by Jon McDonald
◘ ◘ ◘
At last. At last. Might there now be peace at last? At first the snow sifted down from the steel clouds like gentle powder sugar on a cake. It was silent as a crouching cat. The shortest day of the year. Darkness crept forward like a beast from the Russian wilderness. Then the spotlight from the back porch caught the growing, dazzling blizzard, as it pressed forward against the windows, frantic now to wreck total havoc.
Tru gazed out of the kitchen window. Then the lights for the whole region were ripped out by the storm. Tru lit the candle on the windowsill, flickering, as the storm seeped in through the sash. Tru was mesmerized by the driving snow. Even without light he could sense it biting into the fabric of the house. He picked up a knife from the sink and drew the point down along his arm. Blood budded, then boiled from his arm, creating rosettes in the sink. He turned to the kitchen door. “Stay, Rabble,” he commanded the dog. He opened the door, walked through it into the howling storm, and closed it securely behind him. He had removed all his clothes. The swirling snow etched at his skin. He stepped into the darkness. He was carried aloft by the thunder and the waves. The continental mountain ranges shifted to let him pass. Milky stellar clouds reformed around his magnetic field. Galaxies shifted their gravitational forces to align to the pull of his vast presence.
◘ ◘ ◘
It was March the twelfth when old Fred Norris, taking a shortcut across Tru’s northwest field, found the hand sticking out from beneath the snow bank by the Post Road fence. A rivulet of melting snow caressed the palm of the grey hand laying in the spring sunlight. When the Sheriff and Deputy broke into the North family house they found Rabble curled up on Tru’s bed, dead from starvation. A photo portrait of Beth North was lying on Tru’s pillow.
Christmas
The Magic of the Flying Burrito
Sonora and Connye were major rivals in the Santa Fe social scene. They lived in an exclusive development just across the golf course from each other. Both were determined not to allow the other to shine brighter than themselves. Being middle-aged widows, with a certain sophistication and style, and each with considerable fortunes; they were able to wage a war of one-upsmanship that few others in the social world could match. They each had a single-minded determination and focus, unencumbered by the distractions of either husbands or children. It was now the holiday season and each wanted to do something special that would out do the other and set their event apart.
Connye had been wondering how she could make a splash this holiday season but had been unable to come up with anything unique so far. She knew Sonora would be having her usual Christmas Day open house, traditional and undoubtedly lavish and glittering – always with the finest buffet and stunning decorations - but ultimately, mind numbingly conventional. Connye wanted something different that would astound and dazzle.
Connye took great delight in reading the newspaper each morning, scanning the articles for what she called her “human interest” stories. She would lounge in her robe, sipping coffee in her garden room, looking for stories about individuals, families, or even organizations in dire need. She very much liked to help where she could. Perhaps someone had had a terrible accident and had no insurance; or a family would be stranded on a cross-country trip when their car broke down; or a youth center was going to be evicted because they lost their lease. Connye loved coming to the rescue. It was part of her quite loving nature to want to help these people, and she always did it anonymously. That, too, was much to her credit. She was the chairwoman of a personal foundation. It was really organized just for her private giving. It issued modest amounts of money very quickly at her direction to these people and groups, and no one ever knew from where it came. It really gave her a great deal of pleasure.
This morning she came across an article about a local church. It seems they have a long tradition of holding an outdoor Christmas pageant each holiday season. It is well attended and involves the telling of the Christmas story with live actors and animals. It is usually held at their church, but they had just experienced a terrible fire, which destroyed a large portion of the building and the sets that are used in the pageant.
Connye put down the paper, a twinkle in her eye.
◘ ◘ ◘
It was Christmas Eve and Sonora was overseeing the completion of the decorations for her open house the next day. There were three Christmas trees, a forest of poinsettias, a galaxy of fairy lights, and trains of garlands. She was pleased to see the work was almost completed, and checked once again with her housekeeper to see that all the food was prepared and ready for tomorrow. She was now free to enjoy Christmas Eve without any further concern. She would be taking her mother, Shirley, visiting from New York City, and her best friend Lionel, who lived next door and was a seventy-some-year-old retired movie costume designer.
The “boys,” Lincoln and Carlos – a couple - were having their annual open house during the Farolito Walk - the grand Santa Fe tradition on Christmas Eve. The historic district was closed to traffic. Adobe walls, entranceways, rooftops and even sidewalks were lined with farolitos – small paper bags filled with sand for ballast and a single lighted votive candle, snuggled deep inside. It created a magical scene, unique to the southwest. Along the streets, bon fires blazed – called luminarias. People strolled, gathered, and sang Christmas carols. Homes were open for parties. And as there was snow today, it was an added treat to see the walls with small drifts of snow nestled up against the warm glow of the flickering paper bags.
Sonora, Shirley, and Lionel had parked near the boy’s cozy house, and were going to do the walk before going to the open house to warm up and fill up with Christmas cheer.
As they walked, Shirley snuggled up against Sonora for warmth and stability. This was Shirley’s first Christmas walk. Her eyes were alight with the magic of the evening. Sonora and Lionel guided Shirley to the most festive areas. They sang carols, and watched delighted children as a toy train circled in a small compound, with hundreds of flickering farolitos lining the branches of the surrounding trees.
Sonora had a special treat for them. They walked over to the local elementary school playground where the flying farolitos were to be launched. A flying farolito was constructed of very lightweight, tissue paper. It was in the shape of a large, three-sided, inverted pyramid, with birthday candles on a small wooden cross, suspended in the opening below. When the candles were lit, the heated air from the candles filled the paper triangle and it floated up, lifting like a pale ghost into the black sky. Almost everyone was silent when the first farolito breathed up with a whisper. They watched several rise, then Shirley nuzzled Sonora and told her she was getting cold. And as they had now seen the most interesting sights, they hiked over to the party.
Lincoln and Carlos’ historic house was quite spacious and several fireplaces were ablaze with snapping piñon and cedar fires. The aroma of spiced cider filled the air. A Christmas tree was covered in lit poinsettias. A long table was filled with a delicious assortment of smoked salmon, spiced ham, cheese, dried fruit; bowls of posole, tamales, chili; and breads, cakes and cookies.
The guests stomped their feet to get off the snow. Mittens were removed - hats, mufflers, and coats shed. Shirley gravitated to a small chair by one of the fireplaces after getting a plate of delicious treats. Lionel spotted Champagne, and eagerly accepted a bubbling glass. Sonora worked the room, chatting with a number of people she saw only during the holidays. Sonora spied her friendly social rival, Connye, with a plate of food on her lap, and sidled over for an intimate visit.
“Connye, precious one, a very Merry Christmas.”
“And to you, my darling Sonora. All ready for your grand Christmas party tomorrow?”
“Mostly. A few odds and ends left, you know.”
“Is your charming mama enjoying her visit?” Connye smiled so sweetly.
“She is.”
“You both must come by for tea one afternoon.”
“That would be lovely, but I thought you
might be doing some traveling over the holiday.”
“Really, and why is that?” Connye asked, innocent as a Christmas mouse.
“Well, you’ve declined to come to my festive party, and since absolutely no one has received an invitation from you for anything, we thought you might be flying off to Rio or some such exotic locale.”
“Well no, not quite. I did decide against giving a party this year, that’s true. But I’ve been arranging another little treat.”
“Oh do tell us – what?” Sonora gleamed.
Connye smiled sweetly, and nodded. “Can’t say just yet. Such a surprise, you know.” She nibbled on a small cinnamon-sugared bizcochito.
Sonora, smiled, nodded and walked away. She was greatly suspicious of that. What kind of surprise? She corralled Lionel and began a line of speculation. “Connye absolutely has no holiday events planned that anyone has heard about. She usually hosts a New Year’s Eve party but there have been no invitations to anyone. Have you heard anything from your grapevine?”
Lionel and Sonora were close confidants, frequently having tea and gossip of an afternoon.
“Well, my dear, I’m afraid the grapevine is not bearing any fruit on that particular subject. However, there is some speculation that she might be planning a journey somewhere.”
“Yes, that was my thought, as well, but she quite denies it.”
“Then, I’m afraid I can shed no further light on the matter.”
Lionel was much more interested in the smoked salmon than Connye’s holiday plans and sidled over to the buffet, leaving Sonora still puzzled and suspicious. She felt certain that Connye was trying to pull a fast one, and decided she needed to keep a careful watch on Connye the next few days. Perhaps a call to Connye’s caterer would reveal some pertinent information.
Sonora then went over to Shirley who said, “Lovely food and the fire feels so nice and warm.”
“Are you getting tired? Should we go soon?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay, let me round up Lionel.”
They bundled up once again, and headed out into the crisp, nippy night. Walking back to the car arm in arm, Shirley looked up at the star-flung sky and pointed to an expiring tissue-paper star. “Oh look, there’s another flying burrito. Just like the Christmas star, don’t you think?”
“Does one make a wish?” Lionel asked.
“Oh yes.” Shirley enthused. “I wish for happiness for my baby girl.” Shirley reached up and patted Sonora on the cheek. Sonora winced.
“And I’m wishing for my nice warm bed right now.” Lionel teased.
“Oh, and what about world peace? Aren’t your forgetting that?” Sonora smiled with an edge of sarcasm.
“World peace?” Lionel looked at Sonora. “I think that’s quite improbable. You would do much better wishing for peace between you and Connye. That would be remarkable enough, don’t you think?’
“And ever so unlikely.” Sonora gave a big grin.
◘ ◘ ◘
It had snowed a little more during the night. Not enough to impact the roads adversely for her guests, but enough to freshen up the Christmas card scene outside Sonora’s windows. She stood with a coffee mug in her hands, gazing out from her living room over the blue dawn snowscape. The house was dark and quiet. None of the Christmas lights were lit yet. There was only a faint light filtering in from the kitchen. She loved these moments of peace before the onslaught of party guests. She noticed that Connye’s house across the way was already ablaze with lights. She wondered what Connye could possibly be doing up so early. However, there was no time for speculation now. It was time for Sonora to get ready for her party, and she trundled off for a nice reviving shower before dressing.
◘ ◘ ◘
Sonora’s open house was well under way. The weather had cooperated and the guests were coming and going in festive waves. The decorations sparkled. A string quartet was punching out carols. The bar was well stocked and crowded. The dining table was laid out with a feast of holiday fare.
Lincoln arrived in a Santa hat, followed by Carlos with a red clown nose and antlers. “Ho, ho, ho. Me-e-r-r-y-y Christmas.” Lincoln boomed, carrying mistletoe, and holding it over Sonora to give her a big wet kiss; then the two of them marched into the living room, spreading holiday cheer, and tiny striped candy canes from Santa’s pouch.
Lionel has been tending to Shirley, helping her with her plate of food and introducing her to Sonora’s friends. Sonora came up to him and pulled him aside.
“We miss our darling Connye this morning.” Sonora sighed. “So sad she can’t join us. I still can’t believe she would decline my invitation, however. I can’t imagine what is going on with her.”
“I’m sure she has her reasons. You really must let go of this. Just enjoy the party. All your other friends are having a splendid time.” Lionel soothed.
A very strange look suddenly came over Sonora’s face. She was staring out the window towards her back yard. “Good heavens a sheep has gotten loose.”
“Is that a donkey?” Someone else asked, pointing out another window.
“Is that a camel?”
“Is that poultry?
Suddenly a barnyard menagerie coalesced outside Sonora’s house, along with a troop of nomads and kings. The entire party flocked to the patio. Sonora’s little Maltese, The Contessa, dashed over to the sheep, and sat down amongst them, looking back, posing. The white snow, the white sheep, the white Contessa with her red bow – what a perfect portrait for next year’s Christmas card.
And there was Connye, shepherding a rabble of animals and actors into a tableau. And out of the chaos quietly appeared the nativity. Sonora’s guests were in utter silence. The string quartet began playing “Silent Night.” Sonora stepped forward and gave a gentle wave to Connye, who bowed ever so slightly.
Peace on earth, goodwill towards men – and women.
Midnight Clear
There was a seam on the roadway crossing the bridge, such that when a car passed over, it sent a “thump thump” echoing underneath. When it was busy during the day the thump thumps came frequently, overlapping and creating a thunder that echoed along the riverbank. During the night the sound came infrequently, and accented the stillness.
It was going to be a very cold Christmas Eve - with the scent of snow already in the air - and there had been a few flurries as the afternoon gathered into dusk before the clutch of night took its frigid hold.
Rainbow and Gal were huddled around their meager fire, kept alive by scavenging the riverbank for anything that would burn – hopefully through the entire night. Their few belongings were stacked up like sandbags around a foxhole to help keep out the needles of icy wind. The tips of their fingers poked out through worn gloves, as they fumbled with a dented pot to heat water so they could use the damaged Ramen Noodle Soup packet scrounged from a dumpster behind the Seven–Eleven. Maybe Gal would wait till midnight to give Rainbow his gift – a short flask of brandy that Gal had saved for from a week of panhandling when Rainbow wasn’t around.
In country, the copters flew overhead like crazy wheeling drunks – thump thump -thump thump. Rainbow was corporal Edward Declan Connelly - Boston Irish. So raw he still thought they were fighting the enemy for the good of the country. He was called Rainbow because he was that way. His best and only buddy was Gallagher – Gal – short for Gallagher, of course, but also because he was perceived to be Rainbow’s gal. They had soon found each other despite the monsoons, the mud, the lousy food, the blood, the moans, the endless boredom, and the constant rain of shells – thump thump – thump thump. They managed, however, to get away together now and then for half an hour - hidden amongst the sacks of flour in the storeroom behind the mess - time so precious, and ever so brief, their hearts – thump thump – thump thump.
After the slaughter was over and they were shipped home and dumped on the streets of LA, they stayed together. Somewhat broken, keenly cunning, resourceful as two feral cats, together they open
ed a shop repairing typewriters and small business machines. Then came the computer. They struggled, tried to adapt, created more debt to stay afloat, and finally had to flee in the dead of night in their broken down Pontiac to the Rocky Mountain west. Their car barely made it across the Continental Divide – thump thump.
They never completely recovered. Too many demons. Too much alcohol. Inner wounds too tender. But they stayed together through it all. There was never one without the other through many decades, many journeys, many disappointments.
◘ ◘ ◘
“Deck, oh Deck. I can’t believe you’re still abed. And this being Christmas morning and all.” His mother called him Deck not Eddie. But he didn’t want to stir. The room was cold - the covers warm, scooched up tight around his head, cradling his ear – only his susceptible eyes and nose were exposed to the bite from the window slightly ajar. He promised he’d get up at the count of ten. “Eight, nine, nine and a half, nine and three quarters….”
◘ ◘ ◘
“Soup’s ready.” Gal offered Rainbow the watery soft noodles.
“Thanks.”
It was dark now. The fire glowed and sputtered. Gal put on a few more pieces of wood from a broken table someone had tossed onto the riverbank rather than take it to the dump. They ate in silence.
Thump thump. Rainbow’s mind wandered to the sleeper car his family was taking to Chicago to visit his grandmother; snuggled in his berth, eyes almost closed. Thump thump. The sound of the train lulled him towards sleep. Thump thump. He always watched for that moment when waking turns into sleep like a snake gliding silently into water. But he could never quite grasp it - it always just slipped away. Thump thump – thump thump.