The Sheep Mans Christmas
by MURAKAMI Haruki
Translated by Christophor Allison
While it was yet high summer, the Sheep Man was asked to compose some music for Christmas. The Sheep Man and his sheep visitor, who had come to ask him to undertake the composition, sweated profusely under their summer sheep suits. As long as summer lasted, the Sheep Man was quite miserable, because he was but a poor sheep man and could not afford an air conditioner. As the fan slapped around and around in circles, the sheep ears of the two sheep fellows fluttered softly in the breeze.
“We, the Sheep Men’s Council,” began the Sheep Man’s visitor, unloosening the fastener at his collar so as to allow the wind from the fan to blow in, “every year select one sheep, blessed with prodigious musical talent, to compose music in honour of our Most Holy Patron, the Sheep Saint. This music will thence be performed on Christmas Day. This year, happily, you have been chosen.”
“Oh, I see,” said the Sheep Man.
“This year especially, it being the 2500th anniversary of His passing, we desire particularly splendid music, befitting to this sacred event,” he concluded.
“I see, I see,” said the Sheep Man, scratching his ears.
“Christmas is still four and a half months away,” he thought to himself. “With that much time, I can certainly compose some magnificent sheep music.”
“I’ll be happy to do it. You can count on me,” he replied, his chest swelling with pride. “I’ll certainly do my best to write excellent sheep music.
September passed, and then October and November, but the Sheep Man hadn’t been able to begin the music requested by the Sheep Men’s Council. Because the Sheep Man worked in the neighborhood donut shop, he had very little time to devote to the composition. Moreover, whenever he began to play his ramshackle old piano, the wife of the boarding house’s landlord would invariably come up the steps and pound on his door.
“Cut that racket out! I can barely here the television.”
“I’m terribly sorry. But since I have to have this music done by Christmas, might I beg of you to bear with me a little while?” the Sheep Man said meekly.
“What a idiotic thing to say,” erupted the landlord’s wife. “If you don’t like it, you can just leave right now. Just because we let weirdoes like you live here doesn’t mean that you can make a laughing stock out of us. If this is a problem for you, well, too bad.”
The Sheep Man gazed at the calendar with a feeling of dread. Even though Christmas was just four short weeks away, he hadn’t been able to write a single bar of the promised music, since he couldn’t play the piano.
One day, the Sheep Man was sitting in the park, eating donuts with something of a disturbed countenance, when he was approached by the Sheep Professor. “What’s wrong, my dear Sheep lad?” the Sheep Professor enquired.
“I’m not feeling very well. Even though Christmas is coming, something is really bothering me. That is to say, Christmas is part of the problem,” the Sheep Man began, and then confessed the whole story to the Sheep Professor.
“Hmmm...” said the Sheep Professor, stroking his beard. “If that’s the case, I think I can help you.”
“Really?” the Sheep Man replied skeptically. Because the Sheep Professor had only studied sheep-related matters all his life, there had developed among the people in the neighborhood the suspicion that he was a little bit queer in the head.
“Yes, really,” the Sheep Professor said. “Come to my house tonight at 6:00. I’ll teach you excellent methods and techniques of composition. By the way, can I have one of those cinnamon donuts?”
“Yes, of course,” the Sheep Man said, resenting it inwardly. “Here you go.” And they sat together on the bench and munched donuts.
That evening, bearing a package of six cinnamon donuts as a gift, the Sheep Man visited the Sheep Professor’s house. It was an old brick affair, and all the shrubberies had been pruned into the shape of sheep. The doorbell, too, as well as the gateposts and the flagstones, were all sheep. “Holy cow!” thought the Sheep Man to himself.
Of the six donuts, the Sheep Professor devoured four without so much as stopping for a breath. The remaining two he put in a cupboard as if they were very important. Finally, wetting his fingers with his tongue, he mopped up the scattered crumbs on the tabletop and licked his fingers clean.
“This fellow certainly likes his donuts,” thought the Sheep Man, rather impressed.
Once his fingers were thoroughly clean, the Sheep Professor retrieved a huge book from a bookcase. The History of Sheep Men was printed on the cover.
“So, master Sheep,” the Professor began heavily. “In this book is written everything conceivable concerning sheep men. Here we will find the reason why you haven’t been able to write the sheep music.”
“But Professor, I already know the reason. It’s because the landlady won’t let me play the piano,” said the Sheep Man. “If only I could play the piano...”
“Nonsense,” the Sheep Professor said, shaking his head. “Even if you could play that piano, you still wouldn’t write the music. The deeper reason is in here.”
“What’s that?” asked the Sheep Man.
“You have been curse,” the Sheep Professor said with a grimace.
“Cursed?”
“Quite so,” said the Sheep Professor nodding several times. “Because you have been cursed, you can neither play the piano nor compose music.”
“Oh,” the Sheep Man groaned. “But why have I been cursed, do you suppose? I haven’t done anything bad to anybody.”
The Sheep Professor flipped through the pages of the book dexterously. “Perhaps you looked up at the moon on June 15th?”
“No. I haven’t seen the moon in the last five years.”
“Well, then maybe you ate something with a hole in it on Christmas Eve last year?”
“I eat donuts for lunch everyday. I can’t remember exactly what kind of donuts I ate on Christmas Eve last year, but...umm... I’m pretty certain I had donuts.”
“Donuts with holes in them?”
“Yes, I imagine so. I mean, almost all donuts have hole in them.”
“That’s it!” the Sheep Professor said, nodding vigorously. “You have been cursed as a result of this. Surely some sheep teacher must have taught you not to eat food with holes in it on Christmas Eve?”
“I’ve never heard that before,” said the Sheep Man, surprised. Is that true all over?”
“Not knowing about the Feast of the Sheep Saint...that’s startling,” replied the Sheep Professor, even more surprised. “Kids today...they don’t know anything! When you were becoming a sheep man, didn’t they teach you this stuff in Sheep Man’s School?”
“Yeah, I guess so. But I didn’t do so well with my studies,” the Sheep Man said, scratching his head.
“Look here, this misfortune has befallen you because you are a very careless sheep man. You have brought this upon yourself. Nevertheless,” the Sheep Professor continued, “because you have brought donuts to me, I will instruct you. While December 24th is Christmas Eve, it is also the Feast of the Sheep Saint. On this day, as the Most Holy Sheep Saint was walking along a road in the middle of the night, he fell into a hole and died. For this reason, it is a very sacred day. Consequently, the eating of foods with holes in them on this day has been ex-pli-cit-ly prohibited since ancient times. Such foods as macaroni, Swiss cheese, donuts, onion rings, and of course bagels, can cause severe problems.”
“I beg your pardon, but what was the Most Holy Sheep Saint doing walking along a road in the middle of the night? And why was there a hole in the road?”
“I don’t know the answer to these questions. These events happened 2500 years ago, so the causes cannot be known. But anyway, it was decided then. It is a law inviolable. Whether you know it or not, the breaking of the law will result in a curse being placed upon you. When you were cursed, you ceased to be a sheep man. You cannot compose the Sheep Music for this reason. Yes.”
“I’m such an idiot,” the Sheep Man said weakly. “Is there any way of removing this curse?”
“Hmm,” said the Sheep Professor. “There’s a way, but I’m afraid that it’s not very easy. But that’s OK, isn’t it?”
“I don’t care. I’ll do whatever it takes. Please tell me.”
“The way is for you yourself to fall into a hole.”
“Hole?” said the Sheep Man. “This hole, what kind of hole is it exactly? Is any hole OK?”
“Don’t be stupid. Not just any hole will do. The size and depth of the hole necessary to remove the curse are very clearly defined. Luckily, it’s fairly small. I’ll try to find it for you now.”
The Sheep Professor retrieved a tattered book entitled The Legend of the Most Holy Sheep Saint and poured over it’s pages.
“Well...hmm...ah, here it is. It says that the Most Holy Sheep Saint fell into a hole two meters in diameter and 203 meters deep, whereupon he passed away. Therefore, a hole of the same dimensions will suffice.”
“But I can’t dig a hole that deep by myself. And anyway, if I fall into a hole like that, won’t I be killed before the curse is broken?”
“Wait, wait; there’s more: ‘When attempting to break the curse, it shall not matter if the depth of the hole be reduced by the scale of 100 parts to one. Thus, a hole of two meters and three centimeters shall be sufficient’.”
“Oh, good. If that’s all, I can dig it. No problem,” the Sheep Man said, relieved.
The Sheep Man borrowed the book from the Sheep Professor and returned home. In the book were spelled out countless regulations that had to be followed in order to break the spell. The Sheep Man tried to write them down, one by one.
1) The hole must be dug with a shovel having a handle made of tuneriko wood. (Because the Sheep Saint had carried a staff made of this wood.)
2) The Hole-Falling must occur at 1:16 in the morning, on Christmas Eve. (Because the Sheep Saint fell at this time.)
3) At the time of the Hole-Falling, a sack lunch bearing no hole-containing foods must be brought.
Regulations (1) and (2) were fine, and even the rule concerning the height of the drop made some sense, but the Sheep Man really couldn’t understand the necessity of the sack lunch.
“How strange,” the Sheep Man thought to himself. “But I guess I had better do it the way it says here.”
Christmas Eve was only three days off. In three short days, he had to make a shovel with a handle of tuneriko wood, and dig a hole with a circumference of two meters and a depth of 203 centimeters.
“Boy, this is a very strange thing that’s happening,” the Sheep Man sighed.
He found a tuneriko tree in the forest, and cut off a small branch. In one day, he managed to whittle it into the handle of a shovel. The next day, he commenced to dig the hole in the back yard of his house.
While he was digging, the landlady spotted him.
“You there! What are you digging that hole for?” she demanded.
“I’m digging a hole to dump garbage in,” the Sheep Man replied. “I thought maybe it would be handy.”
“Oh. Is that it? Well, if you try anything funny, I’m gonna call the cops,” the landlady said scornfully. With that, she turned and walked away.
Using a measuring tape, the Sheep Man carefully insured that his hole was dug exactly to the specifications for diameter and depth.
“That ought to do it,” the Sheep Man said to himself, covering the hole with a wooden lid.
At last Christmas Eve arrived. The Sheep Man got a dozen donuts of the twisty variety, without holes, from the donut shop, and packed them in a knapsack. This was the extent of his sack lunch. Finally, he put his wallet and a small flashlight in the breast pocket of his sheep suit, and closed the fastener. At 1:00, he snuck around the house and was engulfed in total darkness. There was no moon and the stars weren’t out, so he could not even see his hand in front of his face.
“It must have been this dark the night the Most Holy Sheep Saint fell into that hole,” the Sheep Man murmured, as he searched for the hole with his flashlight. “It’ll be 1:16 soon. What if I can’t find the hole, and have to wait until Christmas Eve next year? That would be awfuuuu...” Just as he said this, the ground beneath his feet suddenly wasn’t there. The Sheep Man had fallen into the hole.
“Someone must have removed the cover during the day,” the Sheep Man thought as he fell. “I’ll bet is was that nasty landlady. She always hates everything I do.” But when the Sheep Man finished thinking this thought, he realized something very strange was happening. “The hole I dug was only 203 centimeters deep. Surely, after falling for so long, I should have hit the bottom by now.”
Then suddenly, with quite a thud, the Sheep Man hit the bottom of the hole. And, although the hole was fearfully deep, he was peculiarly unhurt.
After shaking his head a little, the Sheep Man tried to shine the flashlight at his surroundings, only to find that the flashlight wasn’t there. He surmised that he must have dropped it when he fell into the hole.
“What’s this, goddamit?” came a voice out of the darkness. “It’s only 1:14. You’re 2 minutes early, goddamit. You’ll have to climb back up to the top and do it again from the beginning.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t see very well because it was dark, and I fell into the hole by accident,” the Sheep Man said. “But I’m afraid there’s no way I could climb to the top of a hole that deep.”
“You got to, goddamit. Jeez, a little bit earlier and you could have flattened me. I thought you were coming at 1:16, goddamit.”
There was the sound of a match and a candle was lit. The figure that held the candle was very tall. But though he was very tall, his shoulders were no higher than the Sheep Man’s. His head was very long and twisted around like a twisty donut.
“By the way, goddamit, you better have brought a sack lunch with you when you fell,” the Twist said, “because, if you didn’t, you’re in big trouble, goddamit.”
“Of course I brought it,” the Sheep Man said, nervously.
“Well, give it here, goddamit. I’m starved.”
The Sheep Man opened the knapsack and, retrieving the twisty donuts one by one, handed them over to the Twist.
“What the hell’s this?” the Twist said, seeing the donuts. “You must be an idiot to bring me food that looks like my own goddam head.”
“No, it was a mistake,” the Sheep Man said, wiping the sweat from his brow. “I work at a donut shop, you see, and these twisty donuts were the only things that didn’t have holes in them.”
“Ahh! You said ‘twisty’, goddamit!” the Twist said, falling to his knees. Tears began to flow from his twisty eyes. “It’s because of this goddam face that I have to stay at the bottom of this goddam hole and be the goddam gate-keeper, goddamit.”
“Oh, I’m such a clod. I mad a mistake. I meant to say ‘twisted’.”
“Well, it’s too late now, goddamit.” the Twist said, still crying.
Lacking any course of action, the Sheep Man retrieved one of the twisted donuts, and after untangling the twist and stretching it out straight, handed it to the Twist.
“Look, there’s no problem. See, it’s straight. Why don’t you eat it? It’s delicious.”
The Twist took the donut and ate it with relish, although he didn’t stop crying.
While the Twist ate donuts and wept, the Sheep Man borrowed his candle and investigated the bottom of the hole. It was a bare, broad chamber, containing only the Twist’s bed and desk. “Since he called himself ‘the gatekeeper’, there must certainly be a gate around here somewhere that he’s protecting,” the Sheep Man reasoned. “If there’s not a gate, you certainly don’t need a gatekeeper.”
Speculating thus, the Sheep Man found a small passageway which opened from beside the bed. Taking the candle with him, he climbed into the tunnel.
“If only I hadn’t ate those donuts on Christmas Eve last year, I wouldn’t be up this creek now,” the Sheep Man said to himself.
After about ten more minutes, it slowly began to grow light in the tunnel. Soon, the mouth of the passage was in view. From outside the hole, bright sunlight spilled in.
“How very strange. When I fell into the hole, it was just past one in the morning. It can’t be dawn yet,” the Sheep Man thought, craning his neck.
When he came out of the tunnel, he found a broad, empty clearing before him. Tall trees such as he had never seen before surrounded this clearing. Puffy, white clouds floated in the sky, and he could hear the song of birds.
“Huh. I wonder what I should do now. In that book, it said that if I fell down the hole then the curse would be broken, but it didn’t mention anything about this.”
Having grown rather hungry, the Sheep Man decided to eat one of the remaining donuts from his knapsack, but while he was nibbling on it, he heard a voice from behind him.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Sheep Man.”
“Hello.”
When he turned around to look, he saw twin girls standing there. One wore a shirt bearing the number ‘208’, and the other similarly wore ‘209’.
Aside from the numbers, the two girls were alike in every detail.
“Hey guys,” the Sheep Man said. “Would you like to come over here and eat donuts with me?”
“Wow, great!” 208 said.
“They look really good,” 209 said.
“They are. I made them myself,” the Sheep Man replied.
So the three of them sat in a row on the ground and ate donuts.
“Thanks for the food,” 209 said.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever had such delicious donuts,” 208 said.
“That’s good,” the Sheep Man said. “By the way, I’ve had this curse put on me, and I was wondering if you know what I’m supposed to do now. I came here to try to break the spell.”
“How terrible!” 208 said.
“Being cursed must be tough,” 209 said.
“Really tough,” the Sheep Man confirmed with a sigh.
“I wonder if he should try visiting the Seagull’s wife,” 209 said to 208.
“That’s a good idea. The seagull’s wife will know what to do, I’ll bet,” 208 said to 209.
“She knows all about curses, after all,” 209 said to 208.
“Hey, can you take me to see the Gull’s wife?” the Sheep Man asked excitedly.
“Umm, not the Gull,” said 208.
“The Seagull,” said 209.
“The Gull and the Seagull are totally different, after all,” said 208.
“That’s right,” said 209.
“Sorry, sorry,” the Sheep Man apologized to 208 and 209. “Can you take me to see the Seagull’s wife?”
“At your service,” said 208.
“With pleasure,” said 209.
So the twins and the Sheep Man walked along the road through the forest together. As they walked, the twins sang a little song:
Always with the twins,
Even if the wind blows east and west.
Always with the twins,
Even if the wind blows right and left.
After walking for 10 or 15 minutes, the forest ended and the sea spread out before them for as far as the eye could see.
“Can you see the little shack on top of that big rock over there? That’s the Seagull’s house,” 209 said, pointing.
“We can’t go outside the forest,” 208 said.
“Well, thank you very much. You have really helped me out,” the Sheep Man replied. He then reached into his knapsack, retrieved two donuts, and handed one to each of the twins.
“Thank you, Mr. Sheep Man,” 208 said.
“Good luck breaking your curse,” 209 said.
Getting to the Seagull’s wife’s house was quite a death-defying endeavor. The rock was rugged and steep, and there was no path to speak of. In addition, a sharp sea breeze threatened to blow the Sheep Man off at any time.
“I guess this is OK for the Seagull’s wife, since she can fly. But it’s no fun for those of us who have to climb,” the Sheep Man complained.
Somehow, he eventually found his way to the top of the rock and knocked on the door of the Seagull’s wife’s house.
“Who’s there? You collecting for the newspaper?” he heard a loud, rattling voice from within the house say.
“Umm, no...I’m known as the Sheep Man...” he began.
“I don’t want any,” said the voice curtly.
“I’m not a weirdo or anything. Please open the door.”
“You’re really not collecting for the newspaper?”
Suddenly, the door burst open, and the Seagull’s wife’s face popped out. She was very tall and her beak was pointed like a pick-axe.
“The twins told me that you know everything there is to know about curses,” said the Sheep Man, nervously. That beak could have split his head open and killed him. The Seagull’s wife looked him over doubtfully.
“You’ll hafta come inside. I can’t hear a word you’re saying.”
The inside of the house was terribly messy. The floor was covered with dust, a bottle of catsup had spilled all over the table, and the trashcan was overflowing.
The Sheep Man explained all of the preceding events, one by one.
“Boy, that’s tough,” the Seagull’s wife said. “You’ll have to find another way back to your world.”
“But can’t I just go back the way I came?”
“No. Once you’ve come, there’s no going back,” the Seagull’s wife said, shaking her beak from left to right. “I can take you to a place on my back, though, where you can get rid of this curse.”
“That would make me awfully happy.”
“But you look pretty heavy,” the Seagull’s wife said, dubiously.
“I’m not heavy at all. I’m barely 75 pounds,” the Sheep Man said, cheating by about 10 pounds.
“All right. Let’s make a deal,” the Seagull’s wife said. “You clean this room, and I’ll take you to the place where you can break your curse.”
“Done.”
But the Seagull’s wife’s house took quite a long time to clean. It hadn’t been cleaned in literally months. He scrubbed the plates and tea cups, caked with filth; wiped down the table-top; vacuumed the floor; polished the tiles; and picked up all the trash and threw it out. When he was finished with all of this, the Sheep Man was exhausted.
“I have this blasted curse to thank for all this misery,” he complained silently to himself.
“It looks pretty good,” the Seagull’s wife said, looking satisfied. “A home should always be this neat.”
“So now you’ll take me to the place where the curse can broken?”
“Yeah, I’ll keep my promise. Here, climb on my back.”
Once the Sheep Man had gotten on, the Seagull’s wife quickly took off into the sky. Since this was the first time the Sheep Man had ever flown anywhere, he gripped her neck very tightly.
“Hey! You’re hurting me. Don’t pull so hard. I can’t breathe,” the Seagull’s wife growled.
“Oh, I’m really sorry,” the Sheep Man said sheepishly.
From the air, the sea and the forest and the hill were all visible. The green of the forest and the dark blue of the sea stretched out endlessly, with the sandy, white beach like a belt between them. It was an incredibly beautiful view.
“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it,” the Sheep Man said.
“Maybe to you, but I see it everyday, and I’m sick of it,” the Seagull’s wife replied with evident boredom.
In order to stretch her wings a little, she flew around and around in circles over her house, and then set down on a prairie not even a hundred yards away.
“What’s wrong, ma’am? Aren’t you feeling well?” the Sheep Man asked with concern.
“No, I feel fine,” the Seagull’s wife said shaking her head. “Why would you ask such a stupid question? I’m famous in these parts for my vigour.”
“But why did you set down here, then?”
“Because this is the place,” the Seagull’s wife said.
“But this can’t be more than a hundred yards from your house,” said the Sheep Man with surprise. “If it’s this close, there was no point in riding on your back. I could just as easily have walked.”
“But then you wouldn’t have cleaned my house for me, would you?”
“Well, no, I guess not, but...”
“Well then, I don’t want to hear another word about the distance. I took you on my back just like I promised.”
“Umm, yes...certainly,” the Sheep Man said, unconvinced.
The Seagull’s wife, still laughing heartily to herself, took off into the air and flew back in the direction of her house.
When the Sheep Man looked around him, he saw a large tree standing in the middle of the prairie. There was a rope ladder attached to the trunk of the tree. Since there was nothing else in sight, the Sheep Man decided to try to climb to the top of the ladder.
The rope ladder swung back and forth, making it difficult to climb. Sweating heavily, the Sheep Man climbed all the way to the top, 30 or 40 rungs when, from the midst of the limbs, he heard a bright voice say:
“Hey there, what are you doing up here?”
“Oh, excuse me. I’ve come on account of a curse. You can’t help me by any chance, can you?” the Sheep Man replied in the direction of the voice.
“A curse, you say? Ah, I see. By all means, come on up,” the voice said.
The Sheep Man, doing his best to keep from slipping, elbowed his way through the branches. Once inside, he saw a hole in the tree that had been fashioned into a small cabin, and in front of the cabin, the Twist squatted, shaving himself with a giant razor.
“Baa...baa...ba,” the Sheep Man stammered. Weren’t you just at the bottom of the hole?”
“Ha, ha. No, that wasn’t me,” the Twist said with a laugh. “That’s my big brother. See, I twist to the right. Big Brother twists to the left. He cries easily and is always saying mean things about people.”
Right Twist, with his eyes turned to the right and his chin pointing left, was carefully shaving with the razor and giggling all the while.
“From the same family, but your personalities couldn’t be more different,” the Sheep Man said, impressed.
“Well, you know, right and left are opposites,” Right Twist said, shaving behind his ears. “Ha ha ha ha ha.”
“Now, about this curse...” the Sheep Man began.
“Don’t tell me anything about it, hee hee hee,” Right Twist said. “That’s worse than being cursed, ha ha ha ha ha.”
The Sheep Man descended, furious.
“I really hate this place,” he said. “Right Twist or Left Twist, they’re twisted just the same. And that Seagull’s wife was so selfish.”
Thinking that he couldn’t take much more, the Sheep Man trudged slowly down the road. After walking a little while longer, he spied a beautiful spring, and decided to stop there and drink some water and eat another donut. When he had finished the donut he began to grow sleepy, and stretching out on the grass beside the spring, had a nice nap.
When he awoke, it had grown dark and stars shone whitely in the sky. The wind rose with a groaning voice, and sometimes it was mixed with the baying of a wolf.
“I’m exhausted. And on top of that, I’m lost in a strange land. And I still haven’t even broken this confounded curse,” the Sheep Man said to himself.
“Umm, I couldn’t help over-hearing you. Being cursed must be a great annoyance,” a timid voice suddenly came out of the darkness.
“Who’s there? Where in the world are you?” the Sheep Man asked, surprised.
“Uhh, I’m nobody, really,” the voice said, sounding embarrassed.
The Sheep Man looked around frantically, but he couldn’t see anything for the darkness.
“Please don’t bother looking for me. I’m not worth the time.”
“Will you come out and eat donuts with me?” the Sheep Man tried to tempt him. “It’s lonely sitting here by myself.”
“I’m not really worthy of your donuts,” the invisible Nobody said. “Although that does sound awfully nice.”
“It’s OK. I have lots. But if you’re shy, I can leave one here for you and then turn around, and then you can come here and eat it. How about that?”
“OK,” nobody said. “But I’m really small, so a half will be plenty.”
The Sheep Man put a donut on the grass and turned around. Before long, there was the sound of someone approaching stealthily and then eating a donut.
“Oh, this is delicious. Really delicious,” Nobody said. “Don’t turn around.”
“I won’t turn around, but will you please tell me what you know about this curse?” the Sheep Man enquired.
“Oh yes, the curse. Oh, I see. Munch munch. Yes I know something about it,” Nobody said. “Really delicious. Munch munch.”
“Where can I go to get rid of it?” the Sheep Man asked.
“Just dive into that spring. Munch munch. It’s really easy,” Nobody said.
“But I don’t know how to swim.”
“You don’t need to worry about whether you know how to swim. It’s OK. These are great. Munch munch munch.”
With great trepidation, the Sheep Man walked to the edge of the spring and jumped into the middle, head first. As soon as he dove, however, all of the water vanished, so he landed on his head on the bottom of the hole with a heavy thud. His head swam.
“Oh dear! I’m sorry,” someone said. “I didn’t mean for you to dive in head first.”
When the Sheep Man opened his eyes, there stood before him a little old man about five feet tall.
“Ah! That hurt,” the Sheep Man said. “And just who the heck are you?”
“I am the Most Holy Sheep Saint,” the old man said with a kindly smile.
“You! Why did you put this curse on me? Why did I have to do all that awful stuff? I never did anything bad to anybody, and yet I have to put up with all of this! I mean, really! My body is sore all over and look, I’ve got this welt on my head,” the Sheep Man said, showing the Most Holy Sheep Saint his welt.
“Yes, I agree. It was terrible. Terrible, indeed. But for this I had my reasons,” the Sheep Saint said.
“Well, I’d really like to hear them,” the Sheep Man said angrily.
“Anon, anon,” the Sheep Saint said. “But first come over here. There’s something I’d like to show you.”
The Sheep Saint turned and walked briskly toward the interior of the hole. The Sheep Man, still shaking his head, followed hesitantly after him. Before long, the Sheep Saint came to stand in front of a door, and promptly opened it.
“Merry Christmas!” everyone shouted. Everybody was in the room: Right Twist and Left Twist, 208 and 209, the Seagull’s wife, and even Nobody. Nobody still had crumbs from the donut around his mouth. He could also see a figure that looked like the Sheep Professor.
Inside the room, there was a large decorated Christmas tree. Underneath the tree, wrapped presents tied up with ribbons had been piled.
“What in the world is this? What are all of you doing here?” the Sheep Man said, stunned.
“We’re all waiting for you,” 208 said.
“We’ve been waiting all this time,” 209 said.
“You’ve been invited to a Christmas party, don’t you see,” the Sheep Saint said.
“But I’ve been cursed, so I...” stammered the Sheep Man.
“I put this curse on you so that you would come here,” the Sheep Saint replied. “This way was exciting, and everyone had fun doing it.”
“It certainly was fun. Caw caw,” said the Seagull’s wife.
“And interesting, goddammit,” added Left Twist.
“A pleasure, ha ha hee hee,” giggled Right Twist.
“It was delicious,” mumbled Nobody.
Although the Sheep Man was really quite upset about the deception, he soon began to enjoy himself. It was hard to stay mad when everyone around him was having such a good time.
“If that was the reason, I guess it’s OK then,” the Sheep Man said, nodding agreeably.
“Mr. Sheep Man, you ought to play the piano for us,” 208 said.
“You must be very good,” 209 said.
“Is there a piano here?” asked the Sheep Man.
“There is, there is,” the Sheep Saint said, pulling aside a giant cloth. Beneath this cover was a white, sheep-shaped piano.
“This piano was made especially for you. Play it to your heart’s content.”
That night, the Sheep Man was boundlessly happy. The sheep piano made a splendid sound, and beautiful and delightful melodies danced through his head, one after another.
Right Twist and Left Twist sang, 208 and 209 danced, the Seagull’s wife flew around the room cawing, and the Sheep Professor and the Most Holy Sheep Saint faced off in a beer-drinking contest. Nobody rolled over and over on the ground looking happy. Soon, Christmas cake was distributed to everyone.
“Mmm...delicious. Munch munch,” Nobody said, helping himself to a third piece.
“May there be peace and happiness in the sheep man world forever,” the Sheep Saint prayed.
When the Sheep Man awoke, he found himself in his own room, in his own bed. Although it seemed as if he was waking up from a dream, he knew this was no mere dream. There was still a very distinct bump on his head, there was a grease stain on the back of his sheep’s clothing, and the ramshackle old piano had disappeared from his room, and in it’s place stood the white sheep piano.
This is really what happened when he woke up.
Outside the window, snow had fallen. On the branches of the trees, on the mail boxes, and on the fence posts, white snow was piled high.
In the afternoon of that day, the Sheep Man went into the suburbs of the town to pay a visit to the Sheep Professor, but the Sheep Professor’s house wasn’t there. There was nothing but a vacant lot. The sheep-shaped shrubs and gateposts and paving stones had all disappeared.
“I won’t be able to meet any of those people ever again,” the Sheep Man thought to himself. “The Twists, and the 208 and 209 twins, and the Seagull’s wife, and Nobody, and the Sheep Professor and the Sheep Saint.” Overcome with these thoughts, tears streamed from his eyes. He had really grown to like them all a lot.
When he returned to the boardinghouse, a Christmas card with a picture of a sheep on it had come in the mail. Inside was printed:
May there be peace and happiness in the sheep man world forever...