an excerpt from
A Novel by
B. Luciano Barsuglia
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If scientists were to provide concrete evidence in support of the big bang theory, our instincts would tell us to attack the impossibilities and improbabilities of something coming from nothing. And, if God were to walk upon the Earth and tell us He was our creator, we would ask, “Who created God?” —Gordon Shelly
There is no final frontier.
I have been to space, to the far reaches of the universe, and I have discovered many of life’s secrets.
Unfortunately, though, they were more interesting when they were still secrets.
I remember being a child and discovering that there was no Santa Claus. At seven years old, I had begun to suspect that there was something peculiar about the jolly fat man. I noticed that depending where I saw Santa, he looked different. Sometimes Santa was plump and sometimes he was thin. Other times his beard was real, while occasionally it looked more like a bunch of cotton balls pushed together. And I never understood how Santa could be at one mall, then another, and then right outside the door.
I was intrigued.
With my curiosity aroused, I decided to seek the truth. When Christmas came, I waited until I heard someone shuffling in the living room. Still dressed in my plaid flannel pajamas, I investigated.
I saw my father placing presents near and around the yellowing pine tree. He wasn’t wearing a red and white suit and he didn’t have a fuzzy beard—he wasn’t Santa. He was my father and he was wearing his underwear—white skivvies that hung loosely, barely covering ... well, barely concealing what they covered.
He turned to find me standing in the hall. He didn’t seem surprised or disappointed, and oddly enough, neither was I.
He simply said, “Son, there is no Santa.”
Although his words were somber and polite, he wasn’t trying to comfort me. Even then I realized that he was just happy that he didn’t have to pretend anymore. And more importantly, that he didn’t have to lie.
He set my last present down, then walked up to me and patted my head with a calloused hand.
“You should get to bed,” he said to me.
After that, there was no discussion. On Christmas Day, the family opened presents without any mention of St. Nicholas.
Two weeks later, I lost a tooth. My father held it into the air and examined it with one eye squinted, studying it as if the tooth were a prized jewel. Next, just as I expected he might do, he took out his wallet and silently gave me a dollar. There was no more Tooth Fairy.
The following Easter Sunday, we went to church, but I did not color or hunt eggs. Neither my mother nor father ever mentioned why. It was just understood. I knew the truth. There was no Easter Bunny either.
The truths, which I had independently sought out, were far less interesting than the falsehoods. The lies made me excited. Before my enlightenment, I would wait for things to happen with eager anticipation.
After, if I lost a tooth, my dad would repeat the examination process and I would become a dollar richer. There was no discussion—it was just the way things were.
On Easter we ate dinner and went to church, at least for a few more years. But after a while we even stopped going to church. With the bunny gone, the significance of the holiday faded, too.
And Christmas? It became a day for my parents to give me something I wanted. It didn’t matter how naughty or nice I had been. In retrospect, I think it was actually a day of penance for them, to make up to me depending how naughty or nice they had been. Santa had been all but forgotten.
As I grew older, I searched. I closed my eyes. I dreamt. I went to shopping centers and looked at the men playing dress-up, half-heartedly “ho, ho, ho-ing,” to the children who sat on their laps.
I was hoping to find the Santa I had known as a child.
And here I am.
Twenty-five years later, still looking for Santa Claus. Part of me is hopeful that I might find him, but I’m running out of places to look.
I can’t say whether or not I have discovered all of life’s secrets, but I have discovered enough of them to wish I still believed in Santa.
There are a few simple truths in life that I have come to realize. In time, I will share those truths ... if I have enough time. While there is an abundance of disillusion in the universe, there is a minimal amount of time.
That is one of the worst things I have found—time is running out.
I have, at least for me, discovered what is and what isn’t important.
I don’t know if there’s a heaven or hell, but it doesn’t matter ... because I know how the universe will end. When I close my eyes, I can imagine heaven. When I close them again, I can remember hell.
They are a part of this universe.
When the universe disappears, so will they ... heaven and hell.
Worst of all I know this truth ... there is no Santa.
But I will keep looking for him.
My story is simple. It has a beginning, middle and end. It starts somewhere toward the end.
*****
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this excerpt from THE GREATER BEYOND.
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