Chapter Fourteen
"Remember when you, like, welded Sawyer's glasses together?" Hurley had just approached Sayid where he sat at his workbench, making measurements with a compass and updating the latest island map. Eko sat beside him and indicated various minor discoveries based on his latest trek; the priest liked occasionally to make solitary pilgrimages about the island. Sawyer lay on his side a few feet a way, his elbow in the sand and his head propped up against his palm. He bit into a juicy mango and watched Kate in the distance as she waded into the ocean while holding their boy.
Sayid put down his pencil and squatted back in the sand. "That seems another lifetime ago." And how many lifetimes had he lived since Iraq? How many hopes, how many disappointments, how many losses, and how many new beginnings?
"Well," Hurley continued, "I was wondering if you could, like make that candlestick thing for Rebekah? That aura?"
Eko laughed, a low, deep tone. "You mean a menorah?"
"Yeah."
"What would you know, Father Brown?" Sawyer chimed in, rising from his reclined position and walking the few feet to join the group. "Ain't nothing about Chanukkah in your Bible."
"In my Bible," Eko intoned, launching into full exemplum mode, "you will discover the story of the Maccabees. In the reign of Antiochus, when the temple was purified, for eight days—"
"Spare me the details," Sawyer interrupted.
"That story," concluded Eko, "is indeed in my Bible, though it is not in Rebekah's."
Sawyer snorted and sunk his teeth into the mango. Wiping the juice off his chin, he said, "Yeah, right. The story of Chanukkah in the Catholic Bible but not the Jewish one. And the Koran says Christ was born of a virgin. You and Sayid are going to have to come up with better ways to pull my leg."
Eko smiled broadly. He shrugged his large, muscular shoulders.
"Hurley," said Sayid, with apologetic eyes, "I do not believe I have the talent to create such a thing through welding. Repairing a pair of glasses is nothing like—"
"You should ask Donovan," Sawyer interrupted him. "I just found out he used to be a welder before he was a paramedic." Hurley looked suddenly optimistic, but his shoulders slumped when Sawyer continued, "But you ain't gonna find enough usable metal to do it."
Sayid saw the despondent posture of the young man and sympathized with Hurley's attempts to do a kind thing for the girl who had captured his attention. "Perhaps I could carve one for you," he suggested. "I have recently been practicing a great deal with wood, and my skill has improved."
"Yeah?" Hurley's voice rang with hope. "Because she, like, needs it by tonight."
Sayid bit his lip slightly and momentarily regretted his offer. "That is rather short notice, Hurley." He gestured toward the maps. "I had planned—"
"Please?" the young man begged.
Sayid nodded.
"So, then, is Golda coming to the Christmas banquet?" Sawyer brought the remnants of the mango to his lips and suckled the juices.
"Rebekha," Hurley said, a little tensely. "And yeah. In fact, I'm her secret Santa." All of the survivors who did not have family or a significant other had been assigned a secret Santa, so that no one would be left without a gift.
"Whatcha gonna get her?" Sawyer asked with a smug smile. "Because Mohammed's still at a loss for ideas."
Sayid sighed and went back to ticking off measurements on his map. As he began his work, he said, "I believe you are the one who requires inspiration, Jimmy."
"Nah. Kate's gonna love my gift. It'll put yours to shame."
Sayid lowered the compass. "How can you possibly make such a claim? You have no idea what I intend to give Claire."
"Whatever it is, it ain't as good as what I'm getting Freckles. I'll tell you that right now. Your gonna lose this one."
"I was not aware gift giving was a competition," Sayid replied. "Is Santa the judge of that, as well as the judge of who is naughty and nice?"
"All I'm saying is," Sawyer simpered, "if you want Claire to be naughty, you better start thinking about that gift."