A Fairy Tale of New York Read Free Page A

sheep.
    Christian, hands plunged in pockets, takes a lonely subway west and north. Back by the shadows of the museum. And along by the stone mansions. Where I live tonight.
    Music coming from the door with the name under the cellophane. Dim light in the hall, a smell of wax in the air. Dust in the nose. Door slamming. Voice yelling. Pipe down.
    Must go in through this door and sleep. Pull aside the thick red curtain so tomorrow the light will wake me up. Snow streams down under the street lamp. Someone else's house is more your own if it's filled with strangers. Helen, I wouldn't have brought you to a room like this. Makes me feel I'm casting some poverty on you because this isn't the type of place you would ever be. Yours were bathrooms shining with gleaming rails and hot towels. All this plastic junk. Couldn't have been in the studio while Vine and I were talking. Couldn't talk like that. But that's the way we talked. Like pies peaches or eggs. Helen's not a pie peaches or eggs. She's mine. Taking her away. Gone already. Where is she nearest to me. Asleep on top of my brain. Came with me all over the ship when I couldn't stand them staring at me everywhere I went and whispering. Our table out in the center of the dining room. They were all thinking of the day when they had the gala occasion with the paper hats and balloons and Helen just sat there at the table and wept, pink handkerchief tucked up your sleeve and pearls like tiny drops from your face and none of them ever saw you again. They even came up to my cabin door after you were dead to listen to hear if I was crying. And the steward who said they wouldn't do your washing. He stuck his brown face in the door and closed it quietly when he saw me prostrate on the bunk. And he slammed the door in your face. Both of us utterly helpless, could do nothing could say nothing. I held the three dollars in my fist and watched his brown hand come up from his side and pull them out and leave quietly closing the door. The waiter who filled our plates with things we didn't want and came over the second day and said your wife don't eat no more and I said no. And lunchtime he came back saying he was sorry he didn't know, the wine waiter just told him and he got me a plate covered in smoked salmon. He kept as far away as he could until the last meal when hovering for his tip he asked me if I was a refugee. Then I went out, and from the ship's rail I looked at the strange flat shore with the fragile white fingers in the sky. In that cabin, Helen, where you left your soul and I 've got to lie a night here between these sleepless sheets without you.
    Darkness
    In all my
    Grief

3
    Sound of snow shovelling in the street. Ship's whistle from the river. Tingling and banging in the pipes along the wall. Outside the wind blows hard and shivers the window. Knocks on the door.
    ''Mr Christian there's a man for you down stairs."
    "Please tell him I 'm coming right away.''
    Christian looking into the street below. A man in dark coat, green shirt, black tie. No hat over his half bald head and grey wisps of hair. A black long car. Come for me. Can't keep him waiting. Can't stop them putting you in the ground under the snow.
    Mrs Grotz at the door, hunched, breath steaming in the cold air, her hands rubbing. Watching Christian pass and meet the chauffeur halfway down the steps. A solemn soft voice and placing a black cap on his head.
    "You Mr Christian. I 'mfrom the Vine funeral home.''
    "Sorry to keep you waiting.''
    Grotz edging her slippered feet out into the snow. Straining ears to listen. Her mouth open, eyes wide.
    "Hey what's the matter. Who's hurt. Some trouble. You from a funeral."
    Christian stopping turning. Pulling gloves tighter on his hands. Looks up the steps at Mrs Grotz.
    "It's my wife."
    "What's a matter, you got a wife. Where's your wife. What's a matter your wife.''
    "She's dead."
    "Mister. Oh mister."
    The park ahead, little rolling hill in velvet snow. So white and Christmas.