The answer came to him. It was simple. It was Christmas Day, and on Christmas Day he could make happen whatever he wanted to happen. This startling realization enervated his whole body. He had to sit down and catch his breath. Next Christmas he and Maria would, just for a while, be young again and walk hand in hand through that heart-rending, snow-covered street. All they had to do was wait for next Christmas. They had to survive the year. Simple, yet still a tall order.
It was something to keep him going throughout the year, counting off the days, weeks and eventually months to the next Christmas. At times he thought he wouldn’t make it, especially when he had a couple more of those severe infections which kept him bed-ridden, and he experienced more and more of those dizzy spells. Maria, on the other hand, although there was only one slope to slide slowly down once dementia had set in, proved to be remarkably resilient over the year. Physically, she was fine, lying on her reclining-chair with a big smile on her face, eating well, generally silent, just the odd moment of rambling loquacity. Will felt sure seeing Clarissa again last Christmas had revivified her and set her up nicely for the coming year. That’s what kept him going, the desire to arrange the next wonderful surprise for Maria. He would whisper it in her ear, and her eyes would light up, and her hand would give a special squeeze to his.
“We’re going to be young again on Christmas Day, my darling,” he would murmur. “We’re going to walk hand in hand through the snow, and watch our breaths curling through the air. I’m going to throw snowballs at you, we’ll make a snow-man, and come home freezing cold, and warm ourselves up by the log-fire, and roast chestnuts. My darling, we’ll be young again for a whole day.”
And that’s how it turned out. Will had been particularly concerned on Christmas Eve when, drawing back the curtains every five minutes, he had seen no trace of snow. Imagine his delight when, looking out of the window the next morning, his eyes smarted from the expanse of whiteness that greeted him. The whole street had been softened and smoothed by a massive fall of snow during the night. He ran down the stairs to tell Maria, and then suddenly stopped still half-way down, his hand gripping the banister. He raced back up the stairs to the bedroom. He stared in the mirror. A stranger stared back. It was Will, and it wasn’t Will. It was the Will of sixty, even seventy years ago. He hurried out of the room, and bounded down the stairs.
“Maria, where--?”
The words died in his throat as he was met by the sight of a tall, lithe, black-haired beauty advancing towards him, arms outstretched. It was his Maria, the Maria he had met and loved all those years ago in Italy when she had been so dazzled by his British Army uniform and he had been so dazzled by everything of her. They fell into each other’s arms.
They wandered through the snow-clad street, kissed under the street-lights in the darkening afternoon, and, as their lips disengaged and they drew back from each other, he gazed deep into the intoxicating splendour of her luminous, blue eyes.
They sat by the fireside, roasting and eating chestnuts, sharing each chestnut, taking turns to feed the other. She sat in his lap, her legs dangling playfully and kicking at the coal-scuttle as the flickering flames were reflected in her eyes and reddened her cheeks, just as had happened all these years ago in a small village just outside Rome when her mother and sisters had finally gone off to bed and left them alone.
* * *
So, he could always wish for something on Christmas Day, and it would come true. It was enough to keep him alive throughout the rest of the year. He spent the first few months of the new year pondering what his next wish could be. Many a day he spoke about it with Maria, putting forward many alternatives, and she listened with a broad, infectious smile on her lips. It didn’t matter that the carers were coming more and more, and that they spent all their time together sitting side by side in the living-room, holding hands, and gazing with disinterest at the television with its flickering images in the corner of the room. They had so much to live for. They had Christmas, in particular Christmas Day, when whatever they wished for was possible.
One day he got a tremendous idea about what that wish could be this year. He hurried downstairs to speak about it with Maria, as fast as his aching legs permitted him. He was so excited by his idea that he didn’t notice, when he entered the room, that Maria was bent a little more than usual to the right in her reclining-chair, her head hanging down somewhat, dishevelled grey hair touching the arm-rest of the adjacent armchair he always sat in. Excitedly he started speaking to Maria about his plan. Then he stopped. The words choked in his throat and died in the air. There was a mighty thump on his heart. On faltering legs he rushed over to her. His fingers grazed her sweet, tender face. He felt her forehead. She felt a little cold. He ran his fingers through her hair. Bending down his awkward old body, he showered her lifeless face with kisses. Taking his accustomed chair by her side, he took her limp hand in his. There he would sit, he decided, by the side of his Maria, until the carers came. That was where he belonged. He would stay there with her in her death, as he had in her life. Sitting there, with his Maria, the tears streaming down his face, he knew that his own life had also ended.
* * *
Life was a constant uphill struggle over the next year. Chest infection followed chest infection, hospital stay followed hospital stay, and bout of dizziness followed bout of dizziness. He kept quiet about the latter, however, as he feared the doctors wouldn’t allow him to stay alone at home if they knew how wobbly he was on his feet. And he had to stay at home in order for his wish for Christmas Day to come true. He had wished for Maria to come alive again on that day. He just had one day in the year to live for, one day to wait for. And it could only happen here in his own home. He knew that.
The days before Christmas were a time of elation and excitement which he felt he could hardly bear. His heart surged with happiness every time he thought of Maria. He prepared the living-room as he did every Christmas, with holly, cards, a few modest decorations and the battered-looking old Christmas tree. He spread out nuts, raisins and tangerines on the coffee-table.
He tip-toed down the stairs on Christmas morning, swaying occasionally against the banisters, his head very giddy, his heart close to bursting, and tears welling up in his eyes. He had to keep sniffing to suppress sobs of anticipation breaking from him.
When he entered the living-room, there was Maria waiting for him. She was sitting in her reclining-chair as always, with a shawl over her shoulders, her eyes brightening up at his approach. He bent over her and kissed her on the cheek, a tear falling on her forehead. He touched its wetness with a finger, as if it were holy water, swallowing harshly. He wiped his eyes, and sat down beside her. He searched for her hand as her hand searched for his. He gripped her warm, tender flesh, and, for a few minutes, couldn’t speak.
“Hello, my sweetest, sweetest darling,” he said finally.
She gave a little squeeze to his hand.
They had a wonderful day, just sitting there, munching the tit-bits from the coffee-table, the television flickering away in the corner, unnoticed. Every now and then he walked away from her over to the curtains to take a peek at the snow-covered street with its street-lights, describing the scene of light and shadow to Maria. As the minutes and hours passed, he wasn’t too sad, as he knew this reunion would be repeated next year, and the year after, and after that, for as long as he lived.
* * *
He puzzled over what to do for many weeks following that wonderful day. The agony of life without Maria, especially after that brief reunion, became insupportable. He had twelve months to get through before the next Christmas, and so it would go on until he died: one day of ecstasy, and then twelve months of interminable loneliness. Realizing he couldn’t live so long without her, he made what he thought would be his final wish. He wished that Maria would come back again on Christmas Day, and then, after they had had another wonderful day together, he would die sitting by her side, holding hands with her. That would be heaven.
<
br /> Over the next few months, wheezing and coughing, stumbling and shaking, he counted away the days to that wonderful time. He couldn’t wait.
But it was never going to happen. He realized he wouldn’t last until next Christmas. His dizziness was getting worse and worse. Some days he could hardly walk. Most ominously, he started to get terrible stabbing pains in his chest. He was going to die very soon. One evening he was going to go to bed and not wake up the next day. He had to change his wish for Christmas, and do so quickly before it was too late. With probably only weeks, or maybe only days of life left, this was really going to be the last wish he would ever make.
He wished that he and Maria would come alive next Christmas Day, and for every Christmas day after that. So, after a long, long blackness each year, they would draw breaths again, move their aching limbs, hold hands, and sit side by side the whole day. They would have a wonderful, wonderful time, and then, when the day was over, descend into that long, long darkness, confident that it would, eventually, end. And so it would go on until the end of time. They would sit hand in hand in their chairs in front of the television, and recall the times they had walked up and down the snow-covered street outside their house and, even earlier, the times they had run hand in hand through the glistening corn-fields of Italy and had felt that such joy could never, and would never end. Will looked forward to his imminent death with calmness and serenity. The night he would lay his head on the pillow for the last time, as all other nights, he would fall asleep with images of his beloved Maria as his one and only dream.
* * *
That Christmas Day, and every single Christmas Day afterwards, revellers, passing by that house in the snow-covered, light-and-dark street, no matter who lived in that house all the other days of the year, would report that they had espied through a chink in the curtains an old couple sitting side by side in their armchairs, neither moving nor speaking, but just holding hands and gazing at each other with enraptured eyes. Who knows? Maybe those revellers had imbibed a little too much of the Christmas spirit…Or maybe not…Maybe they were truly witnessing Will and Maria coming alive on that one day of the year when their love lived forever.
THE END
© 2013 Alan Hardy
A Sacred Star
By
Sheryl Seal
Prelude
I am an old woman now, but there was a time when I was youthful and owned the world. At just eighteen the world as I knew it was about to change forever. This is my story, and although I am no longer young, I have a sharp mind. I remember it all like it was yesterday and there are many days when the scenes play over in my head. That was the year that my life would forever be altered and the year we stopped celebrating the white man’s Christmas.
Chapter 1
The firewood had been piled high and the cellar was stocked with foods for the winter. Papa worked hard all summer to prepare for the long cold winter months. It was already close to Christmas and the first snows had come in with blinding fury in October and never let up. We tried to live our lives like the white man and celebrating Christmas was a part of their ways. Every year since we came to live in this valley, we went into the town of Buck Meadow on Christmas to join in on their celebration. There is a giant tree which the townspeople cut down to put in the center square and everyone decorated this tree with trinkets and candles. A man who dressed up in a funny long robe and yelled Ho-Ho-Ho walked around handing out gifts to the children. I could always count on eating all kinds of sweets on this day until my belly hurt. When night came, we would stand around the tree and light the candles singing Christmas songs. I looked forward to this white man ritual every year because we could to visited with people other than ourselves.
It is always cold and snowy here in the mountains of Yosemite. That year though, seemed to be the worst winter that I could remember. My older brother was making a bow with some arrows on the dirt floor of our small cabin and I was helping mama with supper. We were having venison stew again. Mama had fairy blood running through her veins but she would not use the magic in the world of man. I wished she would so we could have something else to eat. After supper mama and papa always told stories of the old ways and how they were dying out. I had heard some fantastic tales in the eighteen years of my life. I would be eighteen soon enough, anyway. Magical things happen to the Ahwahneechee when they are in the ‘Beyond’ mama always said. I wanted to hear more but the time had not yet come apparently. The prophecy had foretold that I am destined for great and magical things one day. Very soon all would be revealed.
Later that night as I lay down to sleep, I heard mama and papa speak of the harsh winter. Their strained whispers came through the tiny cabin, although I tried not to listen. Mama whispered, “I hope the weather lets up soon. I worry for our families in the mountains. It is time and we need to go to the celebration this year.” Papa’s voice carried a little more than mama and I clearly heard him tell her not to worry so much. “All will be provided, after all, the Great Spirit has a plan.
I wondered why this celebration was so much more important than the others. We hadn’t gone for years and it hadn’t bothered my mama. Finally I fell asleep after tossing and turning for a while and the dreams I had were of bright colorful lights sparkling and falling all around me.
Chapter 2
The next day we had some visitors that came in with the blizzard. The storm just seemed to be getting worse. There was a pounding on our cabin door that startled us all. With the wind howling all around us, we hadn’t heard anyone arriving. Papa was about to open the door when my brother chimed in, “Hey maybe it’s that Santa guy!” Then he did a deep throated, Ho-Ho-Ho! Mama shushed him and moved him aside. Two fur bundled people stood at the door.
“They are freezing, let them come in and get warm,” said mama. With snow falling from them, they started removing their layers and mother rushed them closer to the fire. They were shivering with the cold and I wondered how they managed to find our small cabin in the middle of nowhere in all that blinding snow.
Tall and with copper skin like us, this Indian was a very handsome man. His hair was long and the color of a dark night. There was a beautiful woman with him who was so big with child she looked as if she would burst. She was not an Indian and had skin that was of the snow and her hair was like the sun. Forgetting my manners, I stared at her because I had never seen a woman with that color of hair before. I wondered at the time where she had come from to be so far from her own people and if she missed them. She seemed to only have eyes for the Indian warrior by her side. He returned the feeling as he held her arm and helped her to sit.
They had been heading towards the mountains for the yearly celebration when the weather had slowed their travel. Although they were from the Ahwahneechee tribe papa watched them warily. The beautiful woman was called Tisayac and the warrior was named Tutokanula.
The visitors stayed for a few weeks and at night papa played the flute and we danced and sang and Tutokanula showed us some different Indian dances. Tisayac sat with mama and sewed baby clothes chatting about the weather and telling stories about the Gods. These were amazing stories and one in particular about an Indian warrior and a Goddess who fell in love and went to live in her world. I noticed mama and papa looking at each other and he nodded and winked at her.
Later, as her stories unfolded, I learned more about the Gods and that Tisayac and Tutokanula were more than I had first thought. Theirs is a beautiful love story and now I knew why papa had given such a look and wink at mama. Their child would also be a God one day.
All of these tales felt like an old friend and although very entertaining, I found many of them strange and wondered why I hadn’t heard them before now. Shape shifters were not a part of the world of man and I wasn’t so sure about a Golden Queen of the Ahwahneechee either, but I knew that these stories were all part of my heritage. There is a prophecy that the Golden Queen will be one in a long line of Golden Queens to save the world fro
m a terrible evil called the Ala. Awful as this blizzard is, nothing can compare to the havoc the Ala can cause. She will destroy any world with her evil power. It is said that the Ala looks like a big wind whirling around and consuming everything in its path. She brings with her fire and weather of every kind. She can also create many wars with man, one against the other. Only the powers of this Golden Queen will be able to save not just this world but many worlds.
Needless to say that night, I had many strange dreams. I had never had dreams like these. People were shifting into all kinds of animals and some were flying. There was a great storm threatening a whole village and for some reason, they were all looking at me like I knew what to do. Suddenly I felt warm and bright and there was blinding lights and the storm calmed. I was applauded by the villagers but for some reason, I felt a loneliness creep into my soul. With my heart pounding, I woke with a start, opened my eyes and sat up. I made out a shape standing there in the firelight and it was Tisayac. She whispered quietly in the night and I heard her words before she walked away. “You are ready now Falling Rain.”
Chapter 3
The days passed by and the storm eased up and gave way to nicer weather. The snow was melting all around which was strange for this time of year. It had cleared enough and we were able to go to the big celebration. I pleaded to stay long enough for the Christmas festivities here but mama said we were in for a real celebration. “We cannot wait any longer and we need to be on our way.” No amount of begging would change my mother’s mind so I knew enough not to try any longer. I prepared myself for the festival ahead and hoped it would be as much fun.
We left early in the morning and traveled for two days before coming to a great water fall. “It is called Bridalveil and this is where we cross over.” It had been quiet with no one talking for so long that these words spoken by Tisayac, startled me. I looked at the giant waterfall and all around. “Cross over into where? I don’t see anything but water flowing down.” She came to me and put her hands on my head and shifted it straight at the falls. “We go Beyond Bridalveil here.” She then took my arm and guided me forward through the falls with everyone else following behind.
Yuletide Tales A Festive Collective Page 9
