The Gift of Story Read Free

had before and those she had earned from selling her beautiful hair. And with
    grimy hands he handed her a watch chain. Oh, how suddenly filled with joy she was to have a gift to give to her beloved. Why she fairly ran home, her feet barely touching the ground like the angel that she, in another time and place, might certainly have been.
    All the while, her husband was busy at his own work of finding a gift for his dear one. Oh what
could it be? What would be just right? A vendor thrust a shriveled potato toward him. No, no, that would not do. Another vendor held out a scarf, that though bedraggled, was a pretty color. But no, it would cover her lovely hair, and he so liked to see her hair with its glints of ruby and gold.
    On the next windy corner, yet another vendor held out in his palms two plain and simple combs;
    one was perfect, the other had only one broken tooth. The young man knew he had found the perfect gift.
    "Twelve pennies for these fine combs?" wheedled the man.
    "But I do not have twelve pennies," said the young man.
    "Well, what do you have?" whined the man. And the barter began.
    Meanwhile, hack in their tiny rented room, the young woman moistened her hair with a little water
    and coaxed it to curl around her face and then sat awaiting her husband. "Let him think I am still lovely in my own way," she whispered in silent
    prayer. Soon she heard his steps on the stair. In he rushed, poor soul, rail thin, red nosed, icy fingered, but with all the earnestness and hope of the newly horn. And there on the door sill, he stopped in his tracks, staring at his wife quite dumbfounded.
    "Oh, do you not like my hair, dear husband? Do you not like it? Well, please say something. To tell you the truth, I cut it so that a good could come from it for your sake. Please say something my love."
    The young man was torn between pain and laughter, but mirth overtook him at last. "My dearest," he said and held her close. "Here I have your gift for this holiday season." Out from his pocket he drew the combs. For a moment her face grew brighter, and then all her features plummeted downward as she burst into tears and fairly howled with woe.
    "My love," he comforted, "your hair shall grow back some day, and these combs will be glorious then. Let us not be sad."
    All right then, she straightened herself. Her happiness returned as she brought out the gift she had for him. "Here, this is your gift my dear hus
band." And in her palm lay the simple chain, her gift of sacrifice for him.
    "Ha!" he hooted, jumped up, and began to pace the floor. "Do you know I sold my watch to buy your combs?"
    "You did? You did?" she cried.
    "I did! I did!" he cried.
    They hugged and laughed and cried together, and promised one another that the future would be better, it would, truly it would, just wait and see.
    So, you see, though some might say these two young people were foolish and unwise, they were in fact, like the magi who sought the messiah. Even though the magi with righteous intention brought gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh, in the end, that which they carried within their hearts had the most value, their yearning and devotion.
    And the young couple here, like the magi, were wise too, for they gave the most golden of all things possible. They gave their love, their truest love to one another.
    And it was enough.
    nd with this, the old man, who was hardly more than a heap of bones, ended his story. There in the hut, his words made the loneliness and fear each of them felt, less lonely, less fearsome. Not because reason to fear was lifted magically from them, for it was not, hut because the story provided them with strength.
    There they sat, the old man and the old woman, on that evening of the holiday time. He revealed to her that it was near the time of
    Chanukah, the time of year he and his loved ones normally gave gelt, small gifts of coins. And she told
    him it was somewhere near Christmas, a time of year during which her people also