Return of the Magi

by P. J. Tracy

  Foster leaned back in his seat and stared down at his odometer, barely visible beneath the filmy, scratched plastic shield of his dashboard console – almost ninety thousand miles on this junker he’d driven for ten years. He could have gone around the world a few times on that mileage. But he hadn’t. He’d just gone around and around in the same circles, in the same town, in the same life.

  When he finally ventured a look upward, the clerk was gone.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Emil had seen the dayroom yesterday from the hall, but actually being in it was about as depressing as it could get – there was steel mesh on the windows, an ancient TV on a wall-mounted rack, and ugly airport chairs bolted to the floor. From his very limited experience, the patients mostly sat around here watching news or nature shows while they drooled on themselves, but this was a whole new scene, pure mayhem, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  A throng of patients was clamoring in high-intensity excitement around a fake Christmas tree that was still partially wrapped in plastic, chattering among themselves like a pack of gossipy old church ladies on angel dust. And for some reason Doc Harold was just chilling in a corner, watching calmly while a bunch of crazy people escalated themselves into a psychotic foam. Worse yet, the two old sisters were there, sitting primly in the vinyl chairs like they were watching a tennis match.

  Edith and Gloria caught sight of him and waved. ‘Hello, Emil! Please come and watch with us. This is the biggest day of the year, you know, when we put up the tree.’

  ‘Ye-eah, I can see that.’

  Dr Harold strode over, nodding politely at Edith and Gloria. ‘Sorry, ladies, but Mr Rice is busy.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘He’s going to help us put up the tree.’

  Gloria gave the doctor a pout. ‘So he can’t sit with us while we watch Ralph ruin everything?’

  Edith looked around the room, frowning. ‘Ralph’s not here. That’s odd.’

  ‘Maybe he was finally electrocuted.’ Gloria sighed happily.

  ‘Ralph is still up in his room,’ Emil said, his eyes wary and distracted as he watched patients trying to string suicide-proof paper tinsel on the prone plastic-wrapped tree. ‘Uh … Doc? Isn’t this getting a little out of hand?’

  ‘Why is Mr Flowers still in his room?’ Dr Harold asked sharply. ‘He’s supposed to be down here with the general population.’

  Emil sighed. ‘He had a doodle. In his pants. His words, not mine.’

  Doc Harold’s eyebrows drifted upward slightly. ‘Did you take care of it?’

  ‘Of course I did. Can’t leave a man in a compromising situation like that, now, can you?’

  ‘Good job, son. Now get that tree up.’

  ‘I hate Ralph,’ Gloria said amiably.

  Emil felt a hard hit from behind and big arms encircling his torso, nearly knocking the wind clean out of him. He squawked and spun around to see a jubilant Ralph prancing about like a show pony. ‘It’s the tree day, Emil! The tree day! Soap and water!’

  Gloria smiled smugly at Edith. ‘One of the many reasons I hate Ralph. He so rarely makes sense.’

  Emil backed away, hands up. ‘Hey, hey, hey, Ralph, chill out, dude. We’ll get the tree up, okay?’

  Ralph smiled gleefully and chanted, ‘Get it up, get it up, get the damn thing up!’

  As Ralph raced toward the tree, snatching a handful of tinsel along the way, Emil gave Dr Harold a long-suffering glance. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really. But if it makes you feel any better, you seem to have a natural rapport with the mentally ill. Now get that tree up and decorated, then report back to my office.’

  ‘A natural rapport with the mentally ill? Oh, now, that’s just great. Something a man can really hang his hat on.’

  Dr Harold smiled at him, but it was a mild smile; maybe even sincere. ‘It is something to hang your hat on, Mr Rice. Carry on.’

  Emil sighed miserably and looked at Edith and Gloria, who were actually starting to emerge as the most normal people in a really abnormal place, even though they were admittedly stark raving mad. ‘So how do you do this every year? What’s the program? Because, from what I’m seeing, that tree is going to be shredded in about five minutes.’

  Edith tapped a finger on her lips as she thought carefully. ‘Well, the first challenge is to get the tree upright and stable. But, from past experience, I think you’ll need some wire to keep it fastened to the wall while some of the more overzealous patients decorate it.’

  ‘Yeah. That makes sense. But no way we’re going to find any wire in a place like this. There’s not even any real tinsel.’

  ‘Nobody knows about the wire but us,’ Gloria whispered confidentially. ‘We know about lots of things nobody else does.’

  Emil regarded her curiously. ‘Oh, yeah? So where’s this wire?’

  She stood and linked her arm in Emil’s. ‘Come along, dear.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘To the basement, of course.’

  Emil balked, digging his feet into the tiled floor. ‘Oh, no. I don’t think so. Basements are bad. Basements are where Alfred Hitchcock characters dump –’

  Edith rolled her eyes. ‘Relax, Emil. This isn’t Psycho. We’re just going to show you where the wire is.’

  ‘You know about Psycho?’

  ‘It’s one of our favorite movies.’

  ‘Well, that makes me feel so much better.’

  ‘It was well done, don’t you think, Emil?’ Gloria asked. ‘The script was a bit hackneyed, but the cinematography and soundtrack were both very impressive. And the directing, of course. Hitchcock was a genius.’

  ‘You two were actresses, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we were!’ Edith seemed pleased. ‘Of course, those days are over, but it’s a fond memory. At least, I think it is.’ She took his other arm. ‘Shall we?’

  Emil deliberated briefly, then decided if there really was wire in the basement, there might just be some wire-cutters and maybe some other tools that could help his cause in the future. Besides, he figured he could probably take a couple old gals if they jumped him with a hatchet. As he let them escort him down the hall to the elevator, he turned to address the other patients, who were now brutalizing the tree, tearing off the plastic and shoving spongy ornaments into the branches. ‘Listen up, loonies! Now don’t you touch that tree until I get back, you hear what I’m saying? And then, you want to decorate it, I’ll let you … but you got to make a donation to the Christmas fund, got it? Jewelry is good, cash is better.’

  As Gloria and Edith led Emil to the elevator, Gloria cocked her head. ‘We have a Christmas fund?’

  ‘Sure we do. You think trees like that one in the dayroom grow on trees? Somebody’s gotta pay for this stuff, you know.’

  ‘Oh, of course. That makes perfect sense.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Emil was sweating as he entered the elevator with Edith and Gloria, still seriously questioning the wisdom of following two schizophrenics, or whatever they were, to a basement in search of wire. He was spinning various scenarios in his mind, and none of them were good.

  ‘This is the secret panel, Emil,’ Edith explained, pulling a bobby pin out of her hair and picking the lock on the metal emergency door beneath the elevator’s controller.

  Emil looked at her with new-found respect. ‘Hey, that’s pretty good. Where’d you get chops like that?’

  Edith ignored him and continued, ‘You can hit “B” for basement on the main pad all you want but you’ll never actually get there unless you know the code. So open this little door, press the override button, and enter one-two-two-five here.’ She demonstrated, the elevator doors closed, and the mechanicals started churning, bringing them down, down, down.

  Emil squinted at the control panel. ‘So how do you know about this stuff?’

  Gloria giggled. ‘I told you before. We know things nobody else does.’

  ‘But don’t forget the code, Emil,’ Edith said sternly. ‘This is import
ant. For us, and for the world.’

  ‘Right.’ Emil nodded obediently. ‘I won’t forget.’

  ‘Please recite it back to me.’

  ‘One-two-two-five. Easy to remember.’

  Gloria pressed her hands together excitedly. ‘That’s the numerical abbreviation for Christmas Day, Emil. When we found out what the code was, that was the first time we knew.’

  Emil took a couple of steps back. ‘Uh-huh, got it.’

  The elevator finally ground to a halt and the doors opened onto a dimly lit space – a spooky space – very basement, and very Hitchcock, no matter what the sisters said.

  ‘So this is it?’ Emil asked, increasingly nervous.

  ‘Yes, dear, this is the basement. Let us take you on a tour,’ Edith said, gesturing around and commenting like a museum guide. ‘Cobwebs here, utilities and tools there. Feel free to explore and enjoy the experience.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I’m just loving this. When do I get to see the coal chute?’

  Gloria spun and beamed at him. ‘You already know about the coal chute?’

  Emil cringed, ruing the second he’d brought up Hitchcock to a couple of crazy, unexpected cinema freaks. ‘Hey, what do you say we find that wire, then get back upstairs ASAP to decorate the tree? How does that sound?’

  ‘That’s a lovely idea,’ Gloria said, with a pleasant smile. ‘Emil, do you put up a tree at your house?’

  Emil scoffed. ‘Yeah, right.’

  Edith frowned, looking genuinely distressed. ‘Your family doesn’t celebrate Christmas?’

  ‘He could be Jewish, Edith. Or even Muslim. None of us were Christian the first time around, remember?’

  ‘Oh. Of course, you’re absolutely right, Gloria. Emil, what kind of home did you grow up in? Jewish? Muslim? Buddhist?’

  ‘Foster.’

  ‘Foster?’ Edith asked incredulously. ‘The man who brought you here? He has his own religion?’

  Emil snorted. ‘Definitely not. No, nothing to do with him, I’m talking foster homes, small f.’

  Gloria seemed confounded. ‘Oh? What is a foster home?’

  ‘It’s when they pay people to let you live with them if no one else wants you.’

  Gloria nodded in understanding. ‘I see. Sort of like this place.’

  Emil thought about that for a minute. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  ‘What happened to your real family?’

  ‘My mom died of cancer when I was a kid. After that, I lived with my grandparents until they died, too.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  ‘I was in and out of different places. There were some bad circumstances, so I finally took off on my own.’

  ‘And that’s when you decided to become a criminal and eat rats?’

  ‘I told you, I didn’t eat any rats! And, no, it wasn’t like that. I just did what I had to. To survive, you know?’

  Edith touched his arm tenderly. ‘We’re so sorry, Emil. But we’re your family now. You’ll never be alone again.’

  ‘That’s kind of what I’m afraid of.’ He watched Edith open up a storage closet filled with junk, then start rummaging in a deep metal box. He turned back to Gloria. ‘So … what are you two in here for, anyway?’ he asked tentatively.

  ‘We’re schizophrenic. We told you.’

  ‘Statistically, the most intelligent of all mental aberrants,’ Edith added, rising from her task and handing him a roll of wire and a pair of wire-cutters.

  ‘Yeah, but what does that mean?’ Emil asked, staring down in disbelief at his good fortune.

  ‘Well, in layman’s terms, schizophrenia is a mental disorder characterized by a loss of contact with the real world, among other things.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘As if the real world were all there was,’ Gloria added.

  ‘But … you both seem kind of with it, like you know what’s going down most of the time.’

  Edith nodded. ‘Quite right, dear, and very perceptive. We function within normal parameters on many levels.’

  ‘But you’re still nuts?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Definitely.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Foster was standing in the middle of his living room with a cold beer in his hand and a satisfied grin on his face, admiring his day’s work. The tree was decorated and lit up like Times Square and the duct tape was still doing a decent job of holding it together. The kitchen was cleaner than it had ever been, and there were fresh vacuum tracks on the carpet for the first time since he’d moved in. He’d even scored a holiday bouquet of red and white flowers at the SuperMart Gas & More on his way home, which looked pretty good on the kitchen table, even though it was currently residing in the empty Folger’s coffee can.

  The only thing that bothered him now was the mountain of really badly wrapped presents under the tree, but he figured his new grandkid would give him a pass on that.

  Now all he had to do was figure out the Christmas ham. The meat guy at Kroger’s had reassured him that nobody could screw up a spiral-sliced ham, just heat and eat, but Foster had his doubts. The most complicated thing he’d ever made in his life had been an unburned piece of toast, and he needed tomorrow’s meal to be epic. He retreated to the kitchen to study the directions on the label.

  He turned the radio on as he made his way to the fridge, and Gene Autry filled the room with his cowboy version of ‘Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer.’ Foster sang along off-key as he muscled the massive ham onto the counter and squinted at the directions. Just as he was getting a bead on oven temperature and time per pound, there was an unexpected knock on his door, followed by Arnie’s muffled voice: ‘You there, Foster?’

  ‘Yeah, sure, come on in. I’m in the kitchen.’

  Arnie stepped in, holding a plate of colorfully decorated cookies, which he almost dropped once he’d gotten past the door jamb and let his eyes roam the room. ‘You’ve gotta be kidding me. Where am I?’

  Foster beamed at him from across the room. ‘Not too shabby, right?’

  ‘Well, yeah. It looks like somebody actually lives here now. The duct tape is a nice touch.’ He walked into the open kitchen where Foster was battling with the ham and offered his plate. ‘Kate just made these today with the grandkids. I told her about Annie coming, and she wanted you to have something homemade for your company.’

  Foster took the plate and stared down at the cookies as if he’d never seen a sugary snowman with green and red frosting before. ‘That’s really nice, Arnie. Thank Kate for me. I never even thought about cookies.’

  ‘That’s what she figured. And, trust me, there’s more if you run out. Stop by tomorrow if you want.’

  ‘Likewise. I’ve got this big-ass ham that probably feeds a thousand people. Course, I have no clue how to cook it.’

  ‘You can’t screw up a ham, Foster. Put it in a pan, cover it with foil and cook it. No-brainer.’

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘You’ll do fine. Look, I’ve got to get back to the family, but have a merry Christmas.’

  ‘Hang on, Arnie.’ Foster dashed to the gas station bouquet on his kitchen table and yanked it out of its Folger’s vase. ‘Give these to Kate. And merry Christmas.’

  Arnie looked up with a surprised smile. ‘Thanks, Foster.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  It had taken Emil hours and all his energy to deal with the dayroom tree and the pack of jackals he’d had to wrangle constantly out of chaos as they’d tried to decorate it. But it was finished now, and even though it looked like Martha Stewart’s worst nightmare, the patients were enraptured, staring silently at it, like it was a television, which was probably the best Christmas gift he was going to get this year.

  Emil collapsed into one of the hard plastic chairs and closed his eyes, soaking up the peace and quiet while he could because he knew it wouldn’t last long. Those sisters could slide in like spooks with more of their craziness any time now, and there was no telling when Doc Harold would come marching back in, barking out orders to clea
n all the grout with a toothbrush or build a new addition by morning.

  A few minutes later, he sensed a presence next to him, along with the scent of perfume, but not the violet-lavender stuff the sisters wore. He opened his eyes and looked up at Nurse Griffin. She was smiling at him. ‘You did a nice job with the tree, Emil.’

  He gave her an exhausted smile back. ‘Looks pretty messed up to me, Nurse Griffin, but thanks anyway.’

  ‘Nonsense. This is one of the most difficult tasks we do all year. Initially the patients get very excited but, as you can see, it has quite a calming effect in the end.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I got a real snapshot of the whole excited-patient thing today, let me tell you. Maybe you ought to think about leaving the tree up all year.’

  ‘Then it wouldn’t be an event. It would just become part of the scenery. Everybody needs something to look forward to.’

  Emil glanced back at the loonies, sitting all passive on the floor around the tree. ‘Yeah. I guess.’

  Nurse Griffin followed his gaze. ‘Where are Edith and Gloria?’

  ‘I don’t know. They hung out for a while and watched. They even helped me out a little, but then they ditched. Those gals don’t seem much into the whole tree thing, but …’

  ‘But what?’

  Emil shrugged uncomfortably. ‘I don’t know. They were asking me all about whether or not my family had a tree and what my religion was, like it meant something to them. And last night they gave me a Bible and told me to read a bunch of stuff. It was weird. Are they super-religious or something?’

  Nurse Griffin pondered his question for a while. ‘Probably not in the devotional way you’re thinking. The mentally ill have different perceptions of common concepts, as you’re probably learning.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I figured that out pretty quick.’

  ‘But religion certainly plays an important role in the sisters’ routine, for whatever reasons.’

  Emil leaned in and whispered, ‘Well, they told me straight up that they were high-functioning nuts, and I appreciate the honesty, so I’m not passing any judgment or anything, just to get that right out in the open. But I’m pretty sure Edith and Gloria think they’re wise men for real. And I get the feeling they think I’m the third guy because I’m black and they’ve got this old calendar in their room with a black wise man. You got any pointers on how to deal with that? Do I play along or what? Doc Harold said I should keep my contact with the patients to a minimum, but those old gals are dogging me, like a pair of bluetick coonhounds on a scent.’