'Well, yes, you could try that, Mary Beth,' the rector said cautiously.
'Let's see how it looks,' Barb Wiggin said doubtfully.
'NO,' Owen said. 'NO KISSING.'
'Why not, Owen?' Barb Wiggin asked playfully. She thought an opportunity to tease him was presenting itself, and she was quick to pounce on it.
'THIS IS A VERY HOLY MOMENT,' Owen said slowly.
'Indeed, it is,' the rector said.
'VERY HOLY,' Owen said. 'SACRED,' he added.
'Just on the forehead,' Mary Beth said.
'Let's see how it looks. Let's just try it, Owen,' Barb Wiggin said.
'NO,' Owen said. 'IF MARY IS SUPPOSED TO BE PONDERING-'IN HER HEART'-THAT I AM CHRIST THE LORD, THE ACTUAL SON OF GOD ... A SAVIOR, REMEMBER THAT ... DO YOU THINK SHE'D JUST KISS ME LIKE SOME ORDINARY MOTHER KISSING HER ORDINARY BABY? THIS IS NOT THE ONLY TIME THAT MARY KEEPS THINGS IN HER HEART. DON'T YOU REMEMBER WHEN THEY GO TO JERUSALEM FOR PASSOVER AND JESUS GOES TO THE TEMPLE AND TALKS TO THE TEACHERS, AND JOSEPH AND MARY ARE WORRIED ABOUT HIM BECAUSE THEY CAN'T FIND HIM-THEY'RE LOOKING ALL OVER FOR HIM-AND HE TELLS THEM, WHAT ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR ME FOR, 'DID YOU NOT KNOW THAT I MUST BE IN MY FATHER'S HOUSE?' HE MEANS THE TEMPLE. REMEMBER THAT? WELL, MARY KEEPS THAT IN HER HEART, TOO.'
'But shouldn't I do something, Owen?' Mary Beth asked. 'What should I do?'
'YOU KEEP THINGS IN YOUR HEART!' Owen told her.
'She should do nothing?' the Rev. Mr. Wiggin asked Owen. The rector, like one of the teachers in the temple, appeared 'amazed.' That is how the teachers in the temple are described-in their response to the Boy Jesus: 'All who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers.'
'Do you mean she should do nothing, Owen?' the rector repeated. 'Or that she should do something less, or more, than kissing?'
'MORE,' Owen said. Mary Beth Baird trembled; she
would do anything that he required. 'TRY BOWING,' Owen suggested.
'Bowing?' Barb Wiggin said, with distaste. Mary Beth Baird dropped to her knees and lowered her head; she was an awkward girl, and this sudden movement caused her to lose her balance. She assumed a three-point position, finally-on her knees, with her forehead resting on the mountain of hay, the top of her head pressing against Owen's hip. Owen raised his hand over her, to bless her; in a most detached manner, he lightly touched her hair-then his hand hovered above her head, as if he meant to shield her eyes from the intensity of the 'pillar of light.' Perhaps, if only for this gesture, Owen had wanted his arms free. The shepherds and kings were riveted to this demonstration of what Mary pondered in her heart; the cows did not move. Even the hind parts of the donkeys, who could not see the Holy Mother bowing to the Baby Jesus-or anything at all- appeared to sense that the moment was reverential; they ceased their swaying, and the donkeys' tails hung straight and still. Barb Wiggin had stopped breathing, with her mouth open, and the rector wore the numbed expression of one struck silly with awe. And I, Joseph-I did nothing, I was just the witness. God knows how long Mary Beth Baird would have buried her head in the hay, for no doubt she was ecstatic to have the top of her head in contact with the Christ Child's hip. We might have maintained our positions in this tableau for eternity-we might have made creche history, a pageant frozen in rehearsal, each of us injected with the very magic we sought to represent: Nativity forever. But the choirmaster, whose eyesight was failing, assumed he had missed the cue for the final carol, which the choir sang with special gusto. Hark! the her-ald an-gels sing, 'Glory to the new-born King; Peace on earth, and mer-cy mild, God and sin-ners rec- on-ciled!'
Joy-ful, all ye na-tions, rise, Join the tri-umph of the skies; With the an-gel-ic host pro-claim, 'Christ is born in Beth-le-hem!' Hark! the her-ald an-gels sing, 'Glo-ry to the new-born King!'
The Little Lard Jesus Mary Beth Baird's head shot up at the first' 'Hark!'' Her hair was wild and flecked with hay; she jumped to her feet as if the little Prince of Peace had ordered her out of his nest. The donkeys swayed again, the cows-their horns falling about their heads-moved a little, and the kings and shepherds regained their usual lack of composure. The rector, whose appearance suggested that of a former immortal rudely returned to the rules of the earth, found that he could speak again. 'That was perfect, I thought,' he said. 'That was marvelous, really.'
'Shouldn't we run through it one more time?' Barb Wiggin asked, while the choir continued to herald the birth of 'the ever-lasting Lord.'
'NO,' said the Prince of Peace. 'I THINK WE'VE
