Two Christmas Stories

The Bear

It is Christmas Eve. A light snowfall powders the ground like talc from a puff and night begins to settle over the city as if it were dropped from the same clouds. Street lights and dimmed store lights take their last vigil before Christmas, keeping the darkness from places it hardly ever goes anymore. Normal street traffic dwindles to a car or two whose headlights disturb the still-life of a Rockwell postcard. It is chilly, but the feeling is warm and of Christmas.

The third floor toy department sleeps, but for the bear. The key in the bear’s back begins slowly with unerring movement and with the whirr of gears – metal on metal – to unwind. The bear begins his dance. The head begins to nod, the paws to wave, and the feet carry the bear in dizzy little movements around the floor. Slowly, slowly at first, then with the whirr sounding less and less labored, the bear dances faster and faster; his glass eyes revealing nothing of the life within. The other toys stare with equal indifference at the bear, at the walls, the shelves, the backs of other toys. The bears’ dance beckons all to join in this magic moment, but all refuse.

The dancer tires, the tide within him ebbing. The life given to him was a fleeting gift – and all will soon be lost except the moment itself. The bear spins his last circle, nods haltingly for the last time, and with a last predictable wave he teeters on the edge of mechanical balance, finally to be overcome by gravity. All is quiet.

Outside it is chilly. Work begins very early the day after Christmas with pre-Christmas sales being readied for post Christmas exchanges. The noise and bustle is pervasive, dampening the aura that is the holiday. For the first time since Christmas Eve, there is activity in the toy department as practiced eyes check for order among the unsold merchandise. Two large hands reach down and scoop up the bear that must have been knocked from the shelves two days ago.

“Poor bear, let’s put you back where you belong,” is said as the bear is placed back on the shelf.

Unnoticed, by even practiced eyes, was the tiny tear stain on the floor. Remembered only by time was that magic moment.


A Life’s Work

Beginning at 3:00 am, it had the makings of a very long day. His wife sent him off with hot tea and begged him to hurry back, but knew her day might be a lonely one. There had been many such days before and there was no exception for holidays. But, this was the man she married and that was comfort to her as her eyes followed him into the night.

He had been summoned from the warmth of his dreams and the security of his bed to escort new life into the world. This was, for the old doctor, always a pleasant task in an odd sort of way, and a pretty good way to spend a Thursday. The hours passed and life began in its own good time.

His newest constituent was a healthy baby girl. The mother was a little worse for wear, but she would be alright. The proud father still had not lost his anxiety, but he was much calmer now and sat in front of the glowing fire with half a smile on his face. An exhausted wave saw the doctor out the door.

It was eleven when the doctor finally clambered onto his sleigh and hove off into the night. Another day lost to his work. Cool air cleared his head. He breathed to the depth of his lungs and watched the breathy clouds form and roll away. His gaze and thoughts drifted to the scene before him.

The light was brilliant. It had been one of those rare wintry days when the air was flawlessly transparent. The mountains piled on top of each other in the night sky and begged to be touched. The snow covered ground was silver reflecting the full moon and the fire-lit windows of the hamlet below. Horse hooves padded against the snow, barely audible under the tinkle of sleigh bells following behind. It was a painting…but, the brisk air and cold tired hands belied the sense of sight and suggested that reason rather than romanticism should prevail.

The horse knew the way home. There was little for the doctor to do, but patiently sit, hold the reigns and reflect on the day’s work. It was the best he could offer, the finest gift he knew. He truly felt his worth today. The mother would not have made it without his help. They baby girl was perfect he thought as a smile crept across his face.

Unthinking, with leaden limbs, he stabled his horse and was home at last. A welcome bed beckoned his dreams to return. As he nestled beside his sleeping wife, teasing his own consciousness, he thought that Christmas really could not have been much finer.