A Christmas Tale, by Hubert Selby, Jr.

A Christmas Tale

Hubert Selby, Jr.

The Eve of Christmas,

Jesus will be born.

Behold, a virgin shall conceive
and bear a son, and his name shall be called
Emmanuel
(which means, God with us).

He will be found in a manger,

Not in bullrushes.

Not in an alley.

Or a dumpsite.

Not even in the back seat of an abandoned car

No.

A manger.

Joseph and Mary had to struggle thru the cold winter's
nite, the IRS was on their ass. Big deal.

And how cold can it be in the desert, winter or no winter?

No room for them at the Inn.

O, poor babies. They had to spend the nite in a manger out of the cold, nestled warmly in the hay with a few farm animals and wait for Kings and Wisemen to visit them and lay the treasurers of the Orient at the feet of their first born. And he had a cozy cradle, all snug and warm, with cuddly lambs to amuse him.

How arduous.

And Joseph and Mary looked in admiration upon him, in this cozy Manger 10 times the size of the largest room in the inn. They didnt have to push a shopping cart thru the icy wind and snow , looking for a doorway where she, the Virgin of a Virgin, could drop her Son while Joseph scrounged thru garbage cans for Christmas dinner.

Poor Joseph and Mary in a manger. O, my heart bleeds for them as they look adoringly on the Christ Child and wait for the Wisemen and Kings to bring frankincense, myrrh and pizza. Sing your Praises to the Lord, for unto You this day a child is born and his name shall be called Emannuel.

So happy birthday J.C., lamb of God, happy birthday you cuddly, fuzzy little Messiah, Enjoy Your birthday. Listen to the Hosannas. Listen to the Alleluias of the Angels. Listen to the Rejoicing of the Heavenly Hosts. Listen. Listen very carefully to the Music of the spheres as you blow out the candles on the cake each year. Listen and enjoy. And render unto Caesar what is Caeser's, and unto God what is God's, because some day they're going to put 33 candles on your cake and the music will stop.

Christmas eve. A small tree in the kitchen. Lights twinkling, tinsel shimmering, spinning, suspended seemingly in space. Music. Carols. Frost on the outside of the windows, icicles hanging from eaves. Quiet and festive in the small apartment, our 3 year old daughter smiling with anticipation as she's stuffed into her winter clothes, twisting and turning to look at the tree, endless questions about Santa, anxious to leave to see Auntie Lucy and Uncle Bob and Granma and Granpa Lucerne. Only a few blocks away, but a formidable walk in the N.Y. winter.

We were stopped for a second, when we left the building, by the wind assaulting our faces. We twisted and turned, each maneuver futile as we struggled against the unrelenting onslaught of the wind, the clumps of ice and blackened snow needing to be negotiated as eyes teared, noses dripped, and bodies stiffened.

I was grateful for the warmth that poured from the open door, and almost happy to be there. At least there would be something to drink, and thank God there would only be the 7 of us. The others sipped eggnog. I had a large, very large scotch to thaw the winter chill in my bones. It tasted like shit. But it warmed me for the occasion, and from then on it was tasteless, or at least of no concern as it fed the welcome, ever so welcome glow of Yuletide cheer.

The television had dancing elves or termites, or some such thing, my in-laws watching the clock, the closer it got to the hour the more animated they became, jerking about in their chairs, giggling, laughing, bubbling, but I mean truly "bubbling" with expectancy. I noticed my father-in-law lean over twice to check the channel - unobtrusively. Then suddenly they were quiet and almost rigid, grandma clutching and shushing her granddaughter.

My in-laws suddenly ooohed and aaahed and there he was in full regalia ... Fulton Bishop Sheen!!!! greeting us and blessing us on this Holy Eve, then going into his shtick. I tried to blank him out by watching my in-laws lean forward with each word, digesting every syllable, every inflection, every nuance, every dramatic pause, every gesture, every whirl of his cloak, every movement of his hands. I was dumbfounded by their attitude and stared at them, but lost my fight to ignore the image on the screen. I became totally absorbed by his performance. I had never seen a performance like this in my life. He had the spontaneity of a wind-up doll. They must have spent hours just on his hands, looking like they had been rubbed for weeks with rare oils. He whirled and swirled, his hands fluttering, pirouetting about the stage in his flowing cape as if he truly believed he was an image from Heaven, here to save the world from its ignorance and he was the only one who could enlighten us. He must have been the first drag queen on television.

Do you really think this Holy Day is only for children ....

Ohh, look at him ....

You can tell he's truly inspired ....

... and Mary and Joseph lay their weary bodies...

He's a saint, you'll see, he'll be canonized some--

Shush.

... for it was written in the scriptures ...

God Bless him.

I couldn't believe this shit I was hearing from him, or them. Here's this fucking closet queen swishing his ass off in an outfit that must have cost at least 5 thousand bucks, easy, but what the hell, they got a couple of billion in the bank. I thanked God the bottle was next to me. I prayed the son of a bitch would stop soon, but he tortured me for 30 minutes ... 30 endless, fucking minutes. So he finally fades, very, very slowly, absorbed by a golden light and a choir of thousands starts with the Hosannas and Alleluias.

Then the in-laws rehash, repeat and critique, they always were a little simple-minded. But now I dont care. I dont have to look at Queenie prancing about and sounding like a Shakespearean Oracle, but Im enjoying my daughter, who had been shushed through all this and had finally broken loose from grandma, and is telling everyone about Santas helper in the store and what she told him she wants and how she cant wait till tomorrow morning ... and I have a warm Holiday glow all thru me and I almost cry with joy as I watch her bounce around the room, and she comes over to me and hugs me and I hug her, a real long, warm hug, and I cant wait until tomorrow morning to see the look on her face as she sees that Santa brought everything she asked for, and then some, and I promise myself I will remember that look, and her every word, forever.

So, soon we leave. The cold is meaningless now, we are going home, and actually I'm sweating a little from the heat of their apartment and my heavy clothes, I hold my daughters hand as we skip along the street, screeches of joy from her lips filling my heart.

Very quickly she's in her flannel pajamas and tucked into bed. She says her prayers with my wife and I look at our little tree and the lights are dancing, seeming to leap from the branches to fly around the room, and I wonder why it can't always be like this, warm and loving and simple, and ... and innocent. Yeah, innocent as the 3 year old girl going to sleep on Christmas Eve. I wonder why people like that asshole have to ruin everything for everyone, especially little children like our lovely little girl. Why they have to poison their minds, But he wont poison hers. And anyway, she was bored out of her head with his performance. Smart kid!

My wife came back into the kitchen, smiling, and I got up and hugged her, kissed her, and hugged her again, a long, tender, loving hug. When we finally let each other go I started for our daughters room to peck at her angelic little face and I suddenly saw my reflection in the large, heavy mirror on the wall and I smashed my fist into that face, the thick mirror shattering in hundreds of sharp shards, blood instantly spraying the wall, the floor, and me, and I continued to stare at where my reflection had been, the reflection now scattered all over the floor covered with my blood, the sudden crash of the glass still cutting thru my head and body as the stillness and quiet became increasingly tangible. Time stopped but not the screeching in my mind. Nor did the image. It continued to look at me, simply look at me as I stared at the mirrorless wall, standing in the midst of its wreckage, bleeding on my fractured reflection...

time time
frozen
my wife frozen
the blood pouring from my hand the only movement, its splattering on the yellow linoleum and bits of glass the only sound

O my God Harry!!! my wife pushed me to the sink and ran the cold water over my hand and instantly the sink was red, the water not even diluting the color. Then she wrapped a towel round it as tightly as possible, Youre going to bleed to death, hold it tight, come on Harry, for god's sake, hold it tight, what am I going to do, you're going to bleed to death, she lunged for the phone and I stood staring at the blood dripping from the saturated towel, no pain, no fear, dazed, stunned uncertain what had happened, unable to make the quantum leap from hugging my wife to watching the blood flowing into the sink, fascinated by the Christmas Red Blood falling from my hand and disappearing into the Santa Red covering the bottom of the sink, seeming to spread it Christmas cheer over the entire surface, reflecting the sparkling light from the Christmas tree.

My wife suddenly yanked the towel off and rewrapped my hand with a larger one, squeezing as tight as possible, A doctor's on the way. They said he should be here in less than half an hour, I hope you live that long, jesus, Harry youre bleeding like a stuck pig, we're lucky there was a doctor on call it being Christmas eve, O God Harry, I can't stop the bleeding, what the hell's wrong with you anyway? You crazy? god, youre going to bleed to death, I cant stop it ( I could feel my eyes starting to roll back and I felt tired, so peaceful and timid, but I was starting to get a headache and my wife wouldn't shut up she just kept yacking and yacking, but I couldn't stop he couldn't move) can't you take a drink without destroying everything, I thought you were only going to have one or two (I actually tried to answer, I could feel the words in there somewhere, but I couldn't get them to my mouth and anyway my mouth and the top of my head was starting to explode like a sudden hangover and now my wife was crying) why did you do this, we were having such a nice holiday, I don't know what to do (she droned on and on and then the doctor was pouring something on my hand then squeezing and twisting something around it and I could hear distant voices and my mouth was dry and bitter and metallic and I stared at my hand as he sewed the gashes, then wrapped it and he and my wife talked and he gave her instructions, and he was gone. Just like that, gone, and my head was pounding so hard I couldnt blink my eyes and I finally raised my head as some sort of motion attracted my attention ... my wife had swept up the glass and was mopping up the blood. The water in the bucket was a very dark brown. She stopped for an eternal moment and looked at me with such bewilderment and sadness I was totally absorbed by it, her pain screaming thru every part of my being, then she quietly cried, intermittent tears rolling down her cheeks, her expression un-changing, searing the marrow of my bones as I watched a tear fall from her cheek onto the floor, then another,

another

another

losing itself in
my blood O Jesus ... Jesus fucking Krist. How did we get from a manger to dumpsters? How did we get from Rejoicing to despair? Why did You have to climb up on that fucking Cross. You rotten son of a bitch, why did you do it???? Why did you fucking do it???? Why did you leave me here alone all alone in the midst of an all consuming darkness. I loved you and you forsook me for a Cross, for a couple of hunks of wood
and Eternity.
I loved You .... I fucking loved You you mother fucking son of a bitch. How could You do this to me?
O Jesus ... Jesus

fucking Jesus ....