“First Fruits”
From "My Best Christmas and Other Stories of the Season"
by David Koning
Available at Amazon.com
“I purt’ near froze to death,” William looked across the counter at Lester, ferrying vegetable soup to his lips from the chipped bowl in front of him. He wore sesame seeds that had been planted in the tangle of his scraggly gray beard. William poured coffee into Lester’s half empty cup. “It was so cold that night that, well let me tell ya, that there cup of coffee would’ve froze solid!” He raised his eyebrows as he retooled an old Paul Bunyan legend he dredged from the dim memory of long gone school lessons. Lester sopped up what was left of the broth with a piece of dinner roll. What his mouth didn’t capture, the curly hairs of his shaggy beard did, providing a record of the day’s menu at the Gospel of Peace Mission.
Lester paid a dear price for his room and board at the mission that day. They were his reward for sitting through another sermon from Brother David Marley, after which he would be given supper and assigned a bed.
In December Brother Marley resorted to his Christmas theme. He reminded the homeless congregation that Immanuel, God with us, came to earth, born a helpless baby in a manger . . . died . . . buried . . . and raised. “The first fruits of the grave,” he’d say. Lester and the others had not quite figured out the part about first fruits. It only got them thinking about the next meal. Brother Marley always wrapped up his sermons by reminding them that Christ came at Christmas to bring salvation to the lost. Then he would lean heavily on the pulpit, staring over it at each individual in his captive audience. Lester figured he meant to let them know that it included himself, and those like him sitting there desperate for nourishment.
William sat in Lester’s place on the other side of the counter not more than a year ago. This particular December marked William’s one year anniversary at the mission, first as a desperate recipient of their goodwill, then as a part time employee, helping out in the kitchen and the dining room. It was a giant leap for someone who only a year ago found himself desolate, in a black hole with no hope of getting out. That was the story William was trying to tell Lester, who was nodding off over his empty soup bowl.
“Yes sir! It was co- old that night! About a year ago it was. I remember ‘cuz it was just before Christmas. Got plans for Christmas, Lester?” William knew better. Lester took another bite of the bread, hung his head and said nothing. William knew that if Lester could stay off the bottle and drag himself into Brother Marley’s daily services, he’d be staying right here at the good old Gospel of Peace Mission this Christmas.
Not that the trappings of Christmas meant all that much to the likes of William and Lester. They were longtime aliens to the Christmases depicted in glossy magazines and gushy TV specials. It had been years since either of them enjoyed the coziness of a warm home surrounded by family and friends. Somehow, through the years, they had let that all slip away. And that’s where William had found himself, that cold December, a year ago, alone without a home, wearing all his earthly possessions and gradually freezing to death on Randolf Street.
“Lester! ‘Ya listening? I’m telling you my story.” Lester nodded his head. The tip of his beard dragged through the bowl.
“I tried to get some money from some people, some help, anything to help me get through the night. I was over there in the park by The Corner Bar and Grill.” Both of them were familiar with the establishment’s dumpster. “I yelled ‘Hey, buddy,’ to a group singing “Jingle Bells” and laughing all the way to their parked car. ‘How about a little Christmas cheer for a guy who’s down on his luck?” I said. He held out his hand toward Lester, showing how he had hoped to garner enough money to buy a “little warmer upper.”
“They didn’t want nothin’ to do with me, that’s for sure. They were a nervous bunch. They walked a little faster and when they reached the car one of the guys turned around and shouted, ‘Get a job!!’ They all laughed. One of ‘em did wish me a Merry Christmas.” Lester looked up from the red gelatin he was trying to master. William moaned, “Why are people so mean, Lester?” Unmoved, Lester’s quavering hand continued in the quest to conquer the quaking red delight.
“I kept goin’ through the park, past the nativity scene. Didja know that baby Jesus is made out of heavy cast iron and is chained and bolted down to the manger so he doesn’t get stolen, Lester? Nope, that baby ain‘t goin’ nowhere . . . the city saw to that.”
“Anyway, I walked down the street past all the stores decorated so nice and all. They were all closed. I wasn’t there to shop, though.” Lester looked blankly at William. “All I cared about was to get out of that wind. I was so cold…” William’s voice trailed off …
William paused as he remembered following a sidewalk to an alley leading to the rear of the stores facing Randolf Street hoping to escape the relentless wind that cut like a knife through his thin coat and fingerless gloves. He had been desperate. On the backside of the buildings William found no evidence of the Christmas season. No decorations, no lights, no banners, just garbage cans, barrels and debris from the shopping frenzy taking place on the other side. With his decrepit hat jammed over his ears William began checking doors. He had hoped to find one that was left open by a careless employee eager to get home. If necessary, he would have broken into a building for a night of warmth. The way he had it figured, there was nothing to lose. Getting caught and arrested only would have meant three months in the county lock-up — warm bed and three meals a day until spring – compliments of the taxpayers.
William continued talking to his friend across the counter. “There was this one door I tried. I turned the knob.” He demonstrated on an imaginary door knob in front of Lester. “I turned it and the door swung open wide and I found myself all alone looking down a long hallway. All the lights were on.” He spoke in hushed tones. “I heard someone somewhere up in the front talking on the phone. But, Lester, let me tell you it was w – a – r – m.” He stretched out the words and rolled his eyes heavenward in ecstacy. “That’s all I cared about!” Lester’s eyes focused downward. He peered at his reflection in the black brew in the mug. “I looked to see if anyone was around. Nope. Nobody. So I looked for a place to rest awhile, a place to find a moment’s peace. You know what I’m sayin’ don’tcha, Lester?” He mumbled something that meant ‘uh-huh.’
William continued chatting with his one man audience. “I went to the first room on the left. I walked by a table. It looked like a small version of the pulpit Brother Marley preaches from.” Lester squirmed uncomfortably on the stool. “I didn’t know what that was all about, but the room looked cozy enough. There were chairs and lamps, pictures on the wall. You know Lester, it reminded me of my grandmother’s living room. You know what I’m talking about?” he asked trying to keep his acquaintance interested until the end of the story.
“Never had a grandmother,” Lester grunted. He stared hard into his coffee. Then he held out his cup. William refilled it and continued.
“Anyway . . . comin’ in the back door like I did, well, there wasn’t no sign. I didn’t know what kind of store this was. I sure did have a funny feeling though. I looked around for a corner to sit and warm up in. Then I noticed, at the end of this long living room a small little – I’m tellin’ you Lester it looked all the world to me like a . . . a . . . little wooden manger just like the one in the park. There wasn’t much light so I wasn’t sure, but Lester . . . ” He took a deep breath. “It looked like a manger . . . I got up closer . . . ” He looked at Lester. “It warn’t no manger, though.
“More coffee!” Interrupted an insistent patron a few seats down the counter from Lester. William poured and continued.
“Like I was sayin’, it warn’t no manger . . . and it warn’t no store I was in either!” William whispered for effect. “Before I could get closer and check it out, I heard a voice – a quiet voice! It was like angel speaking to me from among the heavenly host — about to give me a Christmas message all my own from the Almighty himself!” A wide eyed William demonstrated for Lester the panicked look he had on his face.
“‘Don’t be afraid,’ the voice said.”
“Well let me tell ya, Lester, I knew I had to get outa there – fast! So I turned to run out the door when I saw this guy, about as wide as the doorway blocking my way! He was holding on to a walking cane like he was ready to hit a baseball!” William’s heart raced a bit when he recalled getting caught staring at the small wooden box.
“I tried to explain that I just wanted to see the manger scene – that I just needed to be warm – but now I’d be leaving.” He shivered and peered over at a listening Lester.
“He didn’t hit me, Lester, that’s the miracle. He didn’t even yell or send me out into the cold. He just kept talking. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said. ‘Just relax,’ he said. ‘Just wait right here. I’m the funeral director here. I can help.’ Then he left the room.
“I panicked! Funeral director? – Manger? – In a funeral parlor? – No-o, Lester, that warn’t no manger.” William pointed a gaunt finger in his direction and whispered. “It was a coffin – a really tiny one! I had to get outa there! I figured I’d rather freeze than be in that place . . . Besides, I was worried thinkin’ about how a funeral director could . . . ” He cleared his throat and squeaked, “ . . . help. What I didn’t realize at the time was that he was calling to this here mission.” He tapped his finger on the lunch counter.
“While we waited for the mission’s van to come, we talked, or I should say, he did all the talking. ‘The funeral’s tomorrow. So sad, so sad . . . ’ He would look over at the tiny wooden box and shake his head. ‘Pneumonia . . . That’s what she died of.’ He told me all about this baby . . . Molly was her name . . . baptized a month before . . . Molly . . . I’ll never forget. Then he started talking about that baby in the park, of all things.
“‘You know, he said, that baby in the park is all chained down, heavy, made of iron. It’s not going anywhere. This baby, Molly, is already with Jesus. No chains, not even death can hold her down. She’s free. You know why?’ he asked. ‘Because the real Christmas Jesus broke those chains. He did it first.’ That was all he said. The van rolled up about then and I never saw that man again. You know, Lester, I’m on this side of the counter now because of him . . . and that baby . . . I’ll never forget.” William’s words evaporated into the musty air of the mission’s dining room.
“So, what d’ya think of that, Lester?” Lester looked up. His coffee cup was half full now and he had a glob of gelatin suspended in his beard. He shrugged his shoulders, got off his stool and shuffled off to find his bed. Another seed planted, William smiled and said, “Merry Christmas, Lester, talk to you tomorrow.”
Walk as Children of Light 