A Captain
Scarlet and the Mysterons short story for Christmas 2004
by
Tiger Jackson
Rhapsody loved Christmas shopping in Paris. And one of her favourite
stores was Le Train Petit on the Champs-Elysée.
She’d
first visited it as a little girl with her family. It had been like stepping
into a dreamworld. The doors had swung open to reveal a miniature carousel,
covered in delicate rice lights of all colours and carrying five carved horses.
Each horse was a different colour, and each was wearing the glorious tack of
different eras. Blink and you saw a knight’s black charger in silver armour and
red caparisons, ready to joust. Blink again, and open your eyes to see a pure
white horse, its mouth open wide, adorned with a heavy saddle and delicate
bridle, both of golden-tan leather decorated with hanging disks of brilliant
green jade, a palfrey for an ancient Chinese lady. Then a bay steed draped in
harness of gold and brilliant blue faience, noble enough to pull a pharaoh’s
chariot. And here came a fantastic red horse with a white dappled rump, wearing
no harness at all but painted from head to tail with the bright mysterious
symbols of the American southwest, followed by a steel-grey Arabian, covered in
shimmering silks and gold, the tassels on its bridle and reins swaying. They
neighed and tossed their heads, swished their tails, and pawed the air as they
galloped in their endless circle to the melodies of ancient Christmas carols.
The little girl who loved horses so much had been mesmerized. Even
twenty years later, Rhapsody felt a thrill as she entered the store. It was
always magnificent and this year was no exception. When the doors opened, the
magic enveloped her again, as completely as it had before. The air was filled
with the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries. A crowd of children, their
parents standing close behind, was gathered around a working miniature bakery.
It was staffed by foot-tall animatronic teddy bears, all of them busily
scooping out flour, breaking eggs, messily
stirring bowls filled with ingredients, or dropping tiny, paw-sized
slices of chilled dough into a fryer filled with sizzling-hot oil. As the fryer
tipped up the freshly cooked beignets onto a cooling tray, a store employee
collected them in small waxed sacks. “Fresh beignets! A sack for every child!”
And the crowd of children, eager for the tasty treat, would leave the magical
scene, making room for others who had just arrived.
Rhapsody had arranged for a personal shopping assistant to meet her. She
had arrived early on purpose, so she would have time to enjoy this year’s grand
display. The smell of the miniature beignets was enticing, and she laughed at a
teddy bear as he fell head-first into a flour sack, then climbed out and waved.
“Mademoiselle Simms? I am Guillaume, your assistant. Have I kept
you waiting long?” Assured that he was not tardy, Guillaume bowed politely and
lead the way around the bakery display and into the heart of Le Train Petit.
The store was thronged with children, eagerly pointing out their hearts’
desires to indulgent parents and grandparents. And there were plenty of
unaccompanied adults, besides Rhapsody, shopping for toys and games to fulfil
other children’s wishes. She smiled as she consulted her niece’s and nephew’s
lists. Their father, her brother Edward, had broken his leg skiing in
Switzerland, and his wife Rowena did not want to leave him to go shopping, not
even for Christmas. Not even for Paris! Rhapsody, who had been granted a brief furlough, had offered to help out by
shopping for the children’s Christmas gifts, an offer that had been gratefully
received.
Guillaume stood by patiently as she enjoyed the many intricate clockwork
displays, listened to the children’s oohs and aahs, and looked
over the toys, consulting her lists as she did so. Eventually, she had worked
her way to the store’s top floor, and made her last choices. Her assistant
nodded as he made another note. He assured Rhapsody that he would personally
arrange for her gifts to be wrapped and sent to her brother’s home in England.
When Rhapsody had reviewed and signed the order, Guillaume bowed and thanked
her graciously for it, and assured her again that it would be dispatched
promptly.
Feeling pleased and satisfied, Rhapsody descended the stairs to the
third floor. On her way down, she noticed a towheaded little boy, about six
years old, dressed in clean but very outdated-looking clothes. She smiled, not
at all surprised to see that the fashion trend for retro styles had trickled
down to upper-class children’s wear. In one arm the boy was clutching a lady
doll wearing a rich blue gown. And in his free hand, he held several white
roses with pink-tipped petals. Something compelled Rhapsody to pay attention to
the boy. Perhaps, she thought, it’s my maternal instinct kicking in.
Where are his parents? For even though there were adults and chattering
children everywhere, none of them paid any attention to the boy and the boy
didn’t seem to belong with any of them.
As she watched, the boy carefully, lovingly, set the doll on a counter,
then set the roses beside her before he dipped his hand into a pocket and
counted out some notes and coins. He frowned, stuffed them into a different
pocket with his other hand, pulled them out, and counted them again. He
repeated the performance once more before shaking his head with a deep sigh,
then turned to pick up the doll and the roses again.
Several times, the boy approached women, each time holding out a rose
and saying something to them, but they all either ignored him or glanced at him
and walked away. He stood dejectedly until he spied something on the floor. It
was a coin. He picked it up, then took out his money again, added the coin,
counted it all again, and shook his head. Rhapsody, intrigued by the boy and
his odd behaviour, took a step towards him. He looked up at her approach and
she saw that his eyes were filled with a sadness beyond his years. A moment
later, his sad eyes lit up and he smiled beatifically. “Achèteriez-vous une
rose, Mademoiselle?” he
asked, as he held out a rose.
Rhapsody smiled and replied, in French, that she would indeed like to
buy a rose. Although all the roses looked equally fine to her, the boy chose
one carefully and handed it to her with a little flourish and a big smile,
which she returned as she gave him the money he asked for the lovely, thornless
rose. She began to walk away, but couldn’t resist looking back over her
shoulder. The boy was counting all the notes and coins again; Rhapsody could
see that the sad boy still did not have the money he needed, for he sighed
again as he pocketed it. On impulse, she turned back to him and asked his name.
“Aramis, Mademoiselle,” he announced, with a sweet smile and a
little bow.
“My name is Dianne. Are you trying to earn money to buy a gift?”
“Oui,
Mademoiselle Dianne. I want to buy this doll.” He
lifted it up for her to see.
It was exquisite. The lady doll’s face, hands, and exposed shoulders
were of fine ivory bisque, delicately touched with colour. She had blue glass
eyes set in an expertly painted oval face with full pink lips, high cheekbones,
and a patrician nose. Her abundant blonde hair was piled on top of her head in
a Victorian style and a few long tendrils trailed free over her shoulders. Her
flawless shoulders were bared by the heart-shaped neckline of her long-sleeved
gold and blue satin-and-lace bodice, which hugged her body until it formed a V
over her hips and met the loose and flowing skirt of sapphire-blue satin. In
the doll’s ears, Rhapsody detected the flashing of tiny jewels, and around her
neck hung strands of seed pearls and jewels, looped in and out like lace.
“I want it for my sister, Julie,” said Aramis. “But I do not have enough
money, so I am selling Christmas roses from my family’s garden. We grow the
finest ones in Paris!” He glowed with pride.
Rhapsody was charmed. “They are very beautiful. Are you close to having
enough money for the doll?”
Aramis screwed up his face before he answered. “Oh, Mademoiselle,
I do not know. Every time I count my money, the number is different. Sometimes
it is more than before, sometimes less. But it is never enough.”
Rhapsody thought quickly. “I noticed you keep putting your money in
different pockets. Maybe some of it’s gotten separated and you have more than
you think you do. Maybe you could let me hold the doll and the roses while you
check all your pockets for any coins or notes you might have missed? Then we
can count it out together.”
Aramis brightened as he agreed to her plan. Rhapsody twisted a lock of
her hair into a braid and tucked the rose she had bought into it so that her
hands would be free. The boy laughed as he exclaimed, “You look very pretty
with the flower in your hair!” But he quickly sobered. “I will put the roses
down here so you can hold the doll better. Please, you must be very careful
with her. She is very special.”
“I will treat her like one of my own dolls.” Rhapsody accepted it
graciously as Aramis solemnly handed it to her. She waited while he set the
roses down again and carefully turned out every pocket with both hands. While
he was occupied with his hunting, Rhapsody, who had now watched him count his
money several times and had a good idea how much the boy had, secretly dipped
her free hand into her own pocket, and pulled out a handful of Euros that she
kept ready in case she wanted to make small cash purchases. It should be
enough, she thought, glancing at the paper price tag that dangled from the
doll’s wrist. It’s a very reasonable price for Le Train Petit, really,
especially for such a fantastic doll like this one. But I can see why it’s too
much for a child’s budget.
When Aramis had emptied all of his pockets and gathered every note and loose
coin he could find, Rhapsody offered to count it while he held the doll.
“Merci,
Mademoiselle Dianne.”
The Angel made a mental note to get Captain Ochre something especially
nice for Christmas, in appreciation for his teaching her how to palm small
things and make them appear like magic. The trick made it easy for her to slip
her Euros in with the boy’s as she counted them out. Aramis’s eyes widened as
the number grew. Before he and Rhapsody finished counting, he could see that he
had enough money to buy the doll.
The boy’s eyes shone. “Mademoiselle Dianne,” he declared, “God
must have sent you to help me.”
Rhapsody did not share the boy’s simple faith but she did not laugh at
it either. “Come on. Let’s go pay for the doll.” She took his hand and led him
to the nearest cashier, where she took the doll from Aramis and carefully
placed it on the counter before the clerk.
“Oh my, this is a beautiful doll!” the clerk exclaimed. “Someone is
going to be very happy this Christmas!”
Rhapsody looked down at Aramis and exchanged a smile. When she looked
back up, the clerk was frowning at the price tag. “That cannot be right!”
“Is something wrong?”
“Pardon, Mademoiselle, but I am not sure this doll is so
inexpensive. I must ask the manager if it is correct.” She waved. “Madame
Laurent! I have a question for you.” The two conferred briefly.
The manager examined the doll and its price tag closely. “I have not
seen a doll like this one before and I have been with Le Train Petit for
fifteen years. I thought I was familiar with all the dolls we have, but then,”
she shrugged, “it is a very big store and there are so many dolls.
Occasionally,” she explained to the clerk, “an older toy is overlooked for many
years in the storerooms then brought out for display. It is a genuine store
tag, and we will honour the price.” Madame Laurent smiled at Rhapsody. “I am
sorry for the delay, Mademoiselle.”
Rhapsody smiled back. “It’s quite all right.” As she handed the money
for the doll to the clerk, she heard Aramis release the breath he had been
holding.
The clerk held up some of the paper money and frowned at it. “How very
odd. I haven’t seen many of these old notes since the government started
issuing replacements in, when was it? 2058? earlier?”
Oh dear, thought Rhapsody. “They’re still legal
tender, aren’t they?”
“Oh, Oui, Mademoiselle, they are fine. I am only surprised
because I’ve never received any from a young woman like yourself, only from old
folk who’ve saved them.”
Rhapsody nodded. Aramis must have
gotten some old notes from Grand-mère or Grand-père. Her own grandparents
had sometimes given their grandchildren outdated money to play with. It was
fortunate for Aramis that the money had not been too old.
The clerk finished ringing up the sale, then carefully placed the doll
in a sack well-lined and padded with tissue and handed it to Rhapsody, who
thanked her.
With a warm smile, Rhapsody gave the sack to Aramis. “There you are.
She’s all yours now.”
Aramis bounced with excitement as he took the bag. “I have waited for a
long time!”
Rhapsody laughed, delighted to see her little friend’s joy. “I’m sure
your sister will be very surprised and happy when you give it to her on
Christmas Day.”
“Oh.” Aramis’ face fell again as he stopped bouncing. “I want to give it
to my sister, but I don’t know how.”
“What do you mean?” Rhapsody asked, puzzled.
“I think ma Maman is very ill; when I am allowed to visit her,
she is always in bed. She went to bed when Julie was born. The last time I saw Maman
and talked to her, she told me that Julie wasn’t home anymore. She became an
angel and went to live in the sky.” He sniffed, obviously trying not to cry, as
his expression became even sadder. “I have looked in the sky but I’ve never
seen my sister there. How can I give her the doll when I cannot find her?”
Before Rhapsody could think of anything comforting to say, she saw a
young store clerk carrying a tall stack of boxes approaching them. She had only
a moment to notice that he was not watching where he was going before he
collided with her. The boxes tumbled over Rhapsody’s head as she flung out her
hands to catch herself as she fell to the floor. Her handbag flew off her arm
and spilled its contents everywhere.
The clerk apologised profusely
to her as he helped her to her feet. “I-I am s-so s-sorry, M-Mademoiselle!
I-I s-saw the b-boy,” he stammered before pursing his lips, cutting off the
inane excuse.
Rhapsody noticed that the young man had turned pale and his eyes were
filled with fear. He was probably concerned that he would lose his job when she
complained to the store’s management about his carelessness. She smiled at him
reassuringly. “It’s all right; it was only an accident, and, I’m not hurt.
Besides, it’s Christmas.”
The young man’s face remained pale and his weak smile didn’t reach his
eyes. With shaking hands, he retrieved his boxes and hurried away, leaving her
and Aramis to gather up her scattered belongings. Rhapsody suddenly remembered
her little friend. He’d been behind her, in the path of the flying boxes.
“Aramis! Are you all right?” Rhapsody asked anxiously as she turned
around, looking for him.
“Oui,
Mademoiselle Dianne. I am fine,” he replied as he
crawled out from beneath a shelf. “So is the lady,” he added, indicating the
sack.
Rhapsody smiled, then got down on her hands and knees and began
retrieving the contents of her handbag. She mentally catalogued them as she
found them or Aramis handed something to her. All her possessions were
accounted for except one. Her Spectrum ID was missing!
“Aramis, do you see a small red . . . ?” She turned and found Aramis
kneeling on the floor behind her, holding her ID case open in his hands.
He looked up at her in awe. “Mademoiselle, you are an angel, n’est-ce
pas?”
There was no use denying it, so Rhapsody nodded. “Yes, Aramis, I’m an
Angel.”
He spoke rapidly and eagerly. “Will you be going home to the sky for
Christmas, Mademoiselle Ange? Will you please take the doll with you and
give it to my sister if you see her there in the sky?”
“But
Aramis, I—” She realised he didn’t understand that she was a Spectrum Angel and
didn’t live in Heaven, but the boy looked so happy and so hopeful, she couldn’t
bring herself to disappoint him. She couldn’t bear to see him sad again. So she
smiled and said, “All right, Aramis. I promise. I’ll do my best.”
The boy’s face was radiant. “Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle
Ange Dianne.” He put his hand into the bag
and touched the doll’s hair before giving it to Rhapsody for the last time. “I
must go now and find le Père. I hope he will let me visit my Maman
for Christmas. Then I can give her the rest of my roses!” With a last huge
smile, he dashed off deep into the store and out of sight.
Rhapsody was puzzled. Le Père, Aramis said. Not mon Père. Why would he have to ask a priest for permission to visit his mother at
Christmas? she asked herself. He mentioned that his
mother was ill, so he must be in care, probably in a church-run orphanage. But
why? He said his sister was still living with their mother. No, she
amended, thinking over what Aramis had told her. His mother told him that
little Julie died. She must have been born and died fairly recently. That could
be why his mother is sick and why she
can’t care for her son. And it explains
why he can only visit her occasionally, on special days like Christmas.
Rhapsody looked at the doll in its bag. And he had to sell roses to
send his sister in Heaven a Christmas gift. That kind of devotion was rare.
What could she do but keep her promise
to Aramis and take the doll with her when she returned to Cloudbase? I can’t
get it to his sister, but I can find someone else to love it, I suppose; that
will have to be good enough.
Another thought struck her: what about a Christmas gift for Aramis? He
hadn’t mentioned wanting anything for Christmas except to visit his mother.
Unfortunately, she had no idea how she could help him achieve that. But she
could at least arrange to get some sort of gift to him. Tomorrow, Rhapsody promised herself, she
would contact her solicitor in London and ask him to make discreet inquiries in
Paris to find where Aramis lived. There had to be something he needed or
wanted; surely someone at the orphanage would know.
Glancing at her watch, she saw that she still had some hours left in
Paris before she had to be at Spectrum Paris to catch her flight. She’d
finished most of her shopping; she just needed to find a special gift for
Captain Ochre. She smiled, recalling a particularly intricate aircraft model
she’d seen a short while ago there in Le Train Petit. It would give him
hours of pleasure and frustration.
Soon, shopping bags in hand, she was strolling down the Champs-Elysée,
enjoying the Christmas lights and enchanting shop windows.
It was a beautiful night. The full moon shone on the clouds, turning
them into silvery fairy castles. Rhapsody
gazed at the moonlit clouds as she wondered who to give the doll to, and
what she could do for Aramis for Christmas.
When she emerged from the SPJ, struggling with her load of parcels, her
flight bag, and the shopping bags from Le Train Petit, Destiny Angel was
there to greet her. “Welcome home, Rhapsody! May I help you carry some of those
parcels to your quarters?”
Rhapsody accepted her offer with effusive gratitude and waggled her
flight bag. “Help! Before my hand breaks, please!”
Grinning, Destiny took the flight bag and gathered some of the parcels
into her free arm. As they strode down the corridor towards the Angels’
quarters, chatting about the sights of Paris at Christmastime, Destiny couldn’t
keep her eyes from drifting up to look at Rhapsody’s hair. “That is a most
beautiful flower!” she finally exclaimed.
Only then did Rhapsody remember the rose she had stuck in her hair. She
groaned. “No wonder people have been looking at me all day. They smiled and
looked amused, but no one said anything!”
When they reached her quarters, Rhapsody set down her parcels on the bed
and removed the rose from her hair as her friend disappeared into the bathroom
to get some water for the flower.
When she returned, Destiny took the rose and sniffed it delicately. She
closed her eyes and sighed in appreciation. “Ahh! It’s been years since I
smelled that perfume! When I was a child, my father grew flowers like this one.
He called them Christmas roses, and every year his textile factories would
produce special fabrics with pictures of the roses on them, just for the holiday.
Christmas roses are still my favourite flower.” She looked over the pile of
packages spread over the bed. “I do not need to ask if you had a good time
shopping in Paris!” Destiny declared with a smile. “But what is that? May I
see?” At Rhapsody’s nod, Destiny reached for a bag from Le Train Petit,
and unwrapped its contents. She gasped and looked at what she held in wonder.
“Oh, a lady doll!” she exclaimed.
“I met a little boy in the toy shop. He bought the doll for his sister
but he told me she’d gone to heaven and he didn’t know how to get it to her. By
accident, he found out I’m an Angel and I couldn’t help promising him I’d take
it with me to Cloudbase.” She looked at the doll sadly. She’d promised him more
than that. More than she should have. But he was so young and had experienced
so much sadness in his short life and thought he had found hope in Ange
Dianne.
Destiny sat down with the doll in her lap, carefully arranging its
meticulously hinged legs and the folds of its delicate lace and velvet gown.
She smiled at it. “I wanted a doll just like her when I was four years old, ”
she said with a small sigh. “Whenever my parents took us children anywhere near
Le Train Petit, I would talk about the lady doll. I was so sure I would
get her for Christmas.” Destiny stopped playing with the doll and bit her lip
as a painful memory returned. “But then, in October, my older brother died
suddenly. Our parents were too sad to do any shopping for Christmas that year.
We did not go to the toy store again until my birthday, and by then the doll
was gone.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” was all Rhapsody could think of to say. “You must
have been very sad after your brother died.”
“I was. Very much so.” She gently smoothed the doll’s hair. “Poor little
Ari! I was so sad but also very angry with him for dying because he left me
alone and I did not get my doll.” Destiny sighed and shook her blonde head. “I
felt that anger and disappointment for a long time. But Ari was only six years
old himself. I know he did not want to leave me.”
“Ari? Was that short for
Aristotle?”
“No, no! Our parents were not much interested in philosophy, but they
were both devoted readers of classical literature and named us for famous
characters. My mother adored Shakespeare. If I had been a boy, I would have been
named Romeo, not Juliette.” Destiny laughed heartily. “My father’s favourite
book was The Three Musketeers, so
he might have named me Porthos or d’Artagnan to go with Aramis, my older
brother! I was too young to say his full name, so I called him Ari.” Destiny
smiled wistfully at the doll in her lap. “I loved and admired my brother very
much. I know he loved me, too.” She stroked the doll’s hair absently as she
continued. “I forgave Ari for dying, many years ago. But I’ve never quite
forgotten how beautiful the lady doll was.”
When Destiny sighed and laid the doll down on the tissues again,
Rhapsody stopped her from wrapping it. “Please, keep her,” she told the
astonished Destiny. “On my way here, I thought about what to do with the doll,
and decided I should give her to someone who will really love her. Like the
little boy’s sister would have.”
“I may have her? Really?”
Rhapsody nodded. “I’m sure my
little friend would agree and approve.”
Destiny glowed with happiness and hugged the doll gently. “I hope your
little friend will not mind. But I love her already.”
Rhapsody awoke from a sound sleep. In her dreams, she had replayed her
meeting with the boy, hearing again everything he had said, wondering what she
could give him as a gift for Christmas. Suddenly, she had understood whose
permission Aramis needed to visit his mother. In the darkness, Rhapsody smiled
and relaxed into sleep again. She knew exactly what she could do for her little
friend.
The next day, Rhapsody went to see if Father Ivory, one of the Cloudbase
chaplains, was available. She found him in the chapel, lighting a candle.
“Father, are you busy? I could come back later.”
“Rhapsody Angel! A pleasure to see you. What can I do for you?”
“I was in Paris yesterday and met a sad little boy. I need to ask for
God’s help to make his Christmas a happy one, Father. Could you help me make
two prayers for him?”
“Certainly, my child. What do you want to pray for?”
“My little friend asked God the Father to let him visit his mother for
Christmas. I’d like to add my voice to his.” If I was a mother who’d lost a
child, I’d want to see him again, if only in dreams.
Father Ivory nodded. “And your other prayer?”
Rhapsody smiled. “ For someone to tell him, Julie got her doll.”
Author’s Notes:
I wanted to tell a Christmas ghost story but didn’t
want it to be a scary one or ( I hope) even obvious. I came up with The
Christmas Rose after reading several stories with variations on the theme
of a child wanting to send a Christmas gift to someone who has died or is
dying, and pondering how such a tale might work if the roles were altered. And
who but an Angel could help?
Paris has many high-end toy stores, but Le Train
Petit is my invention, one based on childhood memories of several stores in
several cities. The opening scenes in the store are adapted from my memories of
a fantastic Christmas carousel and a magical trip to Madurodam in Holland.
Christmas roses are real. Several types of flower are
called by that name but all are described as being white with pink tips. They
are a European Christmas tradition.