More OFM

“Chesterton?” I blurted. “that’s impossible.”

Stout laughed and beckoned Chesterton over.

“Ah, Strong old man, glad to meet you,” Chesterton said, taking my hand and clasping it warmly. “We are scheduled to dine together.”

“Our visitor says that you are impossible,” Stout said to Chesterton.

“Impossible? I have been called worse,” Chesterton chuckled. “As for that, I have found that when we experience a reality that is impossible, it is safe to conclude that at least one thing we considered impossible is indeed possible.”

I was too startled to respond. I looked away to think – and that’s when I spotted Oliver Hardy chatting with John Candy.

I looked around quickly to see if there were more famous fat men.

And saw Orson Welles laughing at something Jackie Gleason said.

And Babe Ruth showing a sumo wrestler his swing.

And a man I thought was William Howard Taft listening to Winston Churchill.

And a cleric I was sure must be Friar Tuck was at the snack table sampling some shrimp along with Alfred Hitchcock and Sidney Greenstreet.

And approaching us, Pope John XXIII.

“Ah, I’m glad I made it in time,” Pope John said. “I am happy to meet you.”

He too shook my hand.

He smiled.

“I think our brother is confused,” he said. “We should sit.”

He placed a hand on my shoulder and directed me to a table. I sat. Chesterton, Stout and Pope John also sat.

“I don’t know quite what to say,” I said. “I, I thought, I don’t mean to be rude, but you are all … dead.”

“Quite,” Chesterton said.

“No doubt,” Pope John said.

“Here, too,” Stout said.

“But then how? And why am I here?”

“To see if you will fit in – when the time is right,” Stout said.

Pope John patted my arm.

“Fear not. Your presence here does not mean that your time is near.”

“Precisely when your time is is not for us to know, of course,” Chesterton said.

“But you won’t have to worry if you’ve been a good boy,” a voice said behind me.

I turned to see Santa Claus.

To be continued …