Village Squire, 1979-12, Page 26broken incisor. At first Jim gloated over this. At first, too, he was
proud of the crown because it was gold. Not for long, though.
Each time he saw it reflected in the mirror he would hear again
his cousin's voice telling him over and over that he was a
loathesome kid: fat, spoiled, rude, selfish, ignorant, plain rotten!
And no one liked him, Jim realized; they just endured him. He
was relieved when, during the holidays, the gold crown, with a
little assistance from a geometry compass, came off in the
middle of a large bite of green apple. He was able to start high
school with an unnoticeable white one in its place. The gold
crown, at his uncle's order, he wrapped carefully in a sheet of
paper, then in a box, and pushed it to the back of his bottom
drawer. The paper read: "This is the Property of James Lowe,
age 12. It is Real Gold."
For a long time Jim sat in the darkening room, for the first
time in many years face to face with the detestable boy he once
had been: that lonely lost kid who hated himself because he was
so unloved. There had been so little about that boy to love or
even to like; and to -day, coming up the lane, Jim had become
that boy again. He stared at the face in the old photo and
whispered: "Listen, kid, that's all over now. It's all behind us.
There haven't been any • more Janet McCrimmons after that
time. Not till to -day!"
But to -day was not yet over, and he still had time to say as best
he could that he was sorry. He laid the photograph back in the
drawer, gently as if he were tucking in a tifed child.
"It's O.K., Jimmie -boy." His voice was very kind. "I
understand now how it was. And I don't hate you any more."
Standing up, he realized that the lump was no longer hurting
his breast. He opened the library door and walked through the
kitchen, into the parlour. Through the window he could see the
fading colours of the evening sky, and he saw that no more snow
was falling. By the dim twilight his family could be discerned,
still on the couch by the Christmas tree: Kate --his wonderful
Kate-- and his three beautiful children.
"Hil", he said. "What about you doing those Wise Men
again? My-- My pain is gone now and -- I'd like to see it again."
He could sense Kate's relief and the children's instant joy, but
no one moved. Jim shifted uneasily. Perhaps, after all, it was
now too late.
"We'll do the Wise Men if you want it, Daddy," said Tanya
out of the stillness, "but wouldn't it be kind of nice to just sit
here and -- and love each other for awhile first?" She moved
away from Kate to make room for him between them. He felt his
hands caught in their soft grasps and squeezed. Then Tommy's
small arms in bulky bathrobe sleeves crept around his neck, and
he could smell the scent of his own tobacco on the cloth. And
Robby's face as it pressed against his cheek was still damp with
tears.
Jim leaned over carefully that he might make no disturbance,
and releasing the hand which Kate was holding, he repositioned
on the green hay of the manger the empty bath -oil bottle. Then
he laid down beside it the tube of shaving cream and the little
cardboard box, its lid and the piece of paper missing now. The
dusky room was filled with the scent of jasmine and of
wintergreen, and with the aroma of the cedar Christmas tree.
Down beyond the end of the lane the lights from a car rounding a
curve on the road shone briefly in, lighting up for a quick
moment the silver star on the floor beneath the tree.
"One Wise Man brought Him incense." Jim's voice was very
low, and he heard Tanya give a little sign. "And one Wise Man
brought Him myrrh." He felt Tommy's arms tighten about his
neck, and Robby's face press closer to his own, "And one Wise
Man --one very, very Wise Man --he brought Him a gift of gold."
Perhaps it was the beam from the headlights of another car, or
the last ray from the afterglow in the west. Whatever it was, it
seemed to Jim that the piece of gold in its little box shone
suddenly as bright as any Christmas star. And through the mist
that filled his eyes, he saw the Baby in its swaddling clothes
move gently in its sleep. From the manger, mingling with the
jasmine, the wintergreen and the cedar rose the sweet fragrance
of new -mown hay.
24 Village Squire, December 1979
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