One night, not long after the closing of the gym, Incubus came into Mrs. Schiff’s room and insisted on being helped up onto her bed, though until now he’d accepted the new prohibition against this. His incontinence and the ensuing drastic overhaul of the apartment had inspired Incubus with an almost human sense of guilt, which each new spontaneous defecation served to keep alive.

Daniel, passing the room and seeing Incubus sprawled on the bed, set in to scolding him, but both dog and mistress gave him such pitiable looks that he didn’t have the heart to insist. He came in the room and sat in the armchair by the bed. Incubus lifted his tail a scant inch off the sheets and let it drop. Daniel patted him on the rump. He began to whine: he wanted a story.

“I think he wants you to tell him a story,” said Daniel.

Mrs. Schiff nodded wearily. She had developed a kind of subdued horror of her own whimsies from having had to recite them so many times when she was feeling the opposite of whimsical herself. Her Scheherazade complex, she called it. It was useless, at these times, to try and abridge the tale being told, for Incubus could always sense when she’d departed from the established format and formulae and would whine and worry her until the straying story-line had been brought back to the narrow paths of orthodoxy. At last she’d learned, like a good sheep, not to stray.

“This is the story,” Mrs. Schiff began, as she’d begun so many times before, “of Bunny Honeybunny and his sister Honey Honeybunny and of the beautiful Christmas they spent in Bethlehem, the very first Christmas of all. One night, just about at bedtime, when Bunny Honeybunny was about to turn in for a well-deserved rest, for he had had, as usual, a very busy day, his dear little sister Honey Honeybunny came hopping, hippity-hop, into their cozy little burrow deep in the roots of a gnarly old oak tree, and she said to her brother — ‘Bunny! Bunny! You must come out and look at the sky!’ Bunny had seldom seen his sister so excited, so, sleepy as he was (and he was very sleepy)—”

Incubus knew better than to succumb to such hints. He was wide-awake and intent upon the story.

“—he hopped, hippity-hop, out of their dear little burrow, and what do you think he saw, shining up there in the sky?”

Incubus looked at Daniel.

“What did he see?” Daniel asked.

“He saw a star! And he said to his sister Honey Honeybunny, ‘What a beautiful and truly amazing star! Let us follow it.’ So they followed the star. They followed it over the meadows where the cows had settled down to sleep, and across the broad highways, and over the lakes as well, for it was winter and the lakes were all covered with ice, until at last they arrived in Bethlehem, which is in Judea. By this time, naturally, they were both quite tired from their journey and wanted nothing so much as to go to bed. So they went to the biggest hotel in town, the Bethlehem Hotel, but the night-clerk was very rude and said there was no room at the hotel, because of the census the government was taking, and that even if there had been room he wouldn’t have let rabbits into his hotel. Poor Honey Honeybunny thought she would cry, but as she didn’t want to make her brother unhappy on her account she decided to be brave. So, with a merry twitch of her long furry ears, she turned to Bunny and said, ‘We don’t need to stay at any silly old hotel. Let’s go find a manger and stay there. Mangers are more fun anyhow!’ So they went to look for a manger, which was no problem at all, for lo and behold, there was a cheery little manger just behind the Bethlehem Hotel with oxen and asses and cows and sheep… and something else besides! Something so wonderful and soft and warm and precious they couldn’t believe their bunnyrabbit eyes.”

“What did they see in the manger?” asked Daniel.

“They saw Baby Jesus!”

“No kidding.”

“Yes, there he was, the little Lord God, and Mary and Joseph too, kneeling beside him, and any number of shepherds and angels and wise men, all kneeling down and offering Baby Jesus presents. Poor Bunny Honeybunny and Honey Honeybunny felt just terrible, of course, because they didn’t have any presents for Baby Jesus. So, to cut a long story short—”

Incubus looked up vigilantly.

“—the two darling rabbits hopped off into the night, hippity-hop, all the way to the North Pole, which represents a lot of hopping, but there was never a word of complaint from them. And when they got to the North Pole, what do you suppose they found?”

“What did they find there?”

“Santa’s workshop is what they found. It was still early in the evening, so Santa was still there, and Mrs. Santa Claus as well, and all the little elves, millions of them, who help Santa make his toys, and the reindeer who help Santa deliver them, but I’m not going to name all the reindeer.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m tired and I have a headache.”

Incubus began to whine.

“Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen. And Dasher and Prancer and… and… Help me.”

“Rudolph?”

“With his nose so bright, of course. How could I forget Rudolph? Well, after everyone had sat down in front of the blazing fire and warmed their little paws and enjoyed a nice slice of Mrs. Santa’s carrot cake, the two Honeybunnies explained why they’d had to come to the North Pole. They told Santa about Baby Jesus and how they’d wanted to give him a present for Christmas but didn’t have any. ‘So what we were hoping,’ said Honey Honeybunny, ‘was that we could give him ours.’ Santa Claus, naturally, was deeply touched by this, and Mrs. Santa had to turn away to dry her tears. Tears of happiness, you understand.”

“Is there any other kind?” Daniel asked.

Incubus shifted his head uneasily.

“Well,” said Mrs. Schiff, folding her hands purposefully in her lap, “Santa told the Honeybunnies that of course they could give their presents to Baby Jesus, if they would help him load them into his great bag and put it into his sleigh.”

“And what were the presents they put in the bag?” Daniel asked.

“There were rooty-toot-toots and rummy-tum-tums and dolls and frisbees and doctor kits with candy pills and tiny little thermometers for pretending to take a temperature. Oh, and a hundred other lovely things: games and candy and myrrh and frankincense and opera records and the Complete Works of Sir Walter Scott.”

Incubus laid down his head, content.

“And he loaded the bag of presents into his sleigh, and helped the two Honeybunnies in behind him, and gave a crack of his whip and—”

“Since when does Santa have a whip?”

“Santa’s had a whip time out of mind. But he rarely if ever has to use it. Reindeer know instinctively where they should fly. So — away they all flew, instinctively, like the down of a thistle, straight to the manger in Bethlehem where Jesus and Mary and Joseph and the shepherds and angels and wise men, and even the night-clerk at the hotel, who’d experienced a change of heart, were waiting for Santa and the Honeybunnies, and when they saw them up there in the sky, which was lit up, you’ll remember, by that beautiful star, they all let out a great hurrah. ‘Hurrah!’ they shouted. ‘Hurrah for the Honeybunnies! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!’”

“Is that the end of the story?”

“That’s the end of the story.”

“Do you know what, Mrs. Schiff?”

“What?”

“Incubus just went wee-wee in your bed. I can see it on the sheets.”

Mrs. Schiff sighed, and nudged Incubus, who was dead.