HSCC 7.10

Tales from Bethlehem
The Tale of Humble Donkey

       It’s good to be a donkey. We’re stronger than horses, faster than mules, more beautiful than both of them and many times more intelligent. And so humble! We are the most humble animals. I myself am proud of my awesome humility.
       I explained it to my friend Dolores, the horse, as we chewed on some straw in our shed in Nazareth. “Dolores,” I said. “My humility is overwhelming. I amaze myself sometimes.”
       Dolores cocked an ear. “I’m often amazed by you, too,” she said.
       Clem, the dog, laughed then for some reason. I often don’t understand what he’s laughing at, but he’s cheery if a bit dim, and I’ve learned to tolerate him. After all, not every creature can be a donkey.
       “Queenie, you have a lot to be humble about,” Clem said.
       I flicked my tail and tried to puzzle out what he meant. I think he was attempting to compliment me in his pitiful way. Yes, that had to be it.
       “Thank you,” I said.
       In his joy of my acknowledgement of his compliment, he rolled on the stable ground in laughter. I do like bringing joy to the lesser animals.
       Just then Joachim and Anna came into the shed with their daughter Mary and a young man named Joseph. The chickens had told me that Joseph was betrothed to Mary, but the goat told Clem who told Delores who told me that there had been trouble when Mary returned from her visit to her cousin. Apparently — and don’t let anyone know you heard it from me because donkeys simply don’t gossip the way other creatures do — Mary was with child. Yes, that’s right, and hear this — it wasn’t Joseph’s child.
       I know it’s hard to understand, but parentage is very important to humans. I don’t know why, but I suspect it’s because they have only two legs and don’t have a tail. They have to compensate in some way.
       Joachim said, “You can take the horse.”
       “Oh no, Father,” Mary said. “You need her for the farm.”
       “Don’t argue with your father,” Anna told Mary. “Bethlehem is a long way, and you’re in no …” She paused, and her face reddened. “It’s a long way.”
       Mary looked at the ground.
       “It is as Mary has said,” the young man said, moving to stand by Mary. “You need the horse. We cannot take it on such a long journey. If it broke a leg or was set upon by wild animals, we would be hard-pressed to replace it.”
       Mary looked up and shyly smiled.
       “Then please take the donkey, Joseph,” Joachim said. “It’s a poor excuse for a horse, but it can carry Mary. It’s old, stubborn, and doesn’t look like much, but if the wild animals get it, no one has lost anything valuable.”
       I looked around the stable, trying to catch a glimpse of the pitiful creature so described, but it must have been hiding behind my stall. They never could find it so that’s how I found myself on the road to Bethlehem.
       “Road,” however, is too kind a word for the trail on which we were forced to travel. Rocks the size of Dolores’s hindquarters forced us to take a meandering path. And there was no forage to speak of. I was lucky to grab a few mouthfuls of grass and a swallow of water. Not that anyone noticed how much I was suffering. No, that dolt Joseph only had eyes for his precious Mary. “Mary, are you comfortable? Mary, eat this. Mary, you should rest. Mary, how are you feeling?” Bray, bray, bray. But did he offer any concern to me? NO!
       And it was no joy carrying Mary, either. Oh, she was nice enough, quiet and sweet in her way, but she was near to her time so she was heavy, wearing me down. Finally, after too many days, I’d had enough. No more!
       We had stopped for the evening near a small stream. I fumed all through the night. I was not going to go another step, and if they thought I would, they had another think coming.
       The next morning, Joseph pulled on my halter. I rose, then settled my hindquarters back down. He pulled and pulled and pulled. I didn’t move. He found a limb and tried to lever me up. I calmly stood, took two steps, and sat back down. Even Mary found the look on his face comical. She giggled.
       Joseph glared at her. Then he began to laugh. They fell against each other, holding each other in helpless laughter.
       “Oh, Mary,” Joseph said. “What are we going to do now? I don’t think that donkey is going to move, not even if I beat on its sorry hide.”
       “I think I could walk a while,” Mary said. “If we went slowly. And surely we will soon meet others on the way.”
       They gathered up their belongings, pretending that they were going to leave me. Joseph even went so far as to remove my halter. He patted me on the side of my neck. “I guess you were just too old for this trip,” he said. “I wish we could wait for you to recover your strength, but I must get Mary to town before the baby comes.” He patted my neck again. “Beware the wild beasts.”
       They walked slowly away. I was wise to their tricks. Soon they would be back. I sat and watched them disappear over the hill. I became conscious of the sounds of the hillside, the birds calling, the rustle of the small rodents. I could no longer hear them. Surely they hadn’t left me?!
       I brayed in dismay and shock. What could they be thinking? Had the long days of travel totally addled their minds? I gasped. Of course! That was it. They had lost their minds! Two silly young people, lost in the wilderness, and I had abandoned them. I raced after them. Who knows what mischief they could get into? It was my responsibility to take care of them. It was clear now that I had been chosen to watch out over those two, to keep the poor dumb dears safe.
       It didn’t take me long to catch up to them. For some reason, they didn’t seem surprised to see me, but they did seem pleased. Naturally. After all, a donkey is the most pleasant ride, and for a woman close to her time, it’s the best there is.
       The next day, we joined a few other travelers. They were not welcoming, making a point to tell Joseph that we couldn’t share their fire. Their horses were particularly unkind, neighing loudly about Mary’s long ears and coarse coat. Fortunately she didn’t understand what they were saying. I ignored them. That is all you can do with the ignorant.
       Bethlehem was crowded with humans. The odors were quite unpleasant. As we went from one inn to another, it finally dawned on me that Joseph hadn’t made plans for a place to stay for us. Typical human. Not that I would want to stay in their inns. I glimpsed in the window of one and could barely see due to the smoke. And the straw on the floor was filthy. I wouldn’t set a hoof on it, much less let my dear Mary set a foot on it.
       Joseph was frantic, pleading with an innkeeper named Keloe for a place for Mary, but the innkeeper kept saying there was no room for them in the inn. I looked around and saw the stable. Perfect! The stable would be out of the wind and give Mary some privacy, except for the animals, of course, and what we don’t know about birthing isn’t worth knowing.
       But how to explain this to this lumpish innkeeper? Mary was still on my back so I stepped toward the stable. I looked back the innkeeper. He didn’t notice. I took a few more steps, pulling on the halter. Joseph tried to hold me back, his attention on the innkeeper.
       Mary gave a soft cry. I knew she was out of time, but the men kept arguing.
       I laid my ears back. Enough. My Mary wasn’t going to give birth on a dirty street. I headed for the stable. If Joseph didn’t let go, he was going to go with us.
       The innkeeper saw me pulling for the stable, and greed lit up his face. “You could stay in the stable,” he said, acting as if he had thought of it himself. Joseph agreed, being dragged along as I made my way. A stableboy showed up to lead us, not that I needed him.
       Soon we had Mary inside on clean soft straw. Exhausted, I found a place near a wall and laid down. A Roman soldier’s horse snorted. “Don’t be lying next to me, ugly donkey,” he said.
       I looked at him in surprise.
       “Yeah,” another horse snorted. “Not near me, either. Shouldn’t something as old as you be vulture food already?”
       The horses began to laugh. Although I knew they were wrong and that I was beautiful and ageless, big tears welled up in my eyes. I was so tired, and it had been such a long day. I lowered my head.
       Then a glow filled the stable. The horses stopped in mid-neigh. In the silence, a glorious Messenger appeared! His presence filled the stable. He was there to honor the babe, but he turned to me and touched my head lovingly. “Blessed are you, little donkey, for you have carried and will carry the King of Kings and Lord of Lords,” he said. He glanced at the horses and dismissed them as easily as that.
       Of course, you know the rest of the story and who was born that wonderful night, but now you know who carried His mother and then carried Him and His family into Egypt. I served Him all my life. I told you it was good to be a donkey.

Copyright 2007 by Stephen B. Bagley. All rights reserved. Excerpted from Tales from Bethlehem.

      I'll back in a couple of minutes for the eleventh post in the 12 Posts of Christmas Eve on 51313 Harbor Street.