Father Christmas, a short story by Austin Mitchell

Father Christmas

I honestly don’t know why they called Mr. John, Father Christmas. I don’t know if was the colorful clothes he used to wear. Or maybe it was the three piece suits he used to wear along with a top hat. He would dress up, especially when he went courting.

There was one time we were on this outing to the airport to see one of our villagers off to England. As usual Father Christmas was immaculately dressed. He sat beside a young lady all the way to the airport. When we were returning we stopped in Kingston to have lunch. Lunch was being served aboard the bus. When the man who was selling the lunches approach him.

“Me have curry goat, stew peas,jerk pork, ackee and saltfish. Weh yuh want, John?”

“A want go a me yard.”

Clearly he was hurt as the young lady had rebuffed his advances. He was a thrice married man on the fringes of his seventieth birthday. The young lady whom he went courting was in her late twenties.

About fifteen minutes later I saw him eating a big plate of curry goat and drinking an aerated water. When the bus left Kinston, John was sitting in his right seat. The young lady’s boyfriend was now sitting beside her. They were making jokes at John’s expense.

          When the bus was going up Slipe Road he suddenly jumped up out of his seat and shouted.

          “Driver, a want come offa the bus yah.”

          The driver ignored him and continued driving.

          “John! A mad yuh a get mad or what?” the conductor asked.

          “Mek him go back a him seat, ductor,” the driver instructed.

          All the passengers turned on John. Some were shouting for him to sit down while others were pleading with the driver to stop the bus for him to come off.

          Finally, John returned to his seat, but he sulked all the way home. The End.

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