“I am sure I have always thought of Christmas
time, when it has come round -- apart from the veneration due to its sacred
name and origin, if anything belonging to it can be apart from that -- as a
good time: a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time: the only time I know
of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to
open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they
really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures
bound on other journeys.”
(A Christmas
Carol, Charles Dickens 1843)
Ebenezer Scrooge had a very Merry
Christmas. The man he had been the night before was gone and the day had been a
testament to his resurrection. He shuffled home, glad to see it. He almost
skipped along his merry way. A light snow began to fall as he left his nephew
Fred’s residence and set out into the unknown. He had only seen this path from a
passing cab, avoiding all the surplus population. It was a journey, and not a
quick one, but the vigor of the day pushed him forward. He had not known a
better one and he had a smile on his face to prove it. His glee was obvious to
passersby. Each stranger was granted a “Merry Christmas” despite the dimming of
the day. He emptied his pockets, no longer passing the poor. As the brim of his
hat and the full of his shoulders gained with snow, he tucked the rest of him
into his overcoat. A chill met him as he wandered towards home. This was proof,
he still was alive.
Scrooge lived in Marley's old house.
On approach, he could see it through the haze of the last of the Christmas
snow. The gloomy stand alone had seen a better day. It was forgotten and
wasting away. Scrooge inherited the place when it was a younger house but
quickly abandoned its care. With the passing of Marley on Christmas Eve, seven
years before, came the funeral and the Will and the hidden glee. He got it
cheap and lived that way. The large cast iron fence stretched around the
property and had hints of the weather tossed onto each fleur de lis. He barely
took a breath as he unlatched the thing and stepped back into the world he had
once created. The unkempt façade more a relic than the man he now would be. As
he secured the gate behind him, he heard the ghosts calling, reminding him of
peace on earth and good will toward men. As he reached the front step, he left
the ghosts behind him. Up six steps and he stopped to shake himself off. There
was no warning, no Marley, just a hard cold metal knocker and emancipation. .
He touched the knocker, unlocked
the place and slipped inside. Scrooge fidgeted in the darkness for a “Friction
Light” then engaged a large taper on the same table. The room looked better in darkness.
The large foyer was as empty as Scrooge’s heart used to be. He could see his
breath and he could feel the cold on his face and his hands. Mrs. Dilbert had
to sweep the space daily so you could see a path of old footmarks coming to and
fro, the hard wooden floor tracked by the dust of his former ambivalence.
Ignoring the coat rack just inside the entrance, Scrooge headed up the winding
staircase, leaving a testament to the weather all over the dusty steps. At the
top, he found little reprieve. In the empty hallway, a few paintings slept
against each wall. As if in slow motion, he paced himself and approached his
room. He wondered if anything had remained inside. Were the ghosts waiting just
beyond the heavy oak door? With nothing to fear, he stepped inside his
sanctuary and removed his muddied boots. The single candle barely illuminated
itself let alone the rest of the room. Scrooge lit another and placed it near
the hearth. He started a fire, tossed his coat and hat on a small table near
the shut entrance and eventually he sat down in his chair, finally granted a
moment to take it all in.
Scrooge rested well in his madness.
Marley did not revisit and he found great comfort from his arm chair and the
roaring fire. He felt no need to lock the inner door to his chamber. He
expected no further disruption. The large room fell to shadow as the two large
tapers, never before used, beckoned a glow to the space not experienced in many
a year. The hearth was full and crackling and oozed an unfamiliar heat over the
former curmudgeon. He could not help himself as his mind wandered to the
spirits and to the images that had been cast before him on this day. It all
seemed greater now and approaching the end of it, he no longer required
visitations. He no longer feared the chains which held Marley nor did he taunt
himself with the scowl “Mankind was my business.” He knew these ghosts would no
longer haunt him but their voices always would. He knew that life would be
different for him now. He felt warm within, unlike he had known before so he readied
himself for bed
Never once had Ebenezer Scrooge used
a heavy throw to speed his comfort. He had to drag one out and dust it off to
use it. As he hopped into the grand bed Mrs. Dilber had already made, he felt
welcomed rather than abused. He looked about the almost empty room and thought
on all that had been revealed to him. He thought of Fran, his sister, gone now
these many years. He thought of his nephew Fred and the joy which seemed to
possess him upon Scrooge’s attendance at the Christmas meal. He thought of
Belle, her beautiful face as young to his mind as if a ghost had driven him to
the past once again. He thought of Cratchet and Tim and of the mission to which
he had taken. Ebenezer Scrooge was indeed a changed man. The years of endless
alone and empty now found him filled with a spirit and joy few possess. It was
not uncomfortable for him. It fit like an old sock. The shadows of the man he
had been moved across the room like an echo, rippling in concussive beats from
the heart within him now come to life. He sat soothed by an almost silent
sense, as the fire snapped and danced about in the pit. How often had he sat
here, miserable, cursing the very spirit within him now? Too many nights had he
known his own torture. As the fire dimmed and sleep summoned, Ebenezer Scrooge,
for the first time in his life, was not afraid to rest.
“And it was always said of him,
that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the
knowledge.” (A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens 1843)
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