A War of Gifts by Orson Scott Card Page B

whatever you have to say, say it to your counselor. Or one of the teachers.”
    The teachers were no help. Few of them would talk to him anymore. They’d say, “Is this about algebra? No? Then tell it to somebody else, Zeck.” The words of Christ had long since worn out their welcome in this place.
    The counselor did listen—or at least sat in a room with him while he talked. But it came to nothing.
    â€œSo what you’re telling me is that the other students are being kind to each other, and you want it stopped.”
    â€œThey’re doing it in the name of Santa Claus.”
    â€œWhat, exactly, has anyone done to you—in the name of Santa Claus?”
    â€œNothing to me, personally, but—”
    â€œSo you’re complaining because they’re being kind to other people and not to you?”
    â€œBecause it’s in the name of—”
    â€œSanta Claus, I see. Do you believe in Santa Claus, Zeck?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œBelieve in Santa Claus. Do you think there’s really a jolly fat guy in a red suit who brings gifts?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSo Santa Claus isn’t part of your religion.”
    â€œThat’s exactly my point. It’s part of their religion.”
    â€œI’ve asked. They say it isn’t religion at all. That Santa Claus is merely a cultural figure shared by many of the cultures of Earth.”
    â€œIt’s part of Christmas,” insisted Zeck.
    â€œAnd you don’t believe in Christmas.”
    â€œNot the way most people celebrate it, no.”
    â€œWhat do you believe in?”
    â€œI believe Jesus Christ was born, probably not in December at all anyway, and he grew up to be the Savior of the world.”
    â€œNo Santa Claus.”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œSo Santa Claus isn’t part of Christmas.”
    â€œOf course he’s part of Christmas,” said Zeck. “For most people.”
    â€œJust not for you.”
    Zeck nodded.
    â€œAll right, I’ll talk about this to my superiors,” said the counselor. “Do you want to know what I think? I think they’re going to tell me it’s just a fad, and they’re going to let it run itself out.”
    â€œIn other words, they’re going to let them keep doing it as long as they want.”
    â€œThey’re children, Zeck. Not many of them are as tenacious as you. They’ll lose interest in it and it will go away. Have patience. Patience isn’t against your religion, is it?”
    â€œI refuse to take offense at your sarcasm.”
    â€œI wasn’t being sarcastic.”
    â€œI can see that you also are a true son to the Father of Lies.” And Zeck got up and left.
    â€œI’m glad you didn’t take offense,” the counselor called after him.
    There would be no recourse to authority, obviously. Not directly, anyway.
    Instead, Zeck went to several of the Arab students, pointing out that the authorities were allowing a Christian custom to be openly practiced. From the first few, he heard the standard litany: “Islam has renounced rivalry between religions. What they do is their business.”
    But Zeck was finally able to get a rise out of a Pakistani kid in Bee Army. Not that Ahmed said anything positive. In fact, he looked completely uninterested, even hostile. Yet Zeck knew that he had struck a nerve. “They say Santa Claus isn’t religious. He’s national. But in your country, is there any difference? Is Muhammad—”
    Ahmed held up one hand and looked away. “It is not for you to say the prophet’s name.”
    â€œI’m not comparing him to Santa Claus, of course,” said Zeck. Though in fact Zeck had heard his father call Muhammad “Satan’s imitation of a prophet,” which would make Santa and Muhammad pretty well parallel.
    â€œYou have said enough,” said Ahmed. “I’m done with you.”
    Zeck knew that Ahmed