Part 11 (2/2)
”-that's really weird, it's a test-”
-3-.
-2-.
-1-.
The screen cleared. Instead of the ancient Atomic Era Mondrian of numbers and circles, there was now a fireplace. A big fireplace, black-and-white and filled with black-and-white flames, holding a heap of crackling black-and-white logs with white glowing embers beneath.
Superimposed on it was a circle with the letters WPIX-NYC written inside.
”Whoa,” whispered Brendan in awe. ”It's the Yule Log.”
Tony could only nod. His eyes were huge and round, his open mouth another cartoon O. The crackling of the logs faded in and out of the crackling of the TV. Brendan's mouth hung open, too, but before he could say anything a man's voice echoed from the screen.
”Broadcasting from Gracie Mansion, home of the Mayor of New York City, where we are bringing you our viewers the Christmas Yule Log.”
An instant of silence. Then music swelled to fill the room. The 1,001 Strings, ”The First Noel.”
Tony and Brendan turned to each, gaping; and began to laugh.
”It is the Yule Log!” Tony's hair whirled around his face as he bounced up and down on the couch. ”And listen!”
”The First Noel” segued into ”Jingle Bell Rock.” The fire crackled, the music swelled; a section of the yule log broke and fell onto the hearth. The screen went slightly jerky, and there was the same log-but unbroken now, the tape loop had begun again-still burning merrily in black-and- white.
”-that's the Jackie Gleason Orchestra!”
They listened, to the Carol of the Bells and the Vienna Choir Boys, the Hollywood Strings and Guy Lombardo. All that soupy stuff you never heard anymore, except as a joke, maybe, or archived on some ToonTown Web site. The tape loop of the yule log played and replayed, interrupted now and then by the same ponderous announcement.
”From Gracie Mansion ...”Brendan felt as though he were dreaming; knew at least once that he was dreaming, because he woke, not with a start but with eyes opening slowly, sleepily, to monochrome flames and the back of Tony's leather jacket, Tony's hair the same silver-grey as the screen, his cracked marionette's face silhouetted against the little bright rectangle in the front of the room.
Then, abruptly, there was silence. The television went black, scribbled with a few white lines.
Brendan sat up and frowned. ”What's the matter? It's over?”
”Shhh,” hissed Tony. A moment when they were both balanced at the edge of the sofa, staring intently at an empty screen.
And suddenly it went white; then grey; then white again. The grainy photographed image of a man's face appeared, his eyes wide and surprised, his mouth a perfect circle. A Santa Claus hat was superimposed on his head. As Brendan stared, black letters danced across the screen and the first bars of peppy music sounded.
CC.
HH.
IR.
PI.
S.
CT.
RM.
OA.
CS.
K.
EC.
TA.
TR.
'O.
SL.
”Holy s.h.i.+t,” whispered Brendan. He didn't even feel Tony's longyear clutching at his. ”It's on.”
The words faded. The screen showed a small black-and-white stage, made up to look like a bedroom. A potato-nosed puppet in a long white nights.h.i.+rt and nightcap stood in front of an open cardboard window, papier-mache longyears clasping a rock.
”Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, ha ha ha!” the puppet shouted, and flung the rock out.
Silence; then the crash of broken gla.s.s and a scream. ”Humbug!” shouted the puppet gleefully. It bopped across the stage, picking up more rocks and throwing them.
”It's Ooga Booga!” cried Brendan.
”Scrooga Booga,” said Tony. ”Shhh ...”
Brendan started to shhh him back, but a sound distracted him. He turned and saw Peter standing in the doorway, staring at the TV.”Oh, jeez-poor Peter. We woke you-” Brendan stood, without thinking swept over and scooped up the boy. ”Shoot, I'm sorry. But it's okay, honey, come on, come in and watch with us ...”.
For once Peter didn't fight; only gazed at the screen. When his father sat back down on the couch the boy slid from his grasp to the floor, scooching a few inches away and then sitting bolt upright, watching.
”See?” exclaimed Brendan as the puppet tossed a final rock onto an unseen pa.s.ser-by. ”See?
There's Ooga Booga, see? Ooga Booga. He's a real grouch. Just like your dad.” He glanced over at Tony. ”f.u.c.kin' A,” he said, and laughed.
”Shhh!” said Tony. ”Watch.”
They watched, Tony and Brendan leaning so far over it was a wonder they didn't plummet, face- first, like one of the puppets onto the floor. Peter sat at their feet, silent, now and then shaking his head and looking sideways, the yellow rubber duck pressed against his chin. Onscreen the old old story played out with a few additions-Ratnik in the role of Christmas Past, and of course, Chip himself doing Ogden Orff as Bob Crockett. Brendan whooped, grabbing Tony's knee and punching his shoulder, laughing so hard his eyes burned and his throat hurt. Ogden Orff decorated a tree with cake frosting. Officer Joe Bolton made a surprise cameo appearance as Jacob Marley and Scrooga Booga hit him in the head with a flashlight. There were commercials for Bosco and Hostess Cream-Filled Cupcakes. Captain Dingbat appeared as the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, accompanied by a chorus of dancing, chanting finger-puppets.
Don't be a meanie, Show us your bikini!
And at the end, all of them were onstage together, miraculously-Ratnik and Ooga Booga and the other puppets, Ogden Orff breaking character to become Chip Crockett laughing over some invisible technician's backstage antics, a boom mike hovering over Chip's head and fake snow falling, first in tiny flakes, then in longyearfuls and finally in huge clumps, until the entire soundstage was adrift with it.
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