It was a busy shopping day in Exeter, and the sound system at the home entertainment emporium next to the car park was blaring out a hip-hop version of O Come, All Ye Faithful, so it was understandable that none of the passers-by noticed the signature noise – electronic whooshing plus elephant mating call – that accompanied the brief appearance of an out-of-date blue police box. The door opened – momentarily, as they say in that part of the world – and a dark-haired man in his early thirties emerged. He was a bit under average height, muscular, clean-shaven, and wearing jeans, navvy boots, and a pea coat. He turned and called inside:
'Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate the ride!' The blue door closed, the racket repeated itself, and the absurdity disappeared. The visitor shrugged his jacket a little tighter against the sudden chill, and set off down the High Street, taking in the sights and mentally thanking his friend for the sartorial advice. Without the beard, and in these clothes, he seemed to fit right in – and he'd have frozen in a pair of sandals. He dodged the crowds of package-laden shoppers, studied the goods in the windows (wondering what half of them were for), and took note of the decorations – tinsel, coloured balls, bells, weird figures with wings (Were they supposed to be angels? Gabriel would get ironic if he saw that), and greenery everywhere. Most interesting were the statuettes of a fat, excessively jolly-looking fellow in a red-and-white suit, who seemed to be the centre of it all.
'Probably the God of Commerce,' thought the visitor, who was used to the idea of cosmopolitan areas with tutelary deities, though his own people frowned on them, being monotheists. As he was here for the purpose of research and tourism, he found this all highly interesting. His friend the Doctor had assured him that this area was the centre of the known world – an idea which the self-possession of the citizens seemed to confirm – and, as a time traveller, he was curious to learn what Earth thought of itself in the early 21st Century. With all this walking, though, he'd worked up an appetite, so he entered a modest-looking Greek eatery, as he preferred Mediterranean food. A brief consultation in what he still considered the lingua franca of this planet resulted in his sitting at a table by the window, a plate of gyros me pita and a glass of retsina in front of him.
'Is this seat taken?' He looked up to see a friendly face attached to a short haircut and gangly figure in an anorak, holding a tray in one hand and a backpack in the other. He shook his head, and the stranger deposited self and goods. 'I'm Brad,' he said. 'I'm an art student hereabouts. Would you mind if I sketched you after we're done eating? You have such an interesting face. '
The visitor smiled and agreed. He shook Brad's hand and introduced himself as Manny.
Brad grinned. 'I'm good at accents. You're Israeli, aren't you? I can tell.' Manny agreed that he was. Brad was curious. 'What do you think about the Gaza situation?'
Manny said wryly, 'I try to steer clear of politics, though as you know, in my part of the world, this is often difficult.' He looked out the window at the crowds. 'Is there an important festival coming up? People seem to be preparing for something.'
Brad laughed. 'Just Christmas. You know, high tourist season in Bethlehem?' Manny looked blank, so Brad went on, 'The birth of Jesus Christ, you know – manger, shepherds, all that, founding of the Christian religion. Although these days, it's mostly about parties, prezzies, spend, spend, spend, and Santa Claus.'
Manny looked interested. 'Is Santa Claus that god in the red suit?'
Brad chuckled. 'You might call him a god. He's a mythological figure worshipped by toy manufacturers everywhere. He's supposed to come down the chimney on 24 December and leave stuff for the kiddies. But if he's not up to the job...' He winked.
'...the parents have to do it.' Manny understood. He was never big on mythology, being rather more of a realist himself. 'So Santa Claus is the real reason for the celebration, and not this other religion, what was it, Christian?'
Brad thought about this. 'I guess you could say so. Educated people don't believe in religion any more, anyway. Just nutcases. It's all about sending bad people to hell, and something called the Rapture, where the goodies leave the planet...'
'Hm, the leaving-the-planet part is not a bad idea.' Manny added, suddenly shy, 'Has anybody ever heard of a small cult from back a ways that taught about loving your neighbour and sharing the wealth?'
Brad snorted. 'Every once in a while, somebody tries that on. It's called communism, mate, and it never works. Look at Eastern Europe.' Manny would like to have asked more about Eastern Europe, but they'd finished their meal, and Brad asked him to sit still so that he could sketch him.
'The lines in your face are remarkable,' Brad commented as he sketched. 'They remind me of the Shroud of Turin.' Manny didn't know where Turin was, but nodded agreeably, then went back to posing. He complimented the artist on the result, said it was a good likeness, shook hands again, wished Brad a 'Happy Christmas', and went on his way.
On his way to the Ramada Inn – true to family tradition, he had no reservation, but hoped to talk his way into a room – Manny stopped in front of a shop window to look at the display. He studied the scene with puzzlement: A woman and a man, kneeling beside what looked like a feed trough in a barn. The feed trough held an infant. All three – woman, man, and baby – were wearing odd, round hats. There was one of those strange winged angels hovering over the scene, which included animals, shepherds, and three fugitives from a circus with camels. Manny scratched his head, but figured it had something to do with Santa Claus. Then he noticed that some wag in the shop had concealed a toy Dalek in the shrubbery outside the shed.
Manny chuckled. He'd have to tell his friend the Doctor.
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