Narnia: A Gift

Layla Voll

Once there were four children named Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. I expect that you have read about their adventures in C.S. Lewis's wonderful book, ãThe Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.ä What follows here is a very small story about the Pevensies' second Christmas in Narnia, the first one being the one you have already read about. I sincerely hope Mr. Lewis does not mind the liberty I have taken. At the very least, I hope he is not offended, as this trifle is meant only for my own amusement and, perhaps, that of one or two others.

The Pevensies spent their first Christmas Eve in Narnia at the home of the Beavers, although no one had known at the time that it was going to be Christmas Eve until Father Christmas actually arrived. Even so, Mr. Beaver was quite appalled when Mrs. Beaver first suggested inviting the Kings and Queens of Narnia to a Christmas Eve dinner. ãImagine us, inviting Their Royal Majesties to a nice little Christmas Eve dinner!ä he protested. ãReally! I'm sure they have much better things to do on such an important day. Affairs of state and all, and royal banquets and such.ä

But Mrs. Beaver knew children a little better than Mr. Beaver, whether or not they are Kings and Queens, and quite sensibly pointed out that there wouldn't be a Council meeting on Christmas Eve, since all the councilors would themselves be home for Christmas, and the foreign diplomats that had begun to come to the new court would hardly expect Their Majesties to discuss treaties on Christmas Eve, and (she said with a sniff) the cooking staff was quite certainly not yet up to the task of creating a grand banquet worthy of royalty. ãBesides,ä she said, ãthey'll just be rattling around up there in that great, drafty castle. They might enjoy a nice home-cooked meal.ä

And so one afternoon Mr. Beaver was announced to the court at Cair Paravel and, bowing in his best and most dignified manner, cordially invited the High King of Narnia and the Lone Islands and his brother and sisters to dinner on Christmas Eve. Before Peter could respond, Lucy squealed and clapped her hands in delight. Susan felt a little guilty that they were not throwing a banquet themselves, but also recognized the limitations of the royal kitchen. ãBesides, ãshe added practically, ãit gets awfully drafty up here when it's just us.ä The High King listened to the counsel of the Queens, and then looked at his brother, who had been silent, and said only ãIt is a very kind invitation.ä ãSo we are agreed,ä said Peter, and thanked Mr. Beaver formally ãwith the kind of proper dignity a King ought to have,ä Mr. Beaver told his wife later, feeling quite pleased with the way he had arranged everything.

And so it came to pass that the Sons of Adam and the Daughters of Eve spent the second of many very happy Christmas Eves in the snug little home at the dam. Peter had to stoop a little lower this time to keep from banging his head, and Edmund's knees seemed to be in all kinds of places that they hadn't been the year before, and Susan nearly set her hair on fire, but only once, and they were soon all settled in around the table, all except for Mrs. Beaver, who bustled about joyously, bringing out steaming bowls of soup with plump oysters and lovely lumps of melting yellow butter; grand plates of juicy carrots and fluffy, whipped potatoes; a great basket of crisp, gleaming apples; a pitcher of cold, frothy milk for the children and beer for Mr. Beaver; and, finally, another great and gloriously sticky marmalade roll, fresh from the oven, just like the year before.

The new snow shushed gently over the woods and the river, and icicles glistened on the trees, but the little home on the dam was cosy and warm, and the six old friends laughed and talked of everything and of nothing at all in the way that old friends do. But they each kept one ear cocked for the sound of sleigh bells the whole time, because in Narnia, as you know, Father Christmas comes even when you are awake. Perhaps it is because the magic of the land is closer to the surface, or perhaps it is just that the Narnians are looking for him, and so they see him more easily. Nor were the Kings and Queens of Narnia so solemn and elegant that they did not wonder out loud what Father Christmas would be bringing them. ãSuitor-Away spray for Susan, I think,ä teased Peter, and Susan laughed, and teased back that Peter would be needing a whole new set of shirts again, for he was already nearly bursting out of the old set. Lucy bounced with glee in her efforts not to tell what she had gotten for the rest, while Peter guessed sillier and sillier gifts until she was laughing so hard she could not catch her breath. He felt quite safe in guessing, because he knew perfectly well that his two youngest siblings had worked together to get him a very nice new set of armor from some of the best dwarven craftsmen. He also suspected that Edmund had cheerfully resigned himself to getting a new set of armor of his own, since he did need one, much as one is resigned to receiving gloves from one's Aunt Gladys when one needs them. (Actually, Edmund was wrong: Susan and Peter had been working for weeks to write down the poems of John Donne from memory, since Edmund had not had him yet in school, and he would keep that little book next to his bed for all the years he ruled in Narnia.)

But as the evening wore on, Edmund grew quieter and quieter, until he finally stole silently away from the table, although this time there was not one of his companions who failed to notice him slipping out the door. When Lucy would have followed, Peter stopped her and said softly, "Let him be, Lu." And so, after a while, it was Mr. Beaver who slipped out to follow the footsteps in the new snow, and stood gently puffing on his pipe next to the boy, looking out over his pond and the black river rippling over the dam.

After a while, Edmund cleared his throat roughly, although he seemed to be addressing the dam instead of his companion. ãSorry. It's just· it just reminded me, that's all. Of how awful I was. To you, to Lu· to everyone.ä He was silent for a moment. ãIt just seemed wrong to be there, remembering all those things, when you all were being such bricks, pretending not to remember. Anyway. Sorry.ä

Mr. Beaver was silent for a long time, still puffing peaceably on his pipe, until he was sure there was nothing else Edmund wanted to say. ãIt's a beautiful view. I come out here myself most nights, just to watch the water. Very peaceful. It seems to set my mind at rest. ä

Edmund nodded gratefully, and continued in a different voice that tried much harder to be brighter, ãAt any rate, out here we might get a chance to see Father Christmas first. Funny, standing here and knowing for certain that he'll be showing up on your doorstep!ä He suddenly hesitated. ãEr, that is ö he will show up this year as well, won't he?ä

Mr. Beaver looked shocked. ãBy the Mane, Your Highness! Of course he will! You shouldn't say such things. All those ages of winter and never Christmas ö brrr! ö it makes me shiver just to think of it.ä

ãSorry! I didn't mean ö I mean, we don't usually see him where we come from. I wasn't sure if he was bringing Christmas just the one time, since it was special last year, or if he was going to bring it in person every year.ä

Mr. Beaver was silent, and Edmund looked over at him, worried that he had offended his companion. But he was only puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. ãHow is it that you have Christmas if Father Christmas does not bring it to you?ä he asked finally.

Edmund hesitated, wondering how to explain that the days went by and Christmas just happened, and feeling that there should be a little bit more than that, since the White Witch had actually been able to stop it from coming to Narnia. But before he could begin (he thought he remembered something from Dickens about keeping Christmas in one's heart, but he wasn't quite sure where to go with that), they were both suddenly distracted by the faint, shimmering sound of bells. Edmund found himself somewhat foolishly trying to crane his neck to see around the trees, until in the blink of an eye that wonderful sleigh was right in front of him. He was speechless, of course. Even if your own sister has told you she has met Father Christmas, it isn't at all the same as meeting him yourself, and Edmund was not entirely sure what he should say, or even whether he should introduce himself.

Father Christmas laughed his big, joyful laugh, which was quite glorious, and a little bit frightening as well. ãHo, ho, ho! Well met, Son of Adam! I have been waiting a long time to meet you.ä

Edmund looked down at his feet and swallowed hard, because it was his own fault that he had not met Father Christmas the year before, and it still hurt very much to remember what he had been doing instead. But the great man continued, pulling something out from under his cloak. ãI have a Gift for you.ä

Edmund only caught a glimpse of a long, flat package out of the corner of his eye, and for one terrible moment he thought Father Christmas was making fun of him with a package of Turkish delight. But when he looked up into those kindly, twinkling eyes, he saw only joy, and he smiled back. The first package he unwrapped (the flat one he had seen first) was a lovely silver pen, and then an elegant crystal inkwell, with scenes from the history of Narnia engraved on the sides. Edmund was delighted, and said so softly.

ãIt is not magic, because it is not one of the first Gifts ,ä Father Christmas said. ãBut it has indeed been waiting for you for a long time in order to become a Gift.ä

Edmund blinked, puzzled. ãI don't understand. Don't you make the gifts?ä

ãNo, not at all! A gift is not truly a gift until it has been given. You are the most important part! Without the recipient, there is no gift. Without the giving, I myself am nothing.ä He paused, and laid his hand on Edmund's shoulder. Edmund thought afterwards that he seemed to look right into him, which was both wonderful and terrifying at the same time. ãThis gift has been waiting for you and you alone, Edmund, Son of Adam. We are very glad you are here.ä

For the first time Edmund began to be truly happy it was Christmas Eve. It is terrible not to look forward to Christmas, but he had had the uncomfortable feeling all the weeks before that he did not really deserve to have a Christmas. Peter had guessed what he was feeling, and had tried very hard to help, but it is awkward to remind someone that they are forgiven without also making them remember what you are forgiving them for. Looking up in awe at that great, joyous man, Edmund knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Father Christmas had wanted to give him that gift even more than he had wanted to have it, and he was fiercely glad.

Poor Mr. Beaver had been nearly motionless during this whole exchange, but eventually, no matter how hard one tries, there always comes a time when one must do something, such as breathe, which will attract notice. Father Christmas twinkled a last time at Edmund and turned to Mr. Beaver with a great shout. ãHello, Mr. Beaver! I have gifts for you and for your lady wife as well. Shall we go and greet her and your guests?ä

The three walked through the snow to the little door in the dam, which Lucy had already opened slightly and was peering through the crack. When she saw the new visitor, she laughed in delight, flinging the door wide and rushing up to hug Edmund. ãOh, Edmund!ä she cried joyfully. ãIsn't it wonderful?ä And Edmund realized in surprise that she was happier that he had finally met Father Christmas than she was to see him herself. He looked over at Peter, who was ducking through the low door and grinning madly at him, and Susan smiling behind him with a towel in her hands, having just finished helping Mrs. Beaver with the washing up. He grinned back at them, hugging Lucy a little harder before letting her go to greet Father Christmas herself, and he held his gifts close to his heart in the way his brother would come to recognize meant he was remembering that moment.

Now, one does not like to tell tales on Father Christmas, but you may have guessed that he was not precisely accurate in what he told Edmund. While there was no magic in the pen, there was most certainly magic in the inkwell, as Edmund was to discover. But all of that is quite a different story, belonging to King Edmund the Just rather than Edmund Pevensie, and is not relevant to this story at all. Father Christmas gave his gifts to Edmund Pevensie long before all of that happened, simply for the joy of the giving.

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