A War of Gifts: An Ender Story

kid.
    “Sinterklaas,” said Dink. “Lives in Spain, not the North Pole. Has a friend who carries his bag-Black Piet.”
    “Friend?” said a kid from South Africa. “Black Piet sounds like a slave to me.”
    Rosen sighed. “It’s a relief when Christians are fighting each other instead of slaughtering Jews.”
    That was when Ender Wiggin joined the discussion for the first time. “Isn’t this exactly what the rules are supposed to prevent? People sniping at each other because of religion or nationality?”
    “And yet we’re doing it anyway,” said the American kid.
    “Aren’t we up here to save the human race?” asked Dink. “Humans have religions and nationalities. And customs. Why can’t we be humans too?”
    Wiggin didn’t answer.
    “Makes no sense for us to live like Buggers,” said Dink. “They don’t celebrate Sinterklaas Day, either.”
    “Part of being human,” said Wiggin, “is to massacre each other from time to time. So maybe till we beat the Formics we should try not to be so very very human.”
    “And maybe,” said Dink, “soldiers fight for what they care about, and what they care about is their families and their traditions and their faith and their nation-the very stuff they don’t allow us to have here.”
    “Maybe we fight so we can get back home and find all that stuff still there, waiting for us,” said Wiggin.
    “Maybe none of us are fighting at all,” said Flip. “It’s not like anything we do here is real.”
    “I’ll tell you what’s real,” said Dink. “I was Sinterklaas’s helper last night.” Then he grinned.
    “So you’re finally admitting you’re an elf,” said the American kid, grinning back.
    “How many Dutch kids are there in Battle School?” said Dink. “Sinterklaas is definitely a minority cultural icon, right? Nothing like Santa Claus, right?”
    Rosen kicked Dink lightly on the shin. “What do you think you’re doing, Dink?”
    “Santa Claus isn’t a religious figure, either. Nobody prays to Santa Claus. It’s an American thing.”
    “Canadian too,” said another kid.
    “Anglophone Canadian,” said another. “Papa Nõel for some of us.”
    “Father Christmas,” said a Brit.
    “See? Not Christian, national,” said Dink. “It’s one thing to stifle religious expression. But to try to erase nationality-the whole fleet is thick with national loyalties. They don’t make Dutch admirals pretend not to be Dutch. They wouldn’t stand for it.”
    “There aren’t any Dutch admirals,” said the Brit.
    It wasn’t that Dink let idiotic comments like this make him angry. He didn’t want to hit anybody. He didn’t want to raise his voice. But still, there was this deep defiance that could not be ignored. He had to do something that other people wouldn’t like. Even though he knew it would cause trouble and accomplish nothing at all, he was going to do it, and it was going to start right now.
    “They were able to stifle our Dutch holiday because there are so few of us,” said Dink. “But it’s time for us to insist on expressing our national cultures like any other soldiers in the International Fleet. Christmas is a holy day for Christians, but Santa Claus is a secular figure. Nobody prays to Saint Nicholas.”
    “Little kids do,” said the American, but he was laughing.
    “Santa Claus, Father Christmas, Papa Noel, Sinterklaas, they may have begun with a Christian feast day, but they’re national now, and people with no religion at all still celebrate the holiday. It’s the day of gift-giving, right? December twenty-fifth, whether you’re a believing Christian or not. They can keep us from being religious, but they can’t stop us from giving gifts on Santa Claus day.”
    Some of them were laughing. Some were thinking.
    “You’re going to get in such deep doodoo,” said one.
    “É,” said Dink. “But then, that’s where I live all the time anyway.”
    “Don’t even try it.”
    Dink looked up to see who had spoken so angrily. Zeck.
    “I think we already know where you stand,” said Dink. “In the name of Christ I forbid you to bring Satan into this place.”
    All the smiles disappeared. Everyone fell silent.
    “You know, don’t you, Zeck,” said Dink, “that you just guaranteed that I’ll have support for my little Santa Claus movement.”
    Zeck seemed genuinely frightened. But not of Dink. “Don’t bring this curse down on your own heads.”
    “I don’t believe in curses, I only believe in