Disclaimer - All characters are property of Rysher, Hallmark Entertainment, etc, etc. No profit received or given.
More bittersweet than sweet.
Christmas Eve, 1974 ~ outside Docker River, Northern Territory, Australia
Mary Tyler looked out the window and saw a willy wagtail dancing in the sky. She frowned slightly, wondering what the little bird was there to tell her. Probably that Dingo would not be here for Christmas -- again. She glanced over her shoulder to see their young son, her pride and joy, seriously writing something at the kitchen table. "What are you writing, Rollie?"
"A letter to Santa", Rollie answered truthfully.
Mary's frown deepened, then was quickly hidden. Dingo had told his son several years back that Santa Claus was not real and never had been. She had thought that their son was too young to lose that charming belief of childhood, but it had been too late to halt the damage. Except for some reason, it hadn't. Rollie had looked at his father with large, serious, brown eyes, nodded politely and asked to be excused from the table. Permission granted, he had retreated to the sanctuary of his small room.
Rollie sat on his bed, his young brow furrowed with thought. His father said that Santa wasn't real. Actually, that wasn't exactly news. An older boy had told him that two years ago, thinking to drive the smaller child to tears. It hadn't worked then. Were they right? Was Santa Claus a myth like the ones in his picture book about Greece? He shook his head. Somehow it just didn't feel right. Grown ups and nearly grown ups did not know everything. Sometimes they were wrong. Decided, he picked up a pad of paper, dug out his pencil case and headed outdoors.
"Where are you going, Rollie?"
"Outside!" Rollie called to his mother, pausing at the door.
"Well, don't play too long."
"I won't!" Rollie promised as he darted out the door. Following a path only he could see, he trotted a short distance from the house. Sitting under a large, bare tree, he wrote his letter to Santa Claus. In it, he carefully explained what his Da had said and added that his Mum hadn't contradicted him. He chewed on his pencil thoughtfully. He told Santa that he hoped he had a good year and a safe trip, then signed his name.
Looking at all the white space left on the page, he pulled out some of his crayons and carefully drew a picture, being sure to color in the lines, just the way the bigger kids did. He examined his art with critical eyes and smiled. But how do I get it to Santa? He couldn't ask his parents to mail it as he had in years before. Obviously, for a reason he didn't really understand, older folks didn't believe. Will I stop believing one day? The thought troubled him greatly. Santa was important. He couldn't just stop! And that isn't getting my letter to Santa! He looked around and wondered if he should ask Mangela to send it. Mangela believed in lots of things that his parents didn't and he was really, really smart. Clever was what Mum said. No, he is a grown up too. He may not believe either.
A sound made the boy look up. He brushed a curl of brown hair from his eyes and smiled in delight at the sight of the kangaroo and her young joey. He loved to watch the roos playing. He sat very still so he wouldn't scare them. Sharp eyes looked around, seeking other members of the mob. He was mildly disappointed to realize they were alone. Still, the others couldn't be that far away. Somewhere nearby, there was an old man boomer keeping watch for danger like dingoes and men hunting. ... Boomers! Boomers pulled Santa's sleigh when he was in Australia. It was much too hot for reindeer. A huge grin split his face. He carefully folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope. He wrote Santa Claus on the front. Now he just had to figure out how to ask the roos to give his letter to the boomer to give to Santa.
Remembering Mangela's secret lessons, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He breathed in and out. One... Two... Three... His heart slowed slightly and a peaceful feeling filled his small, sturdy frame. Brown eyes, too old for a child, blinked open and looked out calmly. He smiled gently at the blue flyer nibbling dry grass. She looked up and hopped over to the boy. Rollie held out his hand, palm flat, the letter lying on it. The kangaroo examined the offering, sniffing carefully. With a twitch of one ear, she nuzzled the hand, then picked up the paper in her mouth. As if receiving an unseen signal from its mother, the joey dove head first into her pouch. With her baby's feet sticking out, the kangaroo hopped away, gathering speed, lengthening her stride as she went.
Satisfied, Rollie put away his crayons and stood up. He brushed at the seat of his pants, knocking off some of the red dust. He went inside with the certain knowledge that his letter was on its way to Santa.
Mary pushed back chestnut curls, wondering what her son was going to do with his letter when it was done. She had learned by accident that Rollie continued writing to Santa. She worried that he was too old now to still believe, but was grateful that her son didn't have to hide his activity from one parent. She smiled warmly and asked, "Want to help me bake Christmas cookies when you're done?"
"For The People?" Rollie asked, looking up curiously.
His mother grinned at him. "Yes."
"All right." He finished writing as his mother collected the necessary ingredients and tools for their task. Sitting the letter carefully aside for later, he moved over to the sink. Making things in the kitchen always started with washing their hands.
"Do you think Da will make it this year?"
"I don't know, sweetie. I hope so." His mother brushed his cheek, leaving a streak of flour.
"I do too", Rollie said, then looked up at his mother, "but I don't think I'll count on it."
Mary nodded in agreement. Her son was wise beyond his nine years and so very bright! Why couldn't Dingo be here like a good father would, instead of gallavating all over creation? She shook her head, not wanting to fall into a sour mood and spoil Rollie's Christmas. At least they had several gifts ready and waiting for the day. She was grateful that her husband had left them on his last visit. That was all it really was - a visit. It was almost as if he didn't live there. Just her and Rollie, with Mangela dropping by to make sure everything was all right. Rollie adored the aborigine who treated him like his own. Mary was grateful to the older man for his open affection.
As they waited for the cookies to cool, Mary cleaned the kitchen. "Why don't you get Mangela's Christmas present ready?"
Rollie smiled with delight. "Yes, Mum!" He ran off, eager to wrap the gift they had chosen for the man who was more father to him than his birth parent.
"Dingo, I sometimes wonder. The way Rollie likes to give things..." Mary whispered to her absent husband. Their son was such a contrast to his father's nature. She liked to think she was generous, but Rollie put her to shame. He gave so readily, both things and of himself. It was amazing. She hoped he wouldn't ever grow out of it.
The promise of a hot Christmas was fulfilled, the bright sun burning down on seared vegetation. Mary Tyler watched her son playing near the gum tree they had decorated for the day. So far there wasn't any sign of Dingo. When Rollie had gotten up that morning with the birds, he had beamed happily at the presents under the tree. Following her to the kitchen, his feet had drummed against his chair as he waited patiently for breakfast. As they ate, he had turned solemn eyes on his mother.
"I think we should wait, Mum, in case Da gets here later. We can open the prezzies this afternoon."
Seeing the anxious look in those big brown eyes, Mary had nodded in agreement. And so, the gifts remained untouched under the tree. Rollie was carefully drawing in his colouring book as she knitted an afghan and listened to the radio. The cheerful seasonal music was interrupted by the announcer's voice. He sounded serious and shocked. Mary's hands stilled as she listened, stunned, to the news that Cyclone Tracy had made land fall, devastating the city of Darwin early that morning.
Mary Tyler's attention was drawn back to their little home in the dusty outback as her son leaned against her. Shocked brown eyes met sad brown ones. "Santa didn't make it to Darwin 'cause of Tracy, did he?"
His mother shook her head silently, wondering how to explain to her young son. He was so bright and clever, smart as a whip. Still, it was time Rollie stopped believing in Santa and...
"The kids will need presents. Can we send mine?"
Mary's throat closed at the sincerity in her son's loving eyes, so generous and good, kind and giving! A tear traced its way down her cheek. "Are you sure, sweetie?"
Rollie nodded, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. "Yes. They don't have anything now. I don't need them, not like they do."
"All right. We'll make a big care package for Darwin and take it into Docker River. Mister Brown will know where to send it."
"Today?" Rollie asked anxiously.
"Today!" His mother promised.
Together, mother and son went around the house collecting items to go. As Mary filled a cardboard box with blankets and food tins, she looked at her son placing his presents in another box. "Don't you want to keep one, Rollie?"
"No, Mum. They all need to go." Rollie was adamant.
Mary Tyler felt her breast swell with pride. She wished Dingo was here to see the generosity of their son. Then reality crashed back in. It was probably a good thing that her husband wasn't there. He would never understand. Fortunately, by the time he probably showed up again, Christmas presents would be forgotten and she would not have to explain and Dingo couldn't berate his son. She wondered how long her son's gentle, caring, giving nature would survive in the world. She prayed that at least part of it would last his entire life.
A sound made Mary glance up. Her eyes met the aboriginal standing in the open doorway. "Hello Mangela. You're early."
"Thought I would bring the news of Darwin, but looks like you already heard, Mar."
"Yeah", Mary sighed sadly.
"A couple of the bucks are going to drive some things to Alice. We can add these to the load."
Mary nodded. She hurried to her room for a few more clothes to send. They had saved up quite a bit that her son had outgrown.
"What ya got there, Rollie?"
"My Christmas presents, Mangela."
"You're sending them for the Darwin kids?" Mangela asked, surprised.
"Yeah. I figure they need them more than I do." Rollie looked up at the aborigine.
"Well, that's right generous. Sure you don't want to keep one?" The elder asked, a bit concerned.
Rollie shook his head as he labeled a present so they'd have an idea of who could use it. His mum had told him which were clothes and which were toys. She'd also indicated which ones a girl would enjoy as well as a boy. He'd been carefully replacing the tags with his name with new ones.
Mangela exchanged a concerned glance with Mary, but she shrugged helplessly. Her son might be young, but he was very, very stubborn. "Right, I'll take this lot out." The aborigine carried the ready boxes outside where two younger men from his tribe added them to their load.
When the aborigine had taken the last box out to the old ute, he told the others. "You take this on, see if anyone else has anything ready. I'll walk back to the camp from here." They nodded agreement and left, dust hazing the sky as the sun slid toward the edge of the land.
Mangela walked back inside to join the young family in their final meal of the day. One hand gently touched Rollie's in benediction. So generous and caring! "I'll make you a couple of new toys, sonny boy."
Rollie's face screwed up as he started to protest that they could be sent for the kids in Darwin too.
"Nah, none of that", Mangela said as he tousled the soft brown curls. "These'd be bush toys. Those city kids wouldn't want 'em. You can watch me make 'em."
A huge smile lit Rollie's face.
Cyclone Tracy was real. 70% of the homes were destroyed or sustained substantial damage. Services including all communications were severed. According to the reports I found on the Internet, 65 or 66 people were killed (49 or 50 in the city, 16 lost at sea), 112 seriously injured.* With a population of over 43,000, I think it was a miracle more weren't killed or injured.
Rollie would have been a child, probably still living in Docker River with his mother. I thought, given the nature he displayed as an adult, it was likely he would generously give to the children evacuees. Whether or not it would have been his entire supply of unopened Christmas presents is up to us. After all, Rollie is fiction.
*Source websites are Northern Territory website on Cyclone Tracy, HistorySmiths Play Kit - Cyclone Tracy destroys Darwin, ABC News - Darwin Remembers Cyclone Tracy 25 years later, Cyclone Tracy by Michael John Meech, Gateways - Cyclone Tracy RevistedThis fic is dedicated to Deb who got me to Darwin and to Maureen, Jill, Janet and David who feed the FX Fic Menagerie. Thank you!