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24-12-2018, 09:53 AM
1

A Story for Christmas Eve

Another 'oldie'.

Christmas Eve.


“Hey! Get out of there! Get out of my doorway and stay out!”
The heap of rags and torn up newspaper stirred. A pair of soft hazel eyes looked up - sad, scared, bewildered. The man rose slowly, painfully and shuffled away. The shopkeeper watched him for a minute then turned to open up his shop.
“Silly old fool,” he muttered, “why do they always use my doorway?”
“Because they know you’re a big softy and won’t report them,” his ‘Saturday girl’ had arrived, “I’ve not seen that one before though.”

The man limped into the park and sank onto the first bench nearest the gates. His feet and his side hurt and the meagre warmth of the winter sun did little to ease the pain. He huddled further into his ragged coat.
“Hey you - don’t settle yourself there!” Park Keeper, waving his arms and shouting. “We don’t want your sort in here - be off with you!”

Wordlessly the man moved on. All the shops were bright with Christmas lights and thronged with people but it saddened him to see that their faces held no joy. They looked tired and stressed as they rushed from food to wine, from tinsel to crackers, from bargain to bargain - most of which would be forgotten remnants by New Year.
No-one had time for the slender man in the ragged coat; those who didn’t push him out of the way crossed the road to avoid him; and the words “Go away”, “Get out”, and “Get lost”, followed him like lost echoes.

It began to snow. The flakes caught in his hair and beard.
“Are you Santa?” A small girl smiled up at him.
“No, child”, he whispered and reached out to touch her cheek but her mother, outraged, dragged her away. He walked over to the church, surely here he would find shelter - but the door was locked. He sank, wearily, onto the steps.
“Get away from there !” The church warden had arrived to prepare for the Carol Service. “The Mayor is coming tonight - can’t have him seeing scum like you hanging around. Go on - get lost!”.

The snow was falling fast now as he turned into a street of small, terraced houses. Suddenly a woman, arms laden with shopping, skidded in the snow and crashed into him. Both of them fell to the ground. Carrots, potatoes, and apples spilled out over the pavement.
“I am so sorry,” she said, reaching out to help him up. “Are you OK ?”
He nodded and started to gather her scattered shopping.
“Oh, you are frozen, and look at your poor hands!” she exclaimed, “They are bleeding. Please, come and let me dress them for you, I live just here.” She pointed at the first house in the row. He followed her. The house was clean and neat, but sparsely furnished. No tinsel laden tree or fancy lights, just a simple hand made crib and pretty Christmas candles. She settled him on a sofa by the fire, tucked a soft ‘throw’ about him, and went into the kitchen. He heard the gas being lit and the metallic cheerfulness of saucepans.

She brought a bowl of water and gently cleaned and bandaged his hands. She went back to the kitchen for a few minutes then returned with a bowl of hot soup.
“Here,” she said, “This will warm you through. Have you somewhere to stay to night?”
The man shook his head. “Well, enjoy your soup and rest there. My children will be home soon and we will all have supper together.” She smiled at him and he was filled with a warmth that had nothing to do with either fire or soup. “Thank you.” he whispered.

Voices, laughter, domestic sounds. He woke with a start.
“Hello” Twins, a boy and girl, knelt beside him. “Mum says you are staying with us tonight.” the boy said, “And we hope you like chicken with potatoes and carrots and … oh, everything!” the girl added in a rush. The man’s eyes misted with tears but he was smiling. After the meal the children regaled him with stories and Carols until their mother finally chased them off to bed. The man turned to her and, with a gentle smile, said “You are very trusting, you have not asked a single thing about me.”
“It is Christmas Eve,” she said, “You were hurt and alone. Whatever we have you are welcome to share.”
Her eyes turned to the little crib and her face filled with sadness.
“My husband made us that.” she said, with a note of pride in her voice, “but he died before it was finished. There are no kings and no baby. Every year I plan to buy some more figures, but there are always bills to pay and food to buy.” she sighed wearily and stood up.
“Will you be OK on the sofa? “ she asked, “Help yourself to anything that you need.” They smiled at each other and she watched the firelight play across his face as he curled into the soft cushions. He looked peaceful. She went upstairs to bed.

“Mum, Mum, come and look !” The children bounced her awake, barely giving her time to find her slippers before dragging her downstairs. The man had gone.

In the little crib three magnificent kings, with their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, knelt before the most beautiful baby. He had soft hazel eyes, a gentle smile and his arms reached up as if in welcome.

© 24th December, 2018
TessA
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24-12-2018, 11:34 AM
2

Re: A Story for Christmas Eve

That's lovely Tabs! Thank you for posting it. x
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24-12-2018, 01:39 PM
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Re: A Story for Christmas Eve

Thank you, TessA.
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Mags
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24-12-2018, 01:45 PM
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Re: A Story for Christmas Eve

That was a lovely story Tabs, thanks for sharing it with us.
 

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