by Jesse Colt
The scene faded. Reluctantly, he stared through the dissipating cloud and into the sad eyes of the old medicine man. God, Jim thought. Perhaps he is able to read my visions as well. For a moment he was embarrassed, but he seized the pipe again, eager to see if there was not one happy illusion left to balance the depressing scenes he had just endured. Perhaps there was something positive remaining in this pipe that would offer him a brighter future. He exhaled the smoke and looked hopefully into the twisting cloud.
This time it took him a long while to recognize the scene. It was a company retirement party, with the gaudy emblems on the drab white walls and the familiar table crowded with bulky presents and poorly worded telegrams. The booze was liberal. The company had learned that without it, attendance could be sparse, embarrassingly so. Larry Clovechok was seated in the spot reserved for senior vice presidents. He had gained a little weight and his hair was thinning. So, Larry had stuck it out and made it to senior vice-president. Jim was a little surprised, he had never guessed that Larry would do so well. He was too much of a rebel, a non-conformist. But this could not hold his attention. Something about this party did not seem right.
This retirement banquet seemed different from the dozen or more he had already attended. But it was a subtle change that took him some time to discern. The awkward speeches and background were the same; then it hit him! There were no women present, no wives, daughters, sweethearts or girlfriends.
“Must be some confirmed old bachelor,” Jim thought. He felt a touch of pity for the lonely old codger who would receive his cold, shiny watch and then fade into an empty retirement. They were clapping loudly and raising their glasses in the time-honored tradition. Jim knew it was the retiring guest’s turn to speak. He watched the tipsy figure stagger up from the table of honour. The man was tall, with a course white beard and long hair that needed a trim. Despite the lean frame, he had acquired a beer gut, showing under the ill-fitting business suit. He felt a tinge of embarrassment for the lonely figure, then shock. He recognized himself, another fifteen or twenty years in the future!
He looked around the room again. Now his gaze was filled with panic. There must be some women there, surely at least Tania and Christine would attend. Certainly, he and Christine would have made up by then. Tania would never abandon him, would she? Where was Ingried? After all the time and money, he had spent on her. Even Anne might have come. Maybe she could have forgiven him by then. The company always paid the airfare.
He searched desperately around the room, then breathed a sigh of relief. One table was empty. It was near the head table. There were wine glasses and half eaten desserts. That was it. They were all in the washroom. That was why he was waiting to give his speech. Women had the annoying habit of disappearing into the bathroom at a time like this. They all left together, like a flock of tittering birds escaping some boring scene. Jim felt a little better.
He stared at the women’s washroom and waited hopefully. The door cracked open and he smiled expectantly to himself. There were eight seats at the vacant table. He knew who would be there!
The portal boldly gaped open and his heart fell like a stone driven to the depths of despair. Irwin Quick and Gerry Caouette hurried out, zipping up their flies beneath their heavy beer guts. Gerry belched loudly and Irwin chuckled, hurrying back to his glass of premium scotch.
“No! God in Heaven!” Jim pleaded. There were no women there. Some of the men were using their washroom!
So, this is how it ends! Nothing but a bunch of drunken buddies who are here as much for the booze as to wish him well.
He felt something streaming down his face and touched his own tears. Surely, he must have remarried. What had happened to him? For a moment he felt anger, then a total wave of despair washed over him.
The old chief was tapping the pipe into a stone ashtray. The bowl was empty and growing as cold as Jim’s heavy heart.
The tired eyes looked sadly into Jim’s. He smacked his thin lips and cleared his throat. He looked as if he were about to speak. Jim waited expectantly for another “Hummph.”
He rapped Jim harshly on the knee with his bony hand. “Communication!” he muttered. “You got to learn to communicate with people that mean something to you.” He rose stiffly from his cozy seat and walked to the mantle over the fireplace. He set the pipe reverently back in its place of honour then stood with his head bowed, staring sadly into the dying coals.
Jim seized his parka and touched Tania’s letter, just to be sure he had not imagined it. He decided to try the old man one last time.
“This letter! How did it get here?”
The lean figure gave him a blank stare and then relaxed back in the maple rocker. His command of English seemed to have failed him again.
“The letter!” he waved it frantically in the air in front of the solemn features. “How the hell did this mail get here?”
The tired eyes examined Jim’s agitated features. They seemed to reflect a world of sadness. No response.
“The priest said you had something for me that came in on the sled. Did the teams bring you this?”
He was favoured with the same blank stare.
“The teams. You know, the teams!” In desperation he made the sound of a barking dog “Woof! Woof! Woof!” and tried to imitate a musher cracking his whip over the racing dogs.
The old man looked at him with sad, pitying eyes. He shook his head slowly, no. “Woof, woof, woof?” he repeated in disgust, then sank back into his comfortable rocking chair.
“How then? How the hell did this get here? In the name of all that you consider holy, old man, tell me how this bloody letter got here!”
For a long moment the medicine man seemed to be pondering his response. Then he pointed to the roof and traced a long slow arc from the chimney down to the fireplace, ending on the hearth. He placed both hands on his lean belly.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” he muttered.
Jim turned and fled into the empty night!
CHAPTER TEN
Jim fled across the frozen landscape, driven by the hard knowledge that he had seen his future and found it empty and cold. He knew it was a prospect without hope, a future created by himself. More troubling even than the empty future was the brutal realization that he had lived for almost fifty years ignorant of life’s most basic principles. He had squandered the opportunity to share in the bounty that provides sustenance for the soul itself.
His trembling hands fumbled open the church door and he stumbled numbly past the empty pews. The faint lights in the chapel reflected the perfect tranquillity of the evening. The silence was absolute. He was certain he could hear the lights winking on the great tree.
An air of hushed expectation seemed to hang in the night. The last happy echoes of the evening had died away and every corner of the church had fallen into a rapt silence in anticipation of Christmas morning. Only the great tree seemed animate, glowing under the splendor of the winking lights and throwing its wondrous radiance into the darkest reaches of the deserted chapel.
One solitary luminous feature caught his attention. The image of Christ was silhouetted over the small podium where the priest had recently given the congregation his blessing. A lonely candle illuminated this likeness; its soul purpose in this universe was to shed its flickering radiance on the divine figure of The Savior. The wondrous countenance pulled Jim’s unwilling footsteps across the creaking floor and held him captive in the tranquillity of the tiny cathedral. He paused beneath the figure of Christ, agonizing on the cross. Jim lowered his parka hood in a simple act of reverence.
He examined the glowing sculpture with its serene face. It was the first time he had been this close to the image of Christ since he was a small child. His spirit was overcome with a rush of emotions almost forgotten. He looked up at the silent statue and prayed for an inner peace he could not hope to find.
“They say you are a most kind
and forgiving God,” Jim murmured. “Yet I can’t even begin to ask for your absolution but, Lord, if you could just show me how I might make a few little amends for some of the things I’ve done. The hurt I’ve caused people who only wanted my love and understanding,” he choked on the words and struggled to continue.
“I don’t know what you might demand of me in return to repay you for such a divine act, but so help me Lord, I really would try to live a better life. And if you could find it in you to give me just one more Christmas like the ones I used to have, when the season really meant something to me. Well, I’d try to pay you back for that, too.”
Jim studied the motionless icon, looking for any sign that his message had been favorably received. The somber face seemed unmoved.
“Well, I guess if you can’t, then I should understand why.”
He turned and walked slowly across the room, then sank heavily into a seat before the wondrous tree. The lights were twinkling merrily, and every small decoration seemed to throb and pulse in expectation of a coming event too powerful to describe. The smell of the pungent pine needles, released by the warmth that had flooded the church during the service, filled his nostrils.
He huddled in the hushed chapel, completely aware that it was Christmas Eve around the world. He wondered if there was anyone else in the entire universe who felt as lonely and distressed as himself at this most wondrous and happy time of the year.
He reached into his parka and pulled out Tania’s letter. How could she leave him guessing until the last minute? He was keenly aware how much one person’s small thoughtless act could so affect another human being. This realization made him conscious of the many heedless sins he had committed and how his indifference had desperately pained those he had professed to love.
He remembered Red Bear’s sad eyes when Jim had suggested that the letter had come in with the teams. He shook his head in imitation of the old man.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!” he muttered. “So, Santa, you really have survived in this cynical world, you old bugger! You’re alive and wonderfully apparent to all those who still know the true meaning of Christmas! How the hell did some warped son of a bitch like me wind up in a place like this on Christmas Eve?”
He remembered the image of the white-haired stranger about to give his shaky retirement speech. The recollection made him choke. He pictured the gray beard and the paunch that had formed under the ill-fitting suit. He wondered where the sad old man would go when the party was finished. To what lonely apartment would he retire and how much more liquor would it take to blot out the memories of the past. He placed his head in his hands. It had never felt so heavy and uncomfortable on his shoulders. For a moment he thought he might cry, but he seemed too drained of emotion even to weep.
For a few minutes he allowed the flood of self pity to wash over him. He heard a creak on the frozen floorboards. He looked up. It was Father Stait. His stately garments had been replaced by baggy slacks, a thick red turtleneck and heavy parka. His hands where jammed deep into his warm pockets. The rugged face looked tired, sadder than Jim could have imagined.
“Hello, Jim. Having trouble getting to sleep on this most blessed evening?” he asked. His words were flat. The charismatic tone had faded from his voice and he sounded exhausted.
“Yes, Father, sleep does not appear high on my list of priorities tonight!” He took a deep breath and tried to steady his shaking hands.
“I know what you mean, Jim. I know what you mean,” the towering figure sighed.
Jim wondered what emotions the priest might feel after his congregation had left and he was alone in his empty church. He wondered if it had been easier for him back in Philadelphia.
“You look a little shaky, Jim,” the priest stated. “How did you get on with Red Bear?” he slumped next to Jim and stretched his creaky frame out on one of the adjacent pews.
“Shaky doesn’t really seem an adequate description, Father. I think I may have seen the ghosts of future Christmases and I can’t say I found any comfort there.”
“Did you share a pipe with him?” the priest asked. He voice was casual, almost bored.
Jim examined the rugged profile of the priest staring into the pine boughs. The drained figure was slumped back on the seat trying to relieve the ache in his back. There was no semblance of the powerful evangelist Jim had witnessed a few hours previous. Jim wished he had had the opportunity to know him better. What a great friend he would make.
“You know about the pipe?”
“I know about the pipe, Jim. Perhaps I should have warned you, but…” His words trailed away in the silence of the chapel.
“But you thought it was time someone taught me a good lesson! Right?”
“Well, something like that!” the priest laughed softly. “You wouldn’t have believed me anyway.”
“Father!” Jim asked, struggling for the words. “When did you first realize that there was something out there. Something bigger than all of us?”
The priest slowly turned his face towards him. “Jim, it must have been one hell of a pipe!”
“It was, Father. It was.” Uninvited, he began to tell the priest the story. Several times he paused, expecting the priest to interject, but the man sat motionless, silently staring into the lights of the great tree with Jim, his hands jammed into his pockets. When Jim had ended the tale, he turned to his silent companion.
“And the pipe, Father. What do you think? Was there a message there?”
Father Stait rose slowly to his feet and walked a few paces towards the front of the church stretching his gimpy back and stiff shoulders. Finally, he turned back to Jim.
“Jim, there was a message there. No doubt about that. There was a message there for you.”
“And, Father,” Jim asked, needing verification of the communication he feared he had received.
“Jim,” the priest stated solemnly. “We both know you got the message. You don’t need anyone repeating it for you.”
“Yes, after all these years. And it took an old man who barely speaks English to get through to me,” Jim mused.
“Well, Jim, I’m afraid you might be wrong on that count as well. Professor Edwards taught literature at Cambridge. Those books on his table are all written by him. He still has one or two new ones published each year!”
Jim sat silently for a minute, trying to assimilate what the priest had told him. The night seemed filled with surprises beyond his comprehension. He fell back on his standard escape mechanism.
“Father, can I offer you a night cap?”
“No, Jim, not tonight. I still have a few rounds to make. Christmas Eve. Remember!” He rose stiffly to his feet but seemed reluctant to leave. He remained with Jim, staring into the great pine as if mesmerized by this symbol of Christmas and all the tree stood for.
“Father, did you ever know anyone who could define the true spirit of Christmas?”
“Jim,” the priest answered slowly “Mankind has searched for centuries, trying to define the true meaning of this special season. Every year there are a few more interpretations,” he added. “But Christmas is not definable anymore than peace or love or true happiness. It lives in the hearts of good people and small children and means something different to each of us. To some it means renewed friendship and perhaps to others religion. To many it’s just a wonderful mystical feeling that they can’t describe. I don’t have the answer for you, Jim. We each have to look into our own hearts to find its true meaning!”
“You said Christmas couldn’t be defined, Father!”
“Yes, Jim, I believe I did!”
“Father, I think you came pretty close.”
The priest extended his hand. “Jim, I have to go now. Merry Christmas! I’ll see you all before you take off in the morning.”
“Do you want me to wake you, Father?”
“Someone will wake me, Jim.�
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“Someone?” Jim quizzed, looking up to the rafters of the church.
“Yes, Jim. Someone. Someone called Old Bull. Geezer MacLeod is sharing his cabin. Now why don’t you try and get some rest!”
Jim watched the departing figure, then called after him.
“Father. If I leave a couple of small gifts with you, will you make certain that they are dropped off?”
The priest stopped and turned back. He gave Jim a puzzled look, but he remained silent.
“It’s a doll, a doll and a watch. They are for Little Fawn and her mother. I had bought them for someone else, but…” He did not feel the need to finish the sentence.
The priest waited in the church while Jim retrieved the gifts. He whistled at the extravagant presents.
“The doll is for Little Fawn. And the watch; it’s for someone who has been really good and never asks for anything for herself,” Jim mumbled, trying to remember the child’s exact words. He reached into his pocket and extracted the small gold coin. “Father, perhaps you can leave this with them as well. It is real is it not?”
The priest accepted the coin. “Oh, its real. I promise you that. You might want to keep it as a souvenir.
Jim shook his head, no.
“They will be under their tree by morning, Jim. I’ll make sure they know where the gifts came from.”
“No, Father. Just let it be from Santa.”
“Good night, Jim. Merry Christmas!” he turned and walked towards the door. He paused in the doorway then looked back again. “Jim,” he called.
“Yes, Father.”
“Remember what I said about Scrooge!” The figure vanished into the night.
Jim was reluctant to abandon the splendor of the quiet church. He sat by the tree again and withdrew Tania’s letter from his jacket.
Two hours later he folded the pages back into the envelope.