A PATAKI CHRISTMAS CAROL

Stave 4 – Christmas Present (Part 2)

'Crimeny, it's even worse than I thought…'

The sight that greeted Helga as they stepped through the doorway was a familiar one; the grey streets and eclectic townhouses of Hillwood. And just as she had feared, the previous night's snow lay over every street and sidewalk in a thick, white blanket. The light of the morning sun, barely poking over the roofs of the high buildings, shimmered and glared off every surface. Even the rusted dumpsters, aged sills and cracking stoops, normally a bleak and dingy sight, seemed to shine with their coating of fresh powder. Despite the early hour, Helga could see that her predictions were correct as she spied the source of the earlier laughter; children of all ages milled through the streets, delightedly laughing and screaming in equal measure. Helga had always hated the word 'frolicking', it always seemed outdated and juvenile to her, but no word could better describe the sight. The roads, nearly free of traffic, had quickly been claimed as sledging racetracks, the frosty air was alive with flying snowballs, and every corner had been claimed by well-dressed snowmen, or snow forts pragmatically in place for when the snowball fighting escalated into all-out war.

Faced with all of this, Helga did her best to remain stoic, her arms crossed and her expression deadpan. She tried to firmly remind herself of what she had absolutely known the previous evening; that snow, and especially children playing in that snow, were nothing but a pain and a nuisance that made going about her life that much more difficult. She really did. The warmth in her chest and the quickening of her heart were almost certainly the symptoms of an undiagnosed medical condition. The spirit did not help matters, of course. As soon as they had entered their new surroundings, she had run laughing into the fray. While she left no footprints, the Ghost of Christmas Present darted to and fro, marvelling at every snowy construct, cheering and applauding every sled race, and howling with laughter at every well-placed missile. Helga thought she seemed to bask in the joy, as if it were the air she breathed. Her interest rose further as a particularly small girl, cocooned in what Helga assumed were at least seven warm layers of winter clothing, received a particularly large snowball to the face, which sent her reeling to the ground. The child began to sniffle, and Helga winced in preparation for a colossal tantrum. The spirit, however, stood over the girl, smiling down on her lovingly. Bending low, she placed a gentle kiss on the child's small small brow. The sniffling was immediately replaced by a wide grin, as the girl frantically made a snow angel with her arms and legs before scrambling to her feet to join her friends. The spirit, meanwhile, finally seemed to calm slightly, enough to return to Helga's side.

"Sorry, got a little caught up in the moment."

"Hey, don't let me stop you. Just magic me back to my place then you can go," Helga let out a small shudder, "frolic to your heart's content!"

"There's nothing wrong with frolicking! Being so full of happiness that you can't sit still is kind of the dictionary definition of a kid on Christmas. Grown-ups too if they do the day right!"

Helga pouted at this and narrowed her eyes.

"You'll forgive me if I don't see the appeal of making an ass of myself."

"Being an ass is relative." the ghost gave a shrug. "In a room full of a hundred people dancing the Funky Chicken, the ass is the one person scowling in the corner refusing to have a good time. And believe me when I say that the people having the time of their lives do not give a hoot about what that person thinks. Now come on, we've got a lot to see."

As they began to walk, the spirit's comment left Helga thoughtful. They strode through familiar streets, many of the businesses closed for the day, observing as every walker seemed to share a smile and a friendly greeting. They found that Green Meats stood half-open, its shutter closed but its door ajar. A small queue of customers, each looking hastily-dressed and decidedly relieved, stretched into the street. As they passed, Helga saw Mr Green himself joking happily with a man at the counter as he handed over a long chain of sausages and a jar of roasting fat. The customer looked pleased beyond words, his hands clasped in gratitude. Mr Green always set aside a part of his Christmas morning to help those who inevitably forgot some small but crucial component of their dinner; he loved making them smile.

"It's amazing how much of an impact a little generosity can have on people." The spirit had caught Helga staring.

"Well let's not get too carried away. I bet old Mr Green makes some pretty big bucks being the only store open. He's just being, you know, a good businessman and getting some actual use out of this crummy waste of a day. And don't even get me started on those clowns!" She gestured to numerous stores across the street, each displaying a range of ads for grossly expensive games, gifts and electronics. Several still bore large banners reading 'BLACK FRIDAY DEALS EXTENDED'.

"You know," Helga continued, "there were nearly a dozen arrests at the Hillwood Mall this year 'cause of people going nuts over the 'must have' gifts. You talk about generosity and all that 'season of goodwill' crap, but it seems to me like this holiday of yours just brings out the worst in people." Helga turned to face the spirit, who she realised had stopped abruptly.

"Now listen, because I'm only going to say this once." The spirit laid a firm hand on Helga's shoulder and met her eyes, her stern face making Helga feel like child who had been caught cursing. "Those people, the one's that twist this day with their materialism and pit people against each other, don't know us. And we don't know them. Christmas, ACTUAL Christmas, is about celebrating the love we share with the people closest to us no matter what we do or don't have, and being grateful regardless. It's about showing kindness for kin and strangers alike, like we just saw, because being good feels good. Sure, there's a place for generosity and exchanging gifts, but don't ever make the mistake of thinking those people are selling what we're selling."

"Okay, okay, I get it!" Helga's eyes widened and she waved her arms defensively, taken aback by the spirit's sudden serious demeanour. "Geez, you sound like Phoebe…"

"Well Phoebe has the right idea." The spirit's amicable grin reasserted itself as quickly as it had vanished, as if it hated to be away any longer than necessary. "Grab a hold; I'll show you what I'm talking about." With that, the spirit once again offered her arm, which Helga accepted. The scenery around them blurred and shifted, until eventually they found themselves standing outside a particularly grubby and dilapidated old building. Helga immediately recognised this as a less-than-desirable side of Hillwood. Even the snow, despite its best effort, barely seemed able to cast a positive shine on the decrepit old structure, and several of its windows had been securely boarded over. The same cheap plywood appeared to have been used in the construction of a flimsy, makeshift ramp that lay unevenly against the stairs leading up to the entrance. A single one of the un-boarded windows, Helga noticed, had been strung with a row of cheap, flickering fairy lights.

"Who the hell lives in this dump, Oliver Twist? No wait, isn't this where the Jolly Olly man dumps the bodies?" Helga derisively snarked. The spirit, however, was undeterred.

"Let's find out! Don't worry, this is kind of a 'fly on the wall' situation – they can't see or hear you."

"Wait, we're going in there? Well sheesh, let's hope that if I can't be seen or heard then I also can't be stabbed…"

Together they ascended to the front door, Helga releasing a small 'eep' as they passed straight through without resistance. The inside of the house was, if anything, worse than the outside at first glance. The wallpaper of the hallway peeled here and there, showing large signs of spreading damp. The faded old carpet beneath them was similarly filled with worn out holes. As they traversed the hall, it became clear that every item of furniture was in a terrible state; chairs leaked copious amounts of stuffing, tables and drawers were discoloured and chipped from age, and every lamp and decoration seemed haphazardly mismatched, highlighting bare function over style. It did not escape Helga's notice, however, that every surface was meticulously clean and free of dust, the threadbare carpet otherwise spotless. Eventually her eyes fell on a large, framed photograph sitting proudly on an aged side table, and Helga's brow furrowed in genuine, unbidden sympathy as she realised just who's home they had entered.

'Oh, Lila…'

Staring back at her from the frame was Lila Sawyer in all her fourth-grade glory, fiery-red braids and a saccharine-sweet smile in place, her hands clasped delicately in front of her. Her father stood behind her, his own hair and thick moustache matching his daughter's auburn shade. He was heavy-set and beaming, his eyes filled with pride and his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. They stood together in front of what Helga knew had been their first home in the city, itself old and worn but their home nonetheless. Helga remembered how resolute the small family had been back then, scraping by for their first difficult few weeks in the city before circumstances improved. She had truly respected Lila for that.

"Daddy, dinner is ready!" Helga was snapped out of her memories by a sweet voice calling from a nearby doorway

"Be right there!" A male voice responded from elsewhere in the house, only to be followed by several alarming thuds. "Aargh, darn it!"

"DADDY?" a flash of red bolted past Helga's vision in the direction of the crash. Helga listened to the muffled conversation.

"…have to be more careful!"

"I'm fine. I said I'm fine! Sorry Sweetheart, I'm sorry…"

At this, the speakers finally revealed themselves. A sixteen-year-old Lila emerged, pushing her father in a simple black wheelchair. His face was flushed with embarrassment. Her face, on the other hand, was smiling as ever. Both were far paler and far thinner than the family in the photograph.

"It's ok Daddy, I know it's frustrating. Now let's enjoy our dinner before it gets cold. The turkey was smelling so good – it's sure to be ever so delicious!"

Helga and the spirit followed the two into a cramped dining room, adjoined to a tiny kitchen. It was the window of this room, Helga noticed, that had been graced with the family's only Christmas lights. The place was otherwise filled with simple chains and folded ornaments of green and red paper, many slightly torn or creased, and a few sparse candles. It looked beautiful.

'She's right.' Helga thought as she sniffed the air. 'Dinner smells great.' It had been several years since Helga had enjoyed a Christmas meal. Having positioned her father at the head of a creaking dining table, Lila spent a few moments busying herself in the kitchen before returning, proudly brandishing two steaming plates of food. As the plates were laid down, however, Helga saw that each contained only a single, small turkey fillet, a modest pile of boiled potatoes (Mr Sawyer's pile being a good deal larger than his daughter's) and a side helping of carrots and green beans, all covered in a watery-looking gravy. Mr Sawyer gave his daughter a patient yet chastising look, before swiftly forking over a handful of his potatoes to Lila's plate, leaving the portions even. Lila, for her part, simply giggled and rolled her eyes in a look that said 'sue me – I tried.'

"Thank you so much Sweetie, this looks just wonderful. Would you like to say grace?"

"I'd love to." Lila beamed and accepted her father's outstretched hand. Both then closed their eyes as she began a short, thankful prayer.

As she watched, Helga refamiliarized herself with what she remembered of Lila's situation. It had been years, after all, since the other girl occupied more than a passing (usually malicious) thought in Helga's mind. Mr Sawyer was a skilled engineer, having been raised a farm hand before earning a formal qualification. Lila never spoke of her mother, except perhaps to Arnold, who Helga knew could relate and who would sooner die than betray a friend's trust. Regardless, it was clear that her loss had hit the Sawyer family hard and spurred their abrupt move to the city. Times had been challenging at first, not aided by the spiteful attitude of Lila's new P.S.118 classmates, but when Mr Sawyer had been awarded a well-paid maintenance position at a local factory, circumstances finally seemed to improve. For a time, the family had been comfortable and content. Nearly four years later, however, after the loss of Helga's own mother, disaster had struck. A terrible workplace accident robbed Mr Sawyer of the use of his legs. He was confined to a wheelchair, permanently. What followed had been a heart-breaking battle to stay afloat, as the family fought in equal measure to pay the weighty hospital fees, seek accident compensation and put food on the table while Mr Sawyer underwent physical therapy. Helga had never been privy to the full details. One result, however, was the sale of the Sawyer's home, and the family's reluctant acceptance of an offer to move into the Sunset Arms for several months until they found new lodgings. Arnold had insisted, and Helga had been furious. She had known, of course, that Arnold saw Lila as nothing more than a friend, and that it was impossible for Arnold to ignore someone in distress, but it had been the principle of the thing. Seeing them now, Helga wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

The spirit, on the other hand, was watching the family with an almost maternal look of adoration, a sombre smile playing on her lips. Helga saw her reach into the strange horn she carried, dusting both plates with a large handful of strange, twinkling powder pulled from within. As the Sawyers ended their prayer with a shared 'Amen', and began to eat, their faces quickly lit up with joy, and each remarked on the wonderful taste of their simple meal. The elation was enough to shake Helga from her slump and raise her curiosity.

"Okay, I'll bite." She softly addressed the ghost. "What's with the horn? What did you sprinkle on their food?"

The ghost turned to her, her own expression deadpan.

"Monosodium glutamate."

"WHAT?"

"Pfft!" the spirit's face cracked, and in an instant she was doubled over in unstoppable gales of laughter. Tears even flowed down her eyes. "Ahahahaha, your face! Can you imagine?! Merry Christmas – have some MSG! Hahahahaha!"

For several moments, Helga stared blankly, her mouth agape. Then, suddenly, she let out a single chuckle. Then another. In a second, Helga found herself equally overcome by her own laughter for the first time in years. She had forgotten how wonderful it felt. For the first time since this all started, the tears flowing down her eyes were not tears of sadness. After several minutes, she composed herself enough to breathlessly continue.

"C'mon, hehe, seriously. What is that stuff?"

The spirit straightened and, perhaps for show, dusted off her robe. While her laughter subsided, her smile was as wide as ever.

"This horn is Plenty, and the powder within is the seasoning of my family. Its flavour can't be put into words. Look around you, Honey, then look at them. What do you see?"

Helga did as she was told, surveying the room as if there were some obvious thing that she had missed, then looking back to the Sawyers, still smiling and eating while joined in happy conversation.

"I don't see anything, I guess. The house is kind of a dump and Lila probably cut out these decorations herself. Their meal is tiny – they don't even have any stuffing for that turkey for Pete's sakes – but they seem… content? Actually, they seem downright happy."

The spirit nodded proudly at her – apparently this was the right answer.

"Exactly. They have so little, and they ask for so little. There's no tree in this house, and no pile of presents. Their meal is simple and small. But they HAVE a home, and they HAVE a meal, and they have each other! And today they're genuinely happy for all of that, no matter what their lives are lacking. The seasoning from this horn is just that; a seasoning. It enhances the flavour of what these wonderful people have already made for themselves, and makes the meal taste as it should. To an undeserving, ungrateful person, a five-star banquet seasoned this way would taste of nothing but ash, but this family and others like them have earned the finest of feasts."

"Is it only people who are… you know… that have less who get some?"

"Not necessarily, though meals like this one often need it most."

Together, Helga and the spirit watched the peaceful scene in silence for another minute or so. The feeling of contentment and love seemed to radiate from the small family, warming Helga from the inside-out. Much like her earlier laughter, she had forgotten how good it could feel to share happy company. Eventually, her mind swimming in these forgotten emotions, she found the courage to ask her next question.

"Can I see more? Please?"

The spirit smiled in gentle understanding, without a trace of mockery or condescension, and once again offered her arm. Helga's eyes remained glued to the Sawyers as she gripped the sleeve tightly, until the room once again began to shift.

Much like the visions of Helga's melancholy childhood, the scenes they visited slowly drifted past her in a strange montage. In each, she saw familiar faces smiling and laughing together as they celebrated the day. She chuckled as a grinning Gerald and Jamie O Johanssen arm-wrestled fiercely at the dinner table for the rights to the last slice of turkey, only for young Timberly to snatch and consume it with a nonchalant shrug. She gawked as the Lloyd family were served a monumental feast, only to be joined around the enormous table by their small army of staff. Their brief brush with poverty had reminded the Lloyd's to embrace and reward the people in their employ, and the diverse group shared the splendid meal as equals. She watched in impressed enjoyment as Sheena and Eugene, best friends forever, performed their elaborate Holiday dance performance for their combined families, and joined in the applause as the breathless, beaming teens completed their display. And she felt the swell of a familiar, old affection for her once best friend, as she watched a giggling Phoebe Heyerdahl share a thick, strawberry sponge cake with her parents, cream dotting each of their laughing faces. At each stop, whenever a meal was to be found, the spirit would delicately season each morsel, and every joyous scene caused Helga's own long-dormant spirit to swell. Eventually, as they observed Monkeyman singing carols around a trashcan fire with other homeless citizens of Hillwood, Helga found the nerve to swallow her pride and make her next request.

"Show me Arnold?"