{"id":25450,"date":"2025-12-07T00:09:55","date_gmt":"2025-12-07T04:09:55","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=25450"},"modified":"2025-12-07T00:09:56","modified_gmt":"2025-12-07T04:09:56","slug":"gordon-r-dickson-the-christmas-present","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/gordon-r-dickson-the-christmas-present\/25450\/","title":{"rendered":"Gordon R. Dickson: The Christmas Present"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis:<\/strong> \u201cThe Christmas Present<\/em>\u201d is a short story by Gordon R. Dickson, published in January 1958 in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction<\/em>. Allan Dumay, a six-year-old human child living with his family on the planet Cidor, befriends Harvey, a Cidorian being who dwells in the marsh near his home. On Christmas Eve, Allan and his mother try to explain to Harvey the meaning of this holiday imported from Earth. While mother and son wrap presents, the boy decides to make a special gesture toward his alien friend.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Gordon<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

The Christmas Present<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Gordon R. Dickson
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat is Christmas?\u201d asked Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the time when they give you presents,\u201d Allan Dumay told him. Allan was squatted on his mudshoes, a grubby figure of a little six-year-old boy, in the waning light over the inlet, talking to the Cidorian. \u201cTonight\u2019s Christmas Eve. My daddy cut a thorn tree and my mother\u2019s inside now, trimming it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTrimming?\u201d echoed the Cidorian. He floated awash in the cool water of the inlet. Someone\u2014perhaps it was Allan\u2019s father\u2014had named him Harvey a long time ago. Now nobody called him by any other name.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s putting things on the tree,\u201d said Allan. \u201cTo make it beautiful. Do you know what beautiful is, Harvey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Harvey. \u201cI have never seen beautiful.\u201d But he was wrong\u2014even as, for a different reason, those humans were wrong who called Cidor an ugly swamp-planet because there was nothing green or familiar on the low mudflats that rose from its planet-wide fresh-water sea\u2014only the stunted, dangerous thorn tree and the trailing weed. There was beauty on Cidor, but it was a different beauty. It was a black-and-silver world where the thorn trees stood up like fine ink sketches against the cloud-torn sky; and this was beautiful. The great and solemn fishes that moved about the uncharted pathways of its seas were beautiful with the beauty of large, far-traveled ships. And even Harvey, though he did not know it himself, was most beautiful of all with his swelling iridescent jellyfish body and the yard-long mantle of silver filaments spreading out through it and down through the water. Only his voice was croaky and unbeautiful, for a constricted air-sac is not built for the manufacture of human words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can look at my tree when it\u2019s ready,\u201d said Allan. \u201cThat way you can tell.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d said Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou wait and see. There\u2019ll be colored lights. And bright balls and stars; and presents all wrapped up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI would like to see it,\u201d said Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Up the slope of the dyked land that was the edge of the Dumay farm, reclaimed from the sea, the kitchen door of the house opened and a pale, warm finger of light reached out long over the black earth to touch the boy and the Cidorian. A woman stood silhouetted against the light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTime to come in, Allan,\u201d called his mother\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m coming,\u201d he called back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cRight away! Right now!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Slowly, he got to his feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf she\u2019s got the tree ready, I\u2019ll come tell you,\u201d he said, to Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI will wait,\u201d said Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Allan turned and went slowly up the slope to the house, swinging his small body in the automatic rhythm of the mud-shoes. The open doorway waited for him and took him in\u2014 into the light and human comfort of the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTake your shoes off,\u201d said his mother, \u201cso you don\u2019t track mud in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs the tree all ready?\u201d asked Allan, fumbling with the fastenings of his calf-high boots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want you to eat first,\u201d said his mother. \u201cDinner\u2019s all ready.\u201d She steered him to the table. \u201cNow, don\u2019t gulp. There\u2019s plenty of time.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs Daddy going to be home in time for us to open the presents?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou don\u2019t open your presents until morning. Daddy\u2019ll be back by then. He just had to go upriver to the supply house. He\u2019ll start back as soon as it\u2019s light; he\u2019ll be here before you wake up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s right,\u201d said Allan, solemnly, above his plate; \u201che shouldn\u2019t go out on the water at night because that\u2019s when the water-bulls come up under your boat and you can\u2019t see them in the dark.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHush,\u201d said his mother, patting him on the shoulder. \u201cThere\u2019s no water-bulls around here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere\u2019s water-bulls everywhere. Harvey says so.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHush now, and eat your dinner. Your daddy\u2019s not going out on the water at night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Allan hurried with his dinner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy plate\u2019s clean!\u201d he called at last. \u201cCan I go now?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d she said. \u201cPut your plate and silverware into the dishwasher.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He gathered up his eating utensils and crammed them into the dishwasher; then ran into the next room. He stopped suddenly, staring at the thorn tree. He could not move\u2014it was as if a huge, cold wave had suddenly risen up to smash into him and wash all the happy warmth out of him. Then he was aware of the sound of his mother\u2019s footsteps coming up behind him; and suddenly her arms were around him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, honey!\u201d she said, holding him close, \u201cyou didn\u2019t expect it to be like last year, did you, on the ship that brought us here? They had a real Christmas tree, supplied by the space lines, and real ornaments. We had to just make do with what we had.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Suddenly he was sobbing violently. He turned around and clung to her. \u201c\u2014not a\u2014Christmas tree\u2014\u201d he managed to choke out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut, sweetheart, it is!\u201d He felt her hand, soothing the rumpled hair of his head. \u201cIt isn\u2019t how it looks that makes it a Christmas tree. It\u2019s how we think about it, and what it means to us. What makes Christmas is the loving and the giving\u2014not how the Christmas tree looks, or how the presents are wrapped. Don\u2019t you know that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut\u2014I\u2014\u201d He was lost in a fresh spate of sobs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat, sweetheart?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2014promised\u2014Harvey\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHush,\u201d she said. \u201cHere\u2014\u201d The violence of his grief was abating. She produced a clean white tissue from the pocket of her apron. \u201cBlow your nose. That\u2019s right. Now, what did you promise Harvey?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTo\u2014\u201d He hiccupped. \u201cTo show him a Christmas tree.\u201d \u201cOh,\u201d she said, softly. She rocked him a little in her arms. \u201cWell, you know honey,\u201d she said, \u201cHarvey\u2019s a Cidorian; and he\u2019s never seen a Christmas tree at all before. So this one would seem just as wonderful to him as that tree on the spaceship did to you last Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He blinked and sniffed and looked at her doubtfully. \u201cYes, it would,\u201d she assured him gently. \u201cHoney\u2014Cidorians aren\u2019t like people. I know Harvey can talk and even make pretty good sense sometimes\u2014but he isn\u2019t really like a human person. When you get older, you\u2019ll understand that better. His world is out there in the water and everything on land like we have it is a little hard for him to understand.\u201d \u201cDidn\u2019t he ever<\/em> know about Christmas?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, he never did.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOr see a Christmas tree, or get presents?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, dear.\u201d She gave him a final hug. \u201cSo why don\u2019t you go out and get him and let him take a look at the tree. I\u2019ll bet he\u2019ll think it\u2019s beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell … all right!\u201d Allan turned and ran suddenly to the kitchen, where he began to climb into his boots.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t forget your jacket,\u201d said his mother. \u201cThe breeze comes up after the sun goes down.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He struggled into his jacket, snapped on his mudshoes and ran down to the inlet. Harvey was there waiting for him. Allan let the Cidorian climb onto the arm of his jacket and carried the great light bubble of him back into the house.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSee there,\u201d he said, after he had taken off his boots with one hand and carried Harvey into the living room. \u201cThat\u2019s a Christmas tree, Harvey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Harvey did not answer immediately. He shimmered, balanced in the crook of Allan\u2019s elbow, his long filaments spread like silver hair over and around the jacket of the boy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not a real Christmas tree, Harvey,\u201d said Allan. \u201cBut that doesn\u2019t matter. We have to make do with what we have because what makes Christmas is the loving and the giving. Do you know that?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI did not know,\u201d said Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, that\u2019s what it is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt is beautiful,\u201d said Harvey. \u201cA Christmas tree beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThere, you see,\u201d said Allan\u2019s mother, who had been standing to one side and watching. \u201cI told you Harvey would think it was beautiful, Allan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWell, it\u2019d be more beautiful if we had some real shiny ornaments to put on it, instead of little bits of foil and beads and things. But we don\u2019t care about that, Harvey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe do not care,\u201d said Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think, Allan,\u201d said his mother, \u201cyou better take Harvey back now. He\u2019s not built to be out of the water too long, and there\u2019s just time to wrap your presents before bed.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right,\u201d said Allan. He started for the kitchen, then stopped. \u201cDid you want to say good night to Harvey, Mommy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood night, Harvey,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGood night,\u201d answered Harvey, in his croaking voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Allan dressed and took the Cidorian back to the inlet. When he returned, his mother already had the wrapping papers in all their colors, and the ribbons and boxes laid out on his bed in the bedroom. Also laid out was the pocket whetstone he was giving his father for Christmas and a little inch-and-a-half-high figure he had molded out of native clay, kiln-baked and painted to send home to Adlan\u2019s grandmother and grandfather, who were his mother\u2019s parents. It cost fifty units to ship an ounce of weight back to Earth, and the little figure was just under an ounce\u2014but the grandparents would pay the freight on it from their end. Seeing everything ready, Allan went over to the top drawer of his closet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cClose your eyes,\u201d he said. His mother closed them, tight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He got out the pair of work gloves he was giving his mother and smuggled them into one of the boxes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They wrapped the presents together. After they were finished and had put the presents under the thorn tree, with its meager assortment of homemade ornaments, Allan lingered over the wrappings. After a moment, he went to the box that held his toys and got out the container of toy spacemen. They were molded of the same clay as his present to his grandparents. His father had made and fired them, his mother had painted them. They were all in good shape except the astrogator, and his right hand\u2014the one that held the pencil\u2014was broken off. He carried the astrogator over to his mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s wrap this, please,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy, who\u2019s that for?\u201d she asked, looking down at him. He rubbed the broken stump of the astrogator\u2019s arm, shyly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a Christmas present … for Harvey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She gazed at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour astrogator?\u201d she said. \u201cHow\u2019ll you run your spaceship without him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, I\u2019ll manage,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut, honey,\u201d she said. \u201cHarvey\u2019s not like a little boy. What could he do with the astrogator? He can\u2019t very well play with it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Allan. \u201cBut he could keep it. Couldn\u2019t he?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She smiled, suddenly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she said. \u201cHe could keep it. Do you want to wrap it and put it under the tree for him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He shook his head, seriously.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cI don\u2019t think Harvey can open packages very well. I\u2019ll get dressed and take it down to the inlet and give it to him now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot tonight, Allan,\u201d his mother said. \u201cIt\u2019s too late. You should be in bed already. You can take it to him tomorrow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen he won\u2019t have it when he wakes up in the morning!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAll right, then,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019ll take it. But you\u2019ve got to pop right into bed, now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI will.\u201d Allan turned to his closet and began to dig out his pajamas. When he was securely established in the warm, blanketing field of the bed, she kissed him and turned out everything but the night light.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSleep tight,\u201d she said, and taking the broken-armed astrogator, went out of the bedroom, closing the door all but a crack behind her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She set the dishwasher and turned it on. Then, taking the astrogator again, she put on her own jacket and mudshoes and went down to the shores of the inlet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHarvey?\u201d she called.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But Harvey was not in sight. She stood for a moment, looking out over the darkened night country of low-lying earth and water, dimly revealed under the cloud-obscured face of Cidor\u2019s nearest moon. A loneliness crept into her from the alien land and she caught herself wishing her husband was home. She shivered a little under her jacket and stooped down to leave the astrogator by the water\u2019s edge. She had turned away and was half-way up the slope to the house when she heard Harvey\u2019s voice calling her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She turned about. The Cidorian was at the water\u2019s edge\u2014 halfway out onto the land, holding wrapped up in his filaments the small shape of the astrogator. She went back down to him, and he slipped gratefully back into the water. He could move on land, but found the labor exhausting.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou have lost this,\u201d he said, lifting up the astrogator.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo, Harvey,\u201d she answered. \u201cIt\u2019s a Christmas present. From Allan. For you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He floated where he was without answering, for a long moment. Finally:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI do not understand,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know you don\u2019t,\u201d she sighed, and smiled a little at the same time. \u201cChristmas just happens to be a time when we all give gifts to each other. It goes a long way back . . Standing there in the dark, she found herself trying to explain; and wondered, listening to the sound of her own voice, that she should feel so much comfort in talking to only Harvey. When she was finished with the story of Christmas and what the reasons were that had moved Allan, she fell silent. And the Cidorian rocked equally silent before her on the dark water, not answering.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDo you understand?\u201d she asked at last.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo,\u201d said Harvey. \u201cBut it is a beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she said, \u201cit\u2019s a beautiful, all right.\u201d She shivered suddenly, coming back to this chill damp world from the warm country of her childhood. \u201cHarvey,\u201d she said suddenly. \u201cWhat\u2019s it like out on the river\u2014and the sea? Is it dangerous?\u201d \u201cDangerous?\u201d he echoed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI mean with the water-bulls and all. Would one really attack a man in a boat?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne will. One will not,\u201d said Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow I don\u2019t understand you, Harvey.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAt night,\u201d said Harvey, \u201cthey come up from deep in the water. They are different. One will swim away. One will come up on the land to get you. One will lie still and wait.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She shuddered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhy?\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThey are hungry. They are angry,\u201d said Harvey. \u201cThey are water-bulls. You do not like them?\u201d She shuddered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m petrified.\u201d She hesitated. \u201cDon\u2019t they ever bother you?\u201d \u201cNo. I am . . .\u201d Harvey searched for the word. \u201cElectric.\u201d \u201cOh.\u201d She folded her arms about her, hugging the warmth in to her body. \u201cIt\u2019s cold,\u201d she said. \u201cI\u2019m going in.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the water, Harvey stirred.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI would like to give a present,\u201d he said. \u201cI will make a present.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her breath caught a little in her throat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you, Harvey,\u201d she said, gently and solemnly. \u201cWe will be very happy to have you make us a present.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou are welcome,\u201d said Harvey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Strangely warmed and cheered, she turned and went back up the slope and into the peaceful warmth of the house. Harvey, floating still on the water, watched her go. When at last the door had shut behind her, and all light was out, he turned and moved toward the entrance to the inlet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It appeared he floated, but actually he was swimming very swiftly. His hundreds of hair-like filaments drove him through the dark water at amazing speed, but without a ripple. Almost, it seemed as if the water was no heavy substance to him but a matter as light as gas through which he traveled on the faintest impulse of a thought. He emerged from the mouth of the inlet and turned upriver, moving with the same ease and swiftness past the little flats and islands. He traveled upriver until he came to a place between two islands where the water was black and deep and the thorn bushes threw their sharp shadows across it in the silver path of the moonlight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Here he halted. And there rose slowly before him, breaking the smooth surface of the water, a huge and frog-like head, surmounted by two stubby cartilaginous projections above the tiny eyes. The head was as big as an oil drum, but it had come up in perfect silence. It spoke to him in vibrations through the water that Harvey understood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs there a sickness among the shocking people that drives them out of their senses, to make you come here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI have come for beautiful Christmas,\u201d said Harvey, \u201cto make you into a present.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was an hour past dawn the following morning that Chester Dumay, Allan\u2019s father, came down the river. The Colony\u2019s soil expert was traveling with him and their two boats were tied together, proceeding on a single motor. As they came around the bend between the two islands, they had been talking about an acid condition in the soil of Chester\u2019s fields, where they bordered the river. But the soil expert\u2014his name was Pere Hama, a lean little dark man\u2014checked himself suddenly in mid-sentence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJust a minute\u2014\u201d he said, gazing off and away past Chester Dumay\u2019s shoulder. \u201cLook at that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chester looked, and saw something large and dark floating half-away, caught against the snag of a half-drowned tree that rose up from the muddy bottom of the river some thirty feet out from the far shore. He turned the boat-wheel and drove across toward it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat the devil-\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They came up close and Chester cut the motor to let the boats drift in upon the object. The current took them down and the nearer hull bumped against a great black expanse of swollen hide, laced with fragile silver threads and gray-scarred all over by what would appear to have been a fiery whip. It rolled idly in the water.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA water-bull!\u201d said Hama.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs that what it is?\u201d queried Chester, fascinated. \u201cI never saw one.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI did\u2014at Third Landing. This one\u2019s a monster. And dead!\u201d<\/em> There was a note of puzzlement in the soil expert\u2019s voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chester poked gingerly at the great carcass and it turned a little. Something like a gray bubble rose to show itself for a second dimly through several feet of murky water, then rolled under out of sight again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cA Cidorian,\u201d said Chester. He whistled. \u201cAll crushed. But who\u2019d have thought one of them could take on one of these!\u201d He stared at the water-bull body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hama shuddered a little, in spite of the fact that the sun was bright.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd win\u2014that\u2019s the thing,\u201d the soil expert said. \u201cNobody ever suspected\u2014\u201d He broke off suddenly. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter with you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, we\u2019ve got one in our inlet that my son plays with a lot\u2014call him Harvey,\u201d said Chester. \u201cI was just wondering …\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI wouldn\u2019t let my kid near something that could kill a water-bull,\u201d said Hama.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh, Harvey\u2019s all right,\u201d said Chester. \u201cStill . . .\u201d Frowning, he picked up the boathook and shoved off from the carcass, turning about to start up the motor again. The hum of its vibration picked up in their ears as they headed downriver once more. \u201cAll the same, I think there\u2019s no point in mentioning this to the wife and boy\u2014no point in spoiling their Christmas. And later on, when I get a chance to get rid of Harvey quietly . . .\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSure,\u201d said Hama. \u201cI won\u2019t say a word. No point in it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They purred away down the river.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Behind them, the water-bull carcass, disturbed, slid free of the waterlogged tree and began to drift downriver. The current swung it and rolled, slowly, over and over until the crushed central body of the dead Cidorian rose into the clean air. And the yellow rays of the clear sunlight gleamed from the glazed pottery countenance of a small toy astrogator, all wrapped about with silver threads, and gilded it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe Christmas Present\u201d is a short story by Gordon R. Dickson, published in January 1958 in The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction. Allan Dumay, a six-year-old human child living with his family on the planet Cidor, befriends Harvey, a Cidorian being who dwells in the marsh near his home. On Christmas Eve, Allan and his mother try to explain to Harvey the meaning of this holiday imported from Earth. While mother and son wrap presents, the boy decides to make a special gesture toward his alien friend.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":25449,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[1458,581,1492,552],"class_list":["post-25450","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-canada-en","tag-christmas","tag-gordon-r-dickson","tag-science-fiction","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":1458,"label":"Canada"},{"value":581,"label":"Christmas"},{"value":1492,"label":"Gordon R. Dickson"},{"value":552,"label":"Science fiction"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/12\/Gordon-R.-Dickson-El-regalo-de-navidad.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":419,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":419,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":1458,"name":"Canada","slug":"canada-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":1458,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":2,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":581,"name":"Christmas","slug":"christmas","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":581,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":17,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":1492,"name":"Gordon R. Dickson","slug":"gordon-r-dickson","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":1492,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":1,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":552,"name":"Science fiction","slug":"science-fiction","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":552,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":121,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25450","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25450"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25450\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/25449"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25450"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25450"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25450"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}