Authors note: My grateful thanks to thunderincrimson, who graciously helped me with translating English to Italian. Since he is a linguist, I'm sure Indy is pleased, as well : )
Christmas is a time for family. I treasure that, although I must admit that my family is somewhat unconventional. It consists of a woman, neither my sister nor my wife, and her son, neither my nephew nor my child. But we three, Harold Oxley, Marion Ravenwood, and her son, Henry 'Mutt' Williams contrive to rub along tolerably well together and to meet any difficulties life sends us head-on. The latest of these difficulties was my unfortunate encounter with representatives of the Soviet Union, who captured me and held me prisoner while I was on an archeological expedition in Peru.
Now, the upshot of this encounter was the addition of a fourth member to our little group-Henry 'Indiana' Jones, Junior. Henry-Indiana is an old friend and colleague of mine from the days when we both studied with Abner Ravenwood, Marion's father, at the University of Chicago. Indiana is also Marion's erstwhile lover and the father of her child. We three have been estranged from him for many years, ever since he abandoned Marion one week before their wedding.
When he left, Marion, unbeknownst to Indiana, was carrying his child. Being a courageous and resourceful woman, Marion picked up and moved on with her life. She had her baby and eventually married another friend of mine, a pilot named Colin Williams. Colin's death in the late war was a tragedy for us all. Young Henry- Mutt- always believed that he was Colin's son. And although Mutt and I both read Henry's book, Henry was not aware that Mutt existed, and, until recently, neither man was aware of their relationship.
It is not an exaggeration to say that the three of us owe Henry our lives. Henry can be reckless and heedless, but I am sure we are not the only ones who have cause to be thankful for his courage and strength. Had he not arrived to rescue me from the clutches of the Soviets, I am sure I would be lying in an unmarked grave in the Amazon, with Marion and possibly Mutt by my side. We four had an incredible adventure, the details of which I am not at liberty to disclose. At the end, Marion and Indiana were reunited, Mutt learned the truth about his parentage, and I regained an old friend. We returned at last to the United States, safe and well, thanks to Henry Jones.
I do Henry the credit of acknowledging that he seems to realize how grievously he has erred, the seriousness of the wrongs he has done, and the preciousness of what he had lost. He is resolute in his determination to make things as right as he can with his son, and with his son's mother. It's also fair to say that he loves Marion to his very bones-and that perhaps he never really stopped loving her. I was gratified to learn that Henry asked Marion to marry him-again, on our way back from Peru. To all of our surprise, (and Indiana's considerable chagrin) Marion declined his offer.
However, Marion was agreeable to allowing Henry back into her life. There are frequent 'phone calls and letters, and less frequent visits. She and Mutt have been to stay with Henry at his home in Connecticut, and now Henry is spending Christmas with us at Marion's home in Chicago.
Both Mutt and I would confess, if asked, that we have mixed feelings about this. I was pleased to see Mutt begin to forge a relationship with Henry, who after all is his father. I do believe that Marion should at least have informed Henry that he had a son. And it is plain to the meanest observer that Henry and Marion love each other deeply. However, both I and the younger Henry have our reservations about his parents resuming a 'marital' relationship without benefit of clergy.
"Look, Ox" Mutt has said to me "I get that Mom and Indy think they can make up their own rules. And you know, they already had me, so in a way it's lockin' the barn door after the horse is gone. But if it was me, or one of my buddies doing that to a girl, I know what people would say. I don't want people to be sayin' that about me or my mama."
I cannot but agree.
Although Henry may not realize it, Marion has been preparing for this visit for some time. Little changes, with him in mind, have been made throughout the house. The guest bedroom has been cleaned and furnished with fresh sheets and towels. I frankly doubt Henry will be spending much time there, as a warmer welcome has been prepared for him a few doors down. After Thanksgiving, Marion brought a large bag from Brooks Brothers home with her. Now a handsome man's dressing gown-cashmere, if you please, and a rather large pair of slippers are laid out in the ensuite bath off Marion's bedroom. A tray with a bottle of Henry's favorite single-malt scotch and two glasses set is out on the nightstand. And the framed picture of Colin Williams, wearing his RAF uniform, has been wrapped in tissue paper and placed in the linen closet.
Marion was also up at 6:30 this morning baking a batch of toffee bars. She claims it's because she couldn't sleep. I have a feeling it has more to do with that particular American delicacy being a firm favorite with both her Henrys. I must confess that I sampled a bar or two, myself. They are an excellent accompaniment to coffee or tea.
So this evening ,after serving at the Christmas Eve charity dinner at Marion's restaurant, our motley group is leaving for another cherished tradition-midnight mass at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs Catholic church. Marion and I have been attending this service since we settled in Chicago in 1948. Young Mutt used to fall asleep between his mother and me. Now he towers over both of us, and can often be found roaming the narthex before the service starts, greeting schoolfellows, work chums and other associates of his.
As we are finding seats, Mutt nudges Henry and points out a family group . Ahh, it's the Capoletti family with the lovely Miss Otina, who must be home from college. She's a sweet young lady and young Mutt is quite interested in her.... This week.
We settle ourselves as the organist begins a prelude. Henry is sitting next to the aisle; Marion is next to him, then young Mutt,then me. Marion is tired- it's 11:45 and she's been up since 6:00- and her head droops a little onto Henry's shoulder. He knows, I trust, that it would be improper for him to put his arm around her in a house of worship. However, he possesses himself of her gloved hand and keeps firm hold of it.
Many immigrant families attend this Midnight Mass. There is a soft buzz of French, Polish, and Italian from the congregants around us as we wait for the service to begin.
'How much Italian do you speak?" Henry asks Marion, with what I can only characterize as a devilish grin.
"Some" Marion answers.
Henry leans over and whispers in her ear.
Marion's cheeks turn a becoming shade of pink. She shoots him an indignant look and says "Jones!"
"Did you understand that?" Henry asks.
"I think I got the gist, but there were a few words I didn't know."
"Don't worry" Henry positively smirks, "I'll explain later."
"I'm a slow learner", Marion answers demurely. "I may have to see an example."
Henry leans over again "per te, bella signora, si può fare*", he purrs. (*Indy said "for you, lovely lady, that can be arranged.")
Mutt rolls his eyes.
Before I can call them to order the choir begins the beautiful Veni, Veni, Emmanuel, and decorum is restored.
It is odd that a son of the Church of England finds consolation in the worship of the Church of Rome. But there is something about the Latin, the beautiful music, the rich vestments and the poetry of the Midnight service that fills my soul with calm delight. Even though I attend as a spectator, and not as a member of the church, it prepares me as nothing else does to appreciate the true meaning of Christmas.
After the recessional, the worshipers make their leisurely way out the doors. Some are carrying sleepy children. Some stand in chatting groups, exchanging the compliments of the season. Both Henrys venture to the side of the nave, where Mutt, resplendent in jacket and tie, greets Miss Otina and her family. After a few moments of what appears to be pleasant conversation, Indiana rejoins us and offers Marion his arm.
"Mutt is taking his girl for a walk to, um, see the Live Nativity," he says with a grin. "Don't want to cramp a guy's style, so I thought I'd come back here and get the car." Marion smiles and leans her head onto his sleeve.
As the congregation continues to disperse, an unexpected sound breaks the tranquility of the night. At first I think the popping noises are from a backfiring car. Then I see Henry's head whip around in recognition and his face turn grim. He likely knew it was gunfire before any one else did. He grabs Marion, shoves her down, and ruthlessly gives me the same treatment. Then he leans on the pew in front of us and tips it over, giving us a makeshift shelter. He crouches down beside us and raises an urgent finger.
"Marion-stay here! Ox- make damn sure she does!" he barks.
Marion grips his hand. "Where are you going?"
Indiana pulls his gun from the holster he has been concealing under his tweed jacket.
"My boy's over there and he's unarmed, babe. I'm going after him."
The nave of the church is a tumult of screaming, pews falling over, gunfire, and smoke.
"Oh, Dear God, Ox, it's a hit" Marion whispers. "This has never happened before. The gangs keep churches off-limits. And it's Christmas!"
Although there have been rumors of tensions amongst the less savory elements of society, I, too am astonished these matters should profane the sanctuary of a church on such a holy night. Marion and I peer around the pew to see a horrible sight. The older women who have been tending the altar flowers are huddled behind the lectern. The young priest stands in front of the confessional, where presumably some of his flock has found shelter. Arms outstretched, he shields the door with his body.
And there are several suit clad forms, dreadfully still, lying in the aisle. I recognize Signor Capoletti, facedown in a pool of blood, with the distinctive scarf Miss Otina knitted for him still visible around his neck
Then we hear an all-too-familiar voice-"Dad! Over here! He's still alive! If you cover me I can get him!"
Mutt turns to the girl beside him "Tina- give me your belt-quick! I need something for a tourniquet!" The resourceful Miss Capoletti removes the belt from her dress, then lifts her skirt and tears some strips off her slip with what I can see is Mutt's knife.
"I've got your back, kid!" Henry calls and we see him cock his revolver and assume a firing crouch from behind a pew.
Mutt, with every ounce of his father's foolhardy courage, gets down on his hands and knees and starts crawling for the wounded man. "Hang on, Mr. C!" he calls.
The priest's lips move. I only hope he is praying for our brave lad. And his father. I certainly am.
When he reaches his goal, Mutt takes his makeshift pad and tourniquet and binds the bleeding leg. Then he hooks his hands under Signor Capoletti's arms and starts dragging him toward the side of the church.
A singles shot rings out and Marion winces.
Then we hear Henry. "Sul mio onore, se solo torci un capello al mio ragazzo, bastardo, non esiterò ad ammazarti, mi hai capito?" he shouts. Whatever he said, the entire nave of the church falls silent.
There is a tense standoff as Mutt pulls the wounded man over to his weeping wife and daughter. The three of them bend over him, doubtless checking for further injury and giving what aid they can. Henry, who has been ghosting from vantage point to vantage point, joins their little group. He stands guard, feet planted and gun drawn, between the huddled family and the crowded church.
Suddenly a voice shouts in rapid Italian and footsteps race from the church. A car engine rumbles to life outside.
"That must have been their lookout", whispers Marion. "Help is on the way."
And so it proves. Lights and sirens fill the frosty night as several police cars pull up. Ambulances arrive for the wounded, hearses for the dead. The police set up a temporary post in the choir loft and start questioning witnesses. Given the turn of events, it is unsurprising that both Mutt and Indiana are singled out for special attention.
As for Marion and me, we give brief statements and are dismissed downstairs, where we settle down to wait for them. To my surprise we are joined by the lovely Miss Otina and an older woman who she introduces as her aunt. They hold each others' hands and speak in liquid Italian. Miss Otina says they are waiting for her cousin, who is giving his statement. Marion asks the older woman about the phrase Indiana shouted, but to my surprise, Miss Otina answers.
"It wasn't the sort of thing that you expect to hear in church, Mrs. Williams, but I guess a lot of what happened tonight wasn't church stuff. He said that on his honor any bastard who touched one hair on his boy's head was gonna die from the feet up. Did he mean that?"
"You bet." says Marion. "You bet he did."
After a while, an officer escorts our Henrys downstairs.
"Thank you again for your assistance, Colonel Jones" he says to Indiana.
"There would have been far more loss of life had if you hadn't stepped in."
"And you, young man", he says to Mutt, "Not many young fellows your age would do what you did. You've got the heart of a lion and a set of big, brass b-"
Henry jerks his head toward the ladies and the officer falls silent. Mutt scuffs one foot on the ground and looks down modestly.
"If I have 'em- I got 'em from my Dad, sir."
Henry beams and puts his arm around his son's shoulder.
Marion embraces both her Henrys, then draws back to look up Indiana in mock indignation.
"I swear, you two -can't do the simplest thing with out one of you stirring up trouble. What are you gonna pull next time we hafta go to the A&P, Jones?"But she's smiling and her eyes shine with pride. I think both men take the spirit of her words and not the letter.
Meanwhile, Mutt has been engaged in earnest conversation with Miss Otina and her aunt.
"Mom,' Mutt says "Mrs. Gavino doesn't drive. I'm going to drive their car to the hospital for her. Tina's brother Vinnie will meet us there and take us home."
"Good plan. I think the kid deserves to get a little smooching out of this", says Henry, sotto voce. Marion gives him a Look. He subsides, for once, and we head for home.
When we are taking off our coats, the quiet of the entryway is broken by a substantial rumbling. Henry looks at his shoes.
"Hungry, Jones?" Marion asks, amused.
"Starving, babe", he answers. "The last time I ate was the toffee bar I snagged when I dropped off my suitcase. Could we rustle up a sandwich or something?"
"I can do better than that, Marion smiles. Soon a knob of butter is sizzling on the stove, and Marion is sliding eggs, cheese and mushrooms into a pan. I take a small portion out of courtesy to the cook, but Indiana polishes off his omelet with an appetite that would do credit to his son.
"Damn," he says to me. "What a woman, Ox. Good looking and she can cook. Throws a mean punch, too." Marion looks pleased.
"I'll wash up," says Marion when we are finished. "Indy, why don't you help Ox with Mutt's treasure map?"
So Henry comes with me as I roam the house laying clues for Mutt. It's a tradition that Mutt's stocking contains a spill of twisted paper with one clue that leads to another. Mutt follows a string of clues through the house and yard, until he finds his 'big present'. In former years, this was something like a chemistry set or baseball glove. This year, unbeknownst to Mutt, a gleaming Harley-Davidson motorcycle is waiting in the garage. Marion says we are spoiling him. Henry and I maintain that since Mutt lost his cherished 'bike' in Nazca, Peru, essentially on our accounts, that we may be permitted to replace it. Marion says replacing is one thing, furnishing the boy with the most powerful machine Harley-Davidson makes is another.
When we are done, we join Marion in the kitchen, where she's finishing the cleanup from our impromptu repast.
"I'll wait up for young Mutt" I tell her. "You should probably see to Indiana, Marion. I think he was knocked about a bit at the church."
"Oh just of couple of scrapes," says Henry in an offhand manner.
'Upstairs, mister, I'd better take a look at you, then," says Marion. She takes hold of his hand and starts towing him toward the stairs.
Henry grins at me over her head, a grin that tells me he is fully aware of my subterfuge-and thanks me for it. Happy Christmas, Henry and Marion.
Before they reach the landing, his arm has slipped around her waist and her head is inclined toward his. Snatches of words float down behind them, among which are 'done enough' and 'sweet tired baby'. The last thing I hear, before they disappear up the stairs, is Marion's voice, saying "Oh, Jones". Their separation has been brief, this time, but I don't doubt they will find their reunion sweet.
I may have a discreet word with those two, however, about the way sound carries in this old house at night. Given the nature of the sounds, perhaps I should speak to Henry-this is not a topic one can properly broach to a woman, even a remarkable woman such as Marion.
The rush of bathwater is audible, along with a woman's light teasing voice, and a man's rich throaty chuckle. Both are accompanied by far more splashing and laughing than one would expect, had the bathtub only one occupant. I cannot begrudge my dear Marion and my old friend their moments of intimate happiness, but perhaps young Mutt would prefer not to overhear them.
As for me, I think I shall listen to the wireless and wait here for Mutt's return.
And give thanks that my family, unusual though it may be, is safe and well this Christmas morning.
God bless us every one.