius the Potter, pushing aside a young woman with a child.

“Sir!  You are no gentlemen!” said Dennis, the weaver,” drawing his sword.   “Stand and fight, man.”  They would have killed one another but

just then, someone shouted. “The jury has returned!  The jury has returned!”   

We, the jury, find the defendant Joey-Jo-Jo the Piper's Son, guilty of treason.

The courtroom emptied and all those inside spilled out onto the street, but there was nowhere to go as the streets were now filled with people. Jo-Jo wrists were bound together as he tried to shield his eyes from the brilliant sun. The verdict, combined with the soaring heat, the shouting, shrieking and all the tumult caused Jo-Jo to pass out.  The mob and all of the soldiers, the guards and King’s Men—everyone who was there—gripped their weapons tightly. 

 Bloodshed of  Biblical proportions was imminent.  

I could not stand it any longer.  It was time; I made up my mind to intervene.

“Stop it!  I shouted from a tall platform that suddenly appeared on the steps of the Court.  “Stop it at once all of you!”

“Who the hell are you?” Muggsy asked removing the hood covering his head. 

“Never mind who I am,” I said.  “This must stop.  You are all about to destroy yourselves in a ridiculous display of senseless violence!”

“Ah, go on!  We know what we’re doing,” snapped Muggsy, “Now shut up or we’ll cut your head off as well!”

“Oh, no you won’t!” I responded.

“Oh, really?” said Muggsy, defiantly. “Let’s see.” He began to approach me.

“Cut his head off!”

“Kill him!  Kill him!”

“Kill the stranger!”

Suddenly, just as Muggsy’s was about to cut me in half with a stroke of his broadsword it transformed into a long, green stem with an oversized sunflower at the end of it.

“What the…?  Are you a magician?  Go away, we don’t need magicians here!”

“I am not a magician.  But you are powerless against me,” I said.  “Now put down your weapons and go home.”

“I’ll kill you mahself, you interloper!” shouted Kingfish, running at me, dagger in hand.

“Freeze, Kingfish,” I said, and Kingfish’s feet stuck to the ground as if they had been nailed down.  “Holy mackerel!  And how did he know my name? And why is mah feets stuck?”

“Who is he?”

“What form of devil is this?”

“Men!  Seize him!” shouted Willie Shat.  A group of armed thugs brandished their swords and headed toward me.  I smiled, and said, “Don’t waste your energy.”  With that, the men were pulled about 10 feet off the ground and held their place there, their legs pumping furiously beneath them.

“Now, now, Magistrate,” I said. “Dear Mr. Shat, don’t you realize that in spite of your terrible affliction that you may accomplish great things?  Why not live an enlightened life—a life of beneficence and good will; a life dedicated for the welfare of mankind, as opposed to a life of bitter, unfulfilled ambition?”

“What?  What condition?  I know not of what you speak!  This man is mad!  Mad I tell you!”

I had no choice but to come clean.

“Good people of Toyland, this may be difficult for you to understand but I, um…I am the author of this story.  My name is Joe Ciolino.”

Roars of laughter resounded throughout the square. 

“He’s mad!”  
"What kind of a stupid name is that?" 

“He’s a mad demon!”

“Either that or he’s a mad fool!”  More laughter.

“No, it is true.  I am responsible for everything that has happened here.  Well, me and this other guy, but that’s not important.  I have created this mess and now, I’m going to end it.”

“Now I know you’re mad!” said Muggsy.  “Prove to us, if you can, that you are the so-called, ‘author.’”

“Okay, uh…how?”

“Well if you are the author you could make it rain, right now.”

A loud thunder rolled across the valley as clouds formed with a sudden downpour of heavy rain that lasted for exactly thirty seconds.

“Hey, that felt good,” said Muggsy. “But mere coincidence.”

“Oh, really?” I said, “How about this—

Suddenly there appeared on the Court steps, Ava Gardner, Bette Davis, Joan Blondell, and Dorothy Lamour. 

“How about that?” I said, proudly.

“How about what?  Ha! Four dames?  A poor trick!  I’ve seen magicians at the fairs in France do more than that.”

“Yes but that’s Bette Davis!”

“Who?”

“Oh, crap.  I forgot you don’t know these people.  Okay girls, thanks.”

The girls disappeared.

“Okay, now listen.  Tell me what can I do to prove to you that I am the author.”

There was grumbling and exchanges of ideas throughout but no suggestions that could not be attributed to hokey magic tricks or mere coincidence and without doubt to authorship.

“There must be something I can do!  There must be!”

We went back and forth, with suggestions ideas and I made several demonstrations of various kinds, including at one point turning half the townspeople into cows and back again.  None of it convinced anyone without doubt that I was who I claimed to be.

“I give up,” I said.  “Go ahead, if you want to kill yourselves, be my guest.”
“Hoo-rah!  Let’s go men!”  The Mystic Knights charged, swords and weapons blazing.  The townspeople began to fight each other. The King’s Men and soldiers loosed their swords from their sheaths.  

“Wait!”  I had finally come up with something. Everyone stopped in their tracks.

Pointing with grand gesture to the Northern sky I said, “Behold!” a la Charlton Heston, out of the sky appeared…a miniature sleigh with eight tiny reindeer.

“Santa!  It’s Santa Claus!”

“Santa in July!?!  Tis a miracle!”          

“Ho! Ho! Ho!” Santa’s hearty laughter could be heard as his swept across the rooftops, circled the town square and landed softly on the small green lawn in front of the Court House. 

“Well, well, well, Hellooooooo, good people of Toyland!  Greetings!  Greetings and felicitations!  What’s this?  A special holiday? A parade?  What festivities have I stumbled upon?” 

Ugly Sam blurted out “It’s a bloody revolution, Santa!”

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa?” cried Santa.

“No! No!” shouted Muggsy.  “No, Santa, it’s uh…we’ve all gathered to…uh…um…”

The King’s Men turned away sheepishly, looking down at their feet, or staring into the sky, or whistling nonchalantly. 

“It’s just a…uh…”

“Ho! Ho! Ho!  Speak man, I have gifts to give out!”

“Santa has gifts!”

“He’s brought us gifts!  Gifts in July!”

“Tis truly a miracle!”

“Yes,” Santa spoke.  “I decided to make a special trip to Toyland because of all the towns and villages of the world, yours is the one closest to my heart.  Your people are kind and wise, and you value peace and respect of your fellow man above all else.”

\
“Yes! Peace and respect for all mankind!” cried Muggsy, hiding his sword again.

“Peace and respect!” shouted the mob.

Soon all the guardsmen soldiers and the entire town were waving their weapons shouting, “Peace and respect!”

It took Santa about six hours to hand out all his gifts. Muggsy got a new shaving soap holder, Kingfish got the complete scores of Duke Ellington, and each soldier received fishing equipment of the finest craftsmanship.

Wee Willie Shat got a new chess set (he loved chess).  The townspeople were thrilled to receive anything in the middle of July that they didn’t have to pay for. 

“Ho! Ho! Ho!  And now, I must leave you… you know, there are many places in the world that Santa is terrified to visit—they are very dangerous.  But they need me most of all because they have forgotten the true message of Christmas!   But you, good people of Toyland, you live it every day of the year.  You have kept the true meaning of Christmas alive!”

“Hoo-rah!” the crowd bellowed.

“Damn,” Kingfish whispered to Muggsy.  “Dis Santa be way out of touch.”

“Shut up!” Muggsy reprimanded.  “Peace and respect!”

“Farewell, good people of Toyland!”

“Farewell, Santa!”

“Good-bye!  See you at Christmas!”

Soldiers, guardsmen, all smiling and waving doffed their caps or helmets; everyone waved farewell with gusto.

“Ho! Ho! Ho! Ho!  On Dasher, on Dancer, on Donner and Blitzen…” Santa’s sleigh lifted off the ground and soared into the sky.   “Ho!  Ho!  Ho!” cried Santa, disappearing over the mountaintop.  (MUSIC)

As everyone basked in the glory of Santa’s visit, I strolled over to Muggsy.

“So, Mr. Mee, do you believe me now?”

“Hah?” said Muggsy, still examining his gift.

“You must believe me now.  I made Santa appear in July.  I brought you Santa!”

“Oh, please,” he said, dismissively.  “You heard him.  He came because he loves us.  We keep the true meaning of Christmas alive!”

“Oh, that’s it!  I can’t take it anymore.  I’m leaving,” I said, and stormed off.

“Good.” Said Muggsy.

“But before I go…” I waved my hand (simply for effect, of course, all I had to do, really, was type it) and all the townspeople were suddenly stark staring nude.

“Ha! Take that! I  did that!  That’s right!” I boasted.

“Hey! Now that we’re all nude let’s all run down to the river!” Muggsy shouted.

“Yes! To the river!”

“Last one in is a rotten plum,” Jack Horner shouted.

“This is so amazing!” said Dickie the Bell-ringer. “I had this same dream last night!”  Yes, the townspeople, the soldiers, the King’s Men, Jo-Jo, the Mystic Knights, even Wee Willie Shat, who suddenly, thanks to Dickie the Bell ringer, discovered that he could, in fact, achieve hardness, all frolicked in the river, enjoying all manner of innocent fun and a little wet debauchery.   Here, Willie Shat, arms outstretched, and revealing to all that the appellation “Wee” was no longer appropriate, shouted “Truly, this is a miracle!”.

“If dis be da true meanin’ o’ Christmas, den mah name is Harry Truman!” noted the Kingfish.

nd so, peace, joy, and brotherly love once more reigned over Toyland.  Well, not exactly.  But it was close.