Written by Derek Bisset
“Actually”, the Storyteller hesitated, “there is no historical evidence that Caesar Augustus ordered a census at all.” “What's a senses?” A small earnest looking boy with oversize glasses sitting on the floor at the front asked, putting his hand up. "Is it like a sixth sense?” he looked around with a smirk.
Clever clogs, the Storyteller thought. This was not going well. He was new to this and worried about balancing story with historical facts. He wasn't prepared for the assortment of live, eager faces looking expectantly at him from their seats on the library carpet.
“Just let him tell us the story?” the older red-haired girl sitting behind the boy with glasses said, giving him a poke with her foot—must be his sister. He reached behind and grabbed her foot.
This could get out of hand. The Storyteller summoned up his storytelling voice. “There was a birth...there was definitely a birth. A very important man was born”, the children turned away from the interesting possibility of a fight between the red-haired girl and the small boy with spectacles and prepared to listen. “...he came to be called Jesus and he was certainly born in the time of the Roman occupation of what is now the country of Israel.” He glanced at his notes.
A girl with a Christmas hat on raised her hand hesitantly “wasn't there a star” she said. He was on firmer ground now. “That was almost certainly a supernova. There are ancient records and scientists say it was possible.” He glared at the small boy with spectacles, willing him to shut up and avoid a comment about Superman. The small boy's hand dropped. "He just wants to hear the story", the girl with red hair sounded irritated. “You are old enough to understand”, the Storyteller appealed to her “that we have to be careful what we say around Christmas these days.”
“Why?” the red-haired girl asked, “children should be told the historical facts as well as the Bible story.” It sounded lame, but he hoped she would respond to the appeal to her superior understanding. She looked unappeased but was silent. They were all getting restless. Someone called out from the back “what about the stable, the animals”? He wished he had brought his PowerPoint; after all, they would surely have been interested to see the supernova pictures he had prepared. Nevertheless, the librarian had assured him that the story would be fine in itself. “They always look forward to the retelling of the story... I do myself,” the librarian had said.
The Storyteller felt a little desperate. “If there was a stable, what Middle Eastern animals of that time would likely have been in it?” Calls from around the group, “a cow,” “a horse”...the Storyteller was shaking his head. “Not likely,” “an elephant!” some joker at the back shouted. “An elephant” the children repeated. Hoots of laughter!
One boy put up his hand as they quieted. “The Romans had elephants,” he said, “I saw a picture of some guy called Hannibal on one”...a sensible one at last. The Storyteller breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, he might get through to them; Hannibal was attacking Rome though. He started to tell them about Carthage and the origins of the Punic Wars hoping to catch their interest with Hannibal's Alpine adventure. The children looked bored. Another hand rose, “yes” he said hopefully, “I need to pee,” the owner of the hand squirmed.
He kept trying but gradually he lost them. One by one, the children wandered off to find their parents shopping in the Mall. Only a few diehards remained including the girl with the red hair, now glaring at him. The Storyteller sighed, what to do? What about that old idea of there being truth in stories...worth a try, he thought. He pulled the sheets headed The Birth of Jesus from behind the thick wad of notes he had researched for the occasion. He looked at the faces of the children, still attentive, waiting.
“Long ago, in the town of Nazareth, there lived a young woman named Mary,” he began. The girl with red hair sat forward and put her chin in her hand. Slowly her face took on a kind of light. As he continued the story he realized that he was enjoying the retelling of the old tale and out of the corner of his eye he noticed that a few of the children were coming back and slipping quietly to the floor listening as they did so. He warmed to the telling.
After all, he was a Storyteller.