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‘Go ahead, Abigail, open the door on your advent calendar,’ said Albert.
‘Dad, I can’t find the three,’ Abigail complained.
‘It’s a three. It’s not that hard of a -‘
His wife folded her arms and shook her head. ‘Albert, just help her.’
Albert sighed and picked up the advent calendar with his good hand, scanning the numbers with his misshapen hand. ‘There’s no three,’ he said as he turned to his kid sister. ‘Missy, what kind of advent calendar is this?’
Missy shrugged and lowered the book she was reading (The Eyes of Mara by H. Jones). ‘I purchased it from Trader Sam,’ she said, her Indian accent a stark contrast to her brother’s American.
‘Trader Sam?’
‘Hey. Albert. Don’t complain to me. Sam is the only person who sells items in this godforsaken jungle,’ said Missy. ‘It was him or nothing.’
‘Can you two not argue in front of our child?’ asked Albert’s wife. ‘Or preferably at all.’
Albert sighed and bent down to lace up his boots. ‘Fine, Lucy. I’ll go and see Sam,’ he said. ‘He’ll sort this out.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘All this over a silly little three.’
‘But I wanna open the three, Mom,’ said Abigail.
‘Of course you do,’ Lucy said, under her breath.
Albert stood up. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said. Still holding the advent calendar, he grabbed his skipper Santa hat - Khaki, of course - put it on his head, and left their shack.
There was no point hiding his hand, everyone knew it had been mangled in a leopard attack - just another occupational hazard. He had it better than O. I. Cyha anyways, who got around with the use of a crutch.
Every Christmas it amazed Albert that Cyha would decorate for the season, even though everyone would call him Tiny Tim. Or that he could decorate for Christmas. But there was his shack, decorated as usual with fairy lights, a tree, tinsel, baubles, and a tacky plastic snowman that belonged nowhere near such a tropical destination.
He could see the shack from his office. And from the Skipper dock, where he hopped into the Ucyali Lolly boat, which had had a Christmas name change courtesy of a plank of wood with some paint on it - it was now the Yule Log Lolly. Then he commandeered it to Trader Sam’s Gift Shop - formerly the Jungle Navigation Company Lost and Found.
‘Albert Awol,’ said Sam, leaning over the counter. ‘What can I do for you?’
Albert was well aware of the rumours about Sam - that he was a cannibalistic head hunter, but he’d seen no evidence of that and was inclined to disbelieve them.
‘I believe you sold my sister a faulty advent calendar that she gave to my daughter -‘
‘I don’t need to hear your life’s story, Awol. What do you want?’
Albert docked his boat and carefully stepped out.
Sam looked down at Albert’s hand. ‘A refund or a new pair of gloves?’
‘I want you to replace the three on the advent calendar,’ said Albert. ‘You’re a witch doctor, you can do that.’
‘Do you know what a witch doctor is? It’s not “double double toil and trouble”. I’m a healer, Awol.’
‘Replace the three,’ said Albert.
‘So you want an exchange. Do you have the faulty advent calendar?’
‘On my boat.’ Albert turned around and reached into his boat for the advent calendar. Then he walked back over to the counter and handed it to Sam, who took it. ‘Sam, can you fix my hand?’ he asked.
Sam didn’t take his eyes off the advent calendar. ‘I can’t regenerate lost limbs.’ Before Albert could say anything, he added; ‘Or lost digits.’ He scanned the numbers and grabbed a pen, putting a circle on the advent calendar. ‘Here’s your missing three.’ He handed the advent calendar back to Albert.
Albert took the advent calendar and nodded. ‘Right. Thanks.’ He mumbled. And the turned around to leave.
‘I take it I’ll see you next week for your Christmas shopping needs,’ said Sam. ‘We have some new Coon Sanders Nighthawks Orchestra records in. I know they’re your favourite. And Louis Armstrong. Jeepers Creepers, I believe is popular outside the jungle.’
‘Sure,’ Albert nodded. He needed to add some new music in his rotation. Louis Armstrong could do. ‘See you next week.’ He said. He took one single look at Sam’s pet elephant, Ellie, and he walked over to his boat.
Behind him as he started up his boat engine, Albert could hear Sam singing.
“We three kings of orient are
Bearing gifts we traverse afar
Field and fountain, moor and mountain
Following yonder star -“
Albert piloted his boat away from Sam’s gift shop and Sam’s singing for fainter and fainter. Then he joined in Sam’s song.
“O star of wonder, star of light
Star with royal beauty bright
Westward leading
Still proceeding -“
‘Guide us to thy perfect light?’ a voice shouted out to him from the Skipper docks. His wife, Lucy’s. Standing next to Lucy was their daughter, Abigail, and his sister, Missy.
Albert chuckled and docked his boat. He grabbed the advent calendar and disembarked into his wife’s arms, and kissed his daughter on her head.
‘I heard you singing,’ said Lucy. ‘What happened to Diwali?’
‘Diwali’s been,’ said Albert. ‘And besides, there are no Diwali carols.’
‘Yes there are,’ said Lucy.
‘Sam found the three,’ said Albert, quickly changing the subject.
‘The three was there?’ asked Abigail.
Albert handed Abigail the advent calendar. ‘See for yourself.’
Excited, Abigail snatched the advent calendar from her father’s hand. ‘Yay! The three! The three!’ she cheered. ‘Trader Sam did find it!’
‘See,’ said Missy, still reading her book. ‘I told you it wasn’t defective.’
‘You didn’t say it wasn’t defective, Missy,’ said Albert in an accusatory manner. ‘You just said -‘
‘It doesn’t matter what was or wasn’t said,’ said Lucy. ‘The three was found. That should be the end. Time to move on.’
Albert nodded. ‘Time to move on,’ he agreed.