A Christmas Candle^©

Thomas C. Davis Jr.

Christmas came upon Manhattan with a fresh snow fall for the first time anyone could ever remember.  In years past there had been snow in the days before that somehow managed not to melt entirely away, and once or twice, some of the elderly said they remembered there had been a light dusting.  This year it was a beautiful white blanketing.

The city felt and looked like Christmas.  Everywhere multicolored lights twinkled with red and blue and green and yellow and orange, glistening through the continuous fall of large white flakes, reflecting off the wondrous white surface. 

The snow calmed the city.  Buses and cars moved about at a leisurely pace rarely seen in Manhattan.  The peace of the season had arrived.

In Harlem children awoke with great smiles, eyes wide and glowing in joy.  In the projects and in the tightly packed row homes people somehow managed an extra little something this year making for plentiful presents beneath the tree.  In Greenwich Village poets felt inspired to write verse, and along Central Park West the wealthy awoke to a well garnished breakfast in bed to show they were in no hurry to open their expensive gifts.  It was a prosperous Christmas all around.

The snow floated down heavily all day like a blessing from above.  Weathermen on TV warned that visibility was poor, but those out walking thought the visibility was grand. 

The peal of church bells rang out from the spires as they hailed the celebration of the day man’s savior was born. 

Today is Christmas, salvation has come.

And people from every station made their way joyously to the services to give thanks.

“The three wise men saw a new star arise in the east,” the priest read from the Holy Gospel.  He spoke loudly for the church was full and this made him very proud.  At times through the year only a handful of people came for the morning mass and often he felt discouraged for his brethren, but Christmas never failed to warm his heart.  They came dressed in their finest clothes and filled with the spirit.  The old priest smiled.

“Mother, could I light a candle?” a young girl tugged on her mother’s sleeve anxiously.

“Shhhh, we must be quiet during service, Melanie.” The mother chided her.

“Okay, mother. Is this better,”  she said in a whisper that somehow seemed even louder.  “I want to light a candle, mother.  Please?”  Melanie saw the many people making votive offerings with candles.  The little girl also noticed that each put a dollar bill into the box before lighting, she had no dollar, but mother always had plenty of dollars with her.

“Where is the new born king of the Jews?  We saw his star and came to do him homage,” the priest intoned melodically.

“Mother, Please…” the impatient Melanie urged.

“Honey, the candles are for special intentions.  Now, please sweetie, be quiet while the good father is speaking.

“But I got a special tenshun.  Do you think I could, mother?  Please.  Pretty please.”

“Might as well give her the dollar.”  Melanie’s father whispered to her mother trying not to draw the looks of their neighbors. “You know how she can be.”

Mother went into her purse and took out a brand new dollar bill.  Handing it to Melanie, she said, “Here, but you have to wait until after mass.”

“Then Herod called the magi secretly and found out from them the exact time the star had appeared,” the priest continued from the Gospel according to Matthew.  “He sent them to Bethlehem.”

“I’ll be real quiet, mommy.  I promise,” Melanie said.  She then slid off the pew.  Her mother reached for her, but Melanie was quick and made her way up to the stand full of votive candles.

The priest saw Melanie and paused in his reading of the Gospel.  Melanie saw him looking at her and waved to him before putting one finger across her lips, shhh.  Now this particular priest held a special place in his heart for children and nodded to the girl shushing him and gently returned her wave.  He turned to the congregation with a big grin, his eyebrows arched.  Melanie’s mother blushed deeply and her father bowed his head pretending to read the missal.

Melanie dutifully placed the dollar in the box and lit her candle.  She turned to the priest questioningly, did I do it right?  The priest nodded, yes.  Children could do no wrong in his eyes.  A few stifled giggles erupted from the pews and the priest turned and looked at those parishioners with mock admonition. 

After the girl returned to her seat next to her mother, the priest continued reading from the Gospel, “and they were overjoyed at seeing the star.”

“Mother?” the child tugged at her mother’s sleeve again.

“Now you hush until the mass is over.  I mean it this time!”

“But look mother.  If you squint your eyes real tight, my candle looks just like a star.”

“Oh, what am I going to do with you?” Melanie’s mother cried in an exasperated whisper.  Her father chuckled behind his palm and up on the podium, the priest finished his reading.  “They brought him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh.”

All through the homily, Melanie watched her candle admiringly, squinting from time to time, a big smile lighting up her face each time she did.

Right after the service, father called for the car to take them home.  They didn’t live too far, in fact they could have walked, but the formality of this day’s service necessitated being driven.

“An excellent service,” father commented.

“Yes, mother agreed.  Everyone was there.”

“Now can I open my presents.”

“Yes, darling.”  You can open them just as soon as we arrive home, father answered.

“I don’t know why I have to wait.  All the other kids wake up extra early to open their presents,” Melanie moaned.

“It’s a family tradition, sweetie,” mother said.  “We must go give thanks first.”

“I thought all that silly music was the ta-dishun.”

“Tra-di-tion,” father pronounced carefully.  “And that’s not silly music, there holiday classics.  Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby, Burl Ives, that’s a tradition from my family.  Morning mass before opening the gifts is from your mother’s family.”

“Nat King Cole, Bing Crosby I always enjoyed, but Burl Ives?”  Mother said teasingly.

“Hey!  My father used to play his music every year when I was little.  It’s one of my best memories of him.  So now it’s a tradition.”  He smiled and patted Melanie on the head.

“Well, when I become a mommy, we’ll open our presents first, then go to church.”

Mother looked at her with impressed surprise. “Such plans for my little girl”

I ain’t so little anymore.  I start school next year.  Then I’m getting married and getting my own baby.”

Mother and father both laughed.  “Such a precocious child,” father said.  Mother hugged her and said, “You’re such a cutie, but you don’t just go get yourself a baby.”

“No?” Melanie asked, sounding puzzled.

Mother abruptly stopped laughing realizing she had opened up a wrong door.  Before Melanie could take it any further, mother quickly said, “Yes, you are getting to be a big girl, aren’t you?”

Little Melanie lived at one of Manhattan’s nicest buildings on Park Avenue.  The building had an around the clock doorman who always hurried to open the door for them.  On one floor a famous movie star lived when she was in town; on another floor the wealthy sister of Angus Vandermann.  It was a luxurious building that had a special entrance for servants and deliveries.  Only the residents and their guests were admitted through the front door.  Father was very well-to-do.

The car pulled to a stop right in front of the building where a carpet reached all the way to the curb.  The doorman greeted them with a bow.

“A merry Christmas to you, sir,” he said.

“And to you too, Reginald.” Father replied.

“Let me see now,” father said reaching into his jacket and extracting a couple of envelopes from an inner pocket. “This is for you.  You’ve been of good service this year.  Very good service indeed, Reginald.”

“Why, thank you, sir.”  Reginald said trying to sound surprised at father’s generosity.  Melanie giggled as she did every time she saw Reginald. Reginald winked at her.  Melanie called him the general because of his grand uniform complete with gold epaulets and tassels.  Reginald always played along with her calling her “little soldier.”

“Ah, I almost forgot.  Please give this one to Harvey, the night man.  Father handed him the second envelope.

“I’m sure he thanks you also, sir.”

“Merry Christmas, then,” and father and mother and little Melanie started toward the door.

Coming up the sidewalk was a dirty looking homeless man.  “Excuse me, sir. Could you spare some change.  I haven’t eaten in two days,” he asked his hand out and open.  He wore an old army coat, badly needed a shave and smelled like two-day old pot roast.

“Hey, you.  Move along now.  Be gone with you.” Reginald commanded.

Melanie looked at the man with innocent curiosity.  She had seen him many times in the neighborhood from her window and knew he lived in the alley behind their building.  Sometimes she would look out and see him fixing a big cardboard box to sleep in behind the trash dumpster.  Melanie felt very sorry for him living all alone like that in a box.  It must be very cold.

“Come along, dear,” father said to her and took her by the hand. 

“Just a minute,” mother said.  Then reaching in her purse she found a five dollar bill and handed it to the man.

“Oh, thank you.  God bless you.  Thank you so much,” the man said.

Inside the lobby, mother said, “It’s Christmas, dear.  We should share some of what we have.”

“You’re right, as always,” father replied.  “But call it what it is, a hand out.  It’s not sharing.  Sharing is giving and receiving.  What could that poor wretch possibly have to share with us?’

“What ever you say, dear,” she said patting his hand lovingly.  “If we can give the doorman a two hundred dollar tip for doing the job he’s paid to do, we can give a hand out to that needy man.”

Father smiled and nodded in generous agreement.  “It’s just that that type of person never does anything to help himself, let alone help someone else.”

“Maybe no one has ever given him a chance,” mother suggested.

“Hmmmph,” father sounded still smiling.  One thing he adored about his wife was her insistence on seeing the best of everything and everyone.  Mother had a heart of gold.

Christmas day was a joyous day, indeed.  All their friends stopped by for a visit and each brought a generous present for the family, and a special one for darling little Melanie.  One by one she opened her gifts and found she received everything she asked for, and many she didn’t.  Dolls and toys, games and clothes, and so much more.  Soon, what with all the excitement, she fell asleep right next to the tree.

Out side it snowed and snowed.  Beautiful big white flakes that sparkled when the light hit them just so. 

Dinner was served early.  Father had one of the very best caterers in the city for the affair.  Almost twenty guests sat around the big table in the formal dining hall.

They awoke Melanie who opened her eyes to see the wonderful Christmas tree above her with all its magnificent lights and decorations.  All around her were her gifts.  She was very happy.

Now, if only her Christmas wish, the tenshun she lit the candle for would come true, she thought hopefully.

As the night grew late the guests started to get ready to leave.

“I’ll call for the cars,” father offered.  But the snow had kept coming all day while they enjoyed themselves and now the cars were buried, the streets impassable.  Even the taxi cabs and buses were not moving.

“What are we to do?” one guest, Mrs. Irvington, asked.

“There’s always the subway.  Snow can’t stop the subway,” another guest, Mr. Montgomery, suggested.

“I am not going onto the subway,” Mrs. Ashford said in a pompous tone.

“I’ll not hear of it,” father agreed.  The subway was for common folk, his guests were better than that.  “You’ll all stay right here for tonight.  We have plenty of room.”

“Why, that’s very kind of you,” Mrs. Ashford said in a tone gauged to show a touch of gratitude but revealed she expected nothing less from him.  She was the wife of an important judge.

There were three spare bedrooms and Melanie’s play room.  Father had the servants ready those and convert the play room into a temporary bedroom. Every blanket and pillow in the house was brought out.  Melanie would sleep with mother and father and her room could also be used.

They were all getting ready to settle in for the night when the lights all went out. The entire apartment fell into complete darkness.  In fact, the entire city went dark.  There were no lights anywhere.  The snow had caused a substation failure which triggered another failure and so on until a black out crippled the city.  A most dreaded event in New York City, a city whose very pulse beat with the hum of electricity; elevators, TV’s, radios, subways, trains, and a billion lights.

“Oh, my goodness” a woman’s voice sounded, full of timid worry.

“Everybody stay calm,” father said loudly.  “I’ll get out some candles and a flashlight.”

A crash, bang and thump sounded.  Someone had just tripped over some furniture and fell to the floor. “Oww!’

“Who’s that?  Are your alright?”  Father asked.

“Ouch!  Yes, yes dam it.  I’m alright.  I just tripped and fell over something,” a man said.

“Henry.  Your language!” his wife complained.

“I’m sorry honey,” he said calming down.  “I just hurt my knee.  That smarts.”

“Okay, everybody let’s try and stay where we are.  I don’t want anybody getting hurt, now,” father announced.

A flashlight came on.  “There, that should help,” father said.

“Oh, look.  The whole city is dark,” someone said.

“Lord, help us,” another voice added.

“The last time New York had a black out there were rioters and looters everywhere,” Mr. Harmon said.  He sounded worried.

“I’m frightened, Henry.  Hold me, please”

“There, there honey.  We’ll be alright.”

“Of course we will,” father assured his guests.  I’ll have us in light in one moment.”

 A loud crash came from the street below.  One of the guests screamed, startled by the noise.  A car, trying to navigate in the snow and darkness, slid out of control into some parked cars.

In dark apartment crying could be heard.  The group was trying hard not to panic.

“Oh, what are we going to do? What are we going to do?”

“Now see here.  Get hold of yourself,” two men quarreled.

“Where’s those candles?” someone demanded

“Here we go.  I’m right here,” father returned with his flashlight.  “Now, who’s got a match?”

No one responded.  Seconds passed.

“Anyone?  Henry?” father inquired.

“I quit smoking two years ago,”

“Me, too,” Mr. Harmon added.

“Does anybody here smoke?  Or have a light?” father asked with an edge of impatience creeping into his voice. “Anyone?”

“Oh, good lord.  We’re doomed,”  Mrs. Ashford cried.

“Now, stop it.  It’s not that bad,” another said

 They stood around in the dark silence afraid to move for bumping into something or tripping over something.  Everyone hoped anxiously the lights would come back on.  Quiet sobbing was heard and in the darkened world outside sounds arose that invoked images of fear.

A knock came on the door.

“Hello?” a voice called from outside in the hall.  “Everyone alright in there?”

“Oh, thank the good lord.  It’s Reginald,” mother exclaimed

Father hurried to open the door.  Maintaining his dignity, which had been slipping away only moments before, father said opening the door, “yes, Reginald. We’re all just find.  Thank you for inquiring.”

“Very well then, sir.  A dreadful thing this power outage.”

“Yes it is.   Most inconvenient,” father commented.

“By the way, sir, I don’t mean to impose, but Mrs. Vandermann wishes to borrow a match,” Reginald asked.

“Ohhh,” said father sounding totally exasperated.  “I was hoping you had some with you.”  He held up his other hand holding two candles.  Unlit.

“I say,” Reginald said, now also sounding defeated.  “I think we’re all in a bit of a pickle.”

“Doesn’t anyone in the building g smoke?” father asked, starting to sound desperate.

“Afraid not, sir.  A most appalling habit, you know.”

“Oh, no.  I told you, I told you!  We’re all doomed,” the crying lady burst into tears of fright.

Melanie heard everything with little concern for father always made things right.  He could solve any problem, fix anything.  But now she heard the worry in his voice and had an idea.

Little Melanie ran to her bedroom.  Even in the dark she knew the way by heart.

As the grown ups began to argue over what was to be done, Melanie went to her window and stood on tippy-toes to look outside.  Yep, it was still there.

Back in the living room she ran, brushing past grown ups to scared to move.

“Come, father,” she said, grabbing him by the hand.  “I know where to get a light.”

She was so quick that father didn’t have a moment to argue with her.  Reginald followed along, also.

Melanie led them down the side stairway, for the elevators were inoperable.  On the ground floor she led the two men straight to the servants’ entrance and before either one could stop her, she opened the door to the dark alley behind the building and stepped outside.

“Look, father,” she pointed.

Both father and Reginald looked to where she pointed.  There was a trash dumpster a few feet away where the janitor disposed of all the building’s refuge. Behind the dumpster was a large cube of snow.  It was a cardboard box covered with snow.  A light glowed from inside the box, coming through the edges were the flaps were.

“Reginald?” father asked in a hopeful tone.

“I don’t know, sir.  You know how these street people are.”

“He’s a nice man, daddy.  Watch.” Melanie said with typical childhood optimism, and before father could grab her, she ran over to the box and called inside. “Hello.  Anybody there?”

The flap opened, snow falling off.  Inside was a man bundled in a ratty looking blanket.  The light came from a candle in a glass jar.  Around the candle were twigs of pine branches.  It was a Christmas candle and a semblance of a Christmas tree, a rather impoverished one.

Father and Reginald were both dumbfounded at the meager but faithful setting.

“Can we light our candle from yours?” Melanie asked with youthful innocence, completely unaware of the awkwardness of the situation.

The man in the blanket looked at her wide-eyed, puzzled.  Then he smiled, understanding.  He turned to father and exchanged looks with him.  Suddenly, father recognized him.  It was the homeless man mother had given the money to earlier.

The man hesitated for a moment, not saying anything.  And father knew what he must be thinking.  Here’s this rich guy who needs a light from my candle.  He must be desperate or he wouldn’t be out here in the alley.  Twenty dollars, no, he could get fifty dollars, maybe even a hundred.  And, yes, father thought, he’s pay that much.  He’d do the same thing if he were in that man’s place.  The first rule of business: supply and demand.  No, he wouldn’t blame the man at all.

Now, he smiled at father.  It wasn’t a smile of triumph or satisfaction.  It was a smile generous with warmth.

The man picked up his candle, causing the pine twigs he gathered around the base to fall into a tiny pile, and held it out to father.  Father nodded his thanks and lit his candle.  As he got closer he could see a scene painted on the jar.  This was one of those candles sold in many stores for about a dollar, each having some religious scene painted on them that glowed from the light inside when the candle was lit.  This candle depicted the manger setting, Joseph, Mary and the baby Jesus in the humble setting, animals all around.  It touched father deeply.

He lit his candle.  Father was surprised the man didn’t ask for a specific amount.  Well, that was okay, too.  Father would give him twenty dollars since the man had not the smarts to negotiate the price first.

A brisk wind blew out his candle.  Father tried to light his candle again but another gust blew it out.

Father and the man exchanged looks again.  The man looked up at all the darkened windows of this luxury building and then looked back at father. 

“Here, take it,” he said offering his candle to father.  It would not be blown out by the wind because it was inside a glass jar. “I was going to go to sleep anyway.”

Father reached for the candle.  As he did his words from earlier sprang forth of their own accord from memory.  “What could this poor wretch possibly have to share with us?”  And his wife’s words, “It’s Christmas, dear.  We should share some of what we have.”

This poor wretch was sharing his only possession.  A chill went down father’s spine and an ache grew somewhere inside him.  Such remarkable kindness, and he didn’t even ask for one penny in return.  This man who lives in a cardboard box on this cold and snowy night whom father refused money for food.

“Please,” father said.  “Come inside with us.  It’s cold out here and I’d like you to be my guest tonight.”

“Oh, no.  I couldn’t,” the man said.

“Please.  I insist.”

Father led the way back inside carrying the lighted candle.  Melanie right behind followed by the homeless man and Reginald, who couldn’t believe what was happening.

When father came through the apartment door with the lighted candle, his guests actually started applauding.  They had a light.  At Last!

“This is my guest,” father put his hand on the homeless man’s shoulder.  “He’s given us his candle and I want everyone to treat him with the respect a guest of mind is due.”  And they did, some even coming to shake his hand and thank him.

“That’s most generous of you, sir,” Reginald said.

“Yes, it is.  Thank you so much,” the homeless man said.

“No, thank you. We were all here stuck in darkness until you shared your light with us.  It is we who are indebted to you.”

One by one candles were lit off the Christmas candle until everyone in the building had a light.

“See, mother.  I told you I had a special tenshun,” Melanie said.

“What’s that darling?’

“The candle at mass today.”

“Oh, you mean the votive candle for special intentions.”

“That’s it.  Mine was for the man who slept in the box to have a bed.”

Mother bent over and kissed Melanie on the forehead.

“Merry Christmas, mother.”

“Merry Christmas. Darling.”