Eventide

The bar was quiet, the room practically empty, except for one young man sitting in his customary booth in the back.

"You're still here?" asked Ben, sitting down across from him.

"Apparently," said Dan carelessly, turning over the pages of the book on the table in front of him.

"Thought you'd get out of town for the break," said Ben, pushing across one of the two glasses he'd brought to the booth.

Dan accepted the beer in silence, took a drink.  

"Still here for another day or two," Dan said, but didn't elaborate.  "Are you staying?"

"Clear through 'till next semester starts," said Ben.  "In August I was slow to act and had slow business, this time I need to be ready to start catching them as they fall, so to speak."

"Right," said Dan.  "Not a bad idea."

"Right," said Ben.  “By the way, I heard Wilkins flunked comp.”

“Yeah, he did,” said Dan.  He said no more.

Ben nodded, surveyed the quiet room in silence, then turned back to his companion.

"What's that?" he asked, nodding at the book.

"The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," said Dan, holding up the book to show its spine.

"Old copy," said Ben interestedly.  "Which one are you on?"

"The Blue Carbuncle," said Dan.

"Is that the one with treasure hidden in one of the plaster heads?" asked Ben.

"No," said Dan, "that's the Six Napoleons."

"Right," said Ben.

"But you're not far off," said Dan.  "It's the one with the jewel hidden in the goose."

Ben said, "Ahh, I know that one."

Dan shrugged.

"It's the Christmas episode, as it were," said Ben.

Dan shrugged again.

"Funny how those go," said Ben.

"Christmas episodes?" asked Dan.

"I suppose," said Ben.  "Holiday stories, anyway."

"How do they go?" asked Dan.

"Well," said Ben, "I don't usually generalize--"

"Although you just did," remarked Dan.

"But I would say," said Ben, "that generally they come in two varieties."

"Go on," said Dan.

"Either they're a standalone piece," said Ben, "usually from an author with an existing audience for other work, or they're a holiday-flavored Special Issue from an existing series."

"Sounds reasonable enough," said Dan.

"If they're the latter," said Ben, "they are of course set at Christmas time, or around there, or leading up to it, they are usually colorful, dressed up to fit the fashion of the season, so to speak, the way you might have a Cowboy Episode or a Race Car Episode, what have you."

"Superficial," said Dan. 

"They also usually," said Ben, "have at least one serious conversation between the characters about the meaning of the day, whatever that happens to mean, usually being un-specifically good to people.  Someone who generally doesn't believe in the spirit of things has an epiphany and turns around.  In the end, everyone's a little kinder, a little friendlier, a little more warm-hearted."

"Vague enough," said Dan, "to be applied across the board."

“Well anyway,” said Ben.  “I said it was un-specific.”

“You want to talk about standalone pieces?” asked Dan, with an air of wanting to have it over with.

“You know, I don’t much care for Christmas these days,” said Ben, as if to change the subject.

“Really,” said Dan, sounding unsurprised.

“Well, it’s a funny thing,” said Ben.  “I think I don’t like how much people say one thing and do another.  They say that Christmas is the time for being good to people, and sometimes that’s true.”

“You know what I like best about Christmas?” said Dan.

Ben looked attentively.

“Playing ordinary music,” said Dan.

Ben raised an eyebrow.

“Everywhere you go,” said Dan, “you go to get motor oil, to get groceries, to buy pet food--”

“Pet food?” said Ben.  “You don’t have pets.”

“Whatever,” said Dan, “no matter where you turn you hear Jingle Bells, Silver Bells, White Christmas, every year the same stuff.”  

“I’m coming to that,” said Ben.

“I’m sure,” said Dan.  “What I like is getting home, taking off my shoes, and putting something on the stereo that has nothing to do with the time of year, or with presents, or anything of the kind.

“I think I understand,” said Ben.  “But how do you even notice the difference?  If you avoid the Christmas stuff altogether, I mean.”

“Well,” said Dan, shifting in his seat and looking away, “it’s very difficult to avoid.”

Ben nodded.  He noticed his companion’s glass was empty, rose and came back with two more

“So they say Christmas is about being good to people,” said Ben.

“You’re about to say,” said Dan, “that everyone is lying, and that it’s really all about buying stuff.”

Ben spread his hands as if to say ‘what can I say if you already know it.’

“I find myself thinking about hypnotism at this time of year,” he said.

“Hypnotism,” said Dan.

“When a person is to be hypnotized,” said Ben, “there are certain things you need to bring the trick off properly.”

“Like they have to believe in hypnotism in the first place,” said Dan sarcastically.

“You’re joking, but you’re not far off,” said Ben.  “Apart from that, you need for instance a quiet, dimly-lit room, a more or less comfortable and safe-feeling place, like a library but with less of that weird pressure to concentrate.  Just a room that’s been carefully prepared so that they can feel a certain way.”

“If I follow you,” said Dan, “you’re talking about decorations, and music, and, whatever, baking cookies for the smell.  And all this combines to make people feel a certain way they wouldn’t otherwise.”

“More or less,” said Ben.  “It’s not really a form of hypnotism, but it is a way of creating, what, a mood.”

“People like it,” said Dan.  “It makes them happy.  If it is a conditioned response, it’s at least one that brings people together.”

“Yes, it is,” said Ben.  “What I’m saying is that the way it makes people feel is possibly the only way to justify it.  Personally, I like when my home feels like Christmas.  Maybe, maybe, the main street of our little town here.”

“But it’s everywhere,” said Dan.

“It is everywhere,” said Ben.  “And it’s not charming after the second week, no matter what people say.  We start, most of the time a month out from the date or more, and it makes me sick of it.”

“I have a feeling,” said Dan, “that you’re building up to your comments about the standalone works.”

“I am indeed,” said Ben.

He took another drink.

“I heard,” he said, “that Professor Cook offered Wilkins a chance to re-submit his essay.”

Dan looked steadily at his companion but said nothing.

“And that he just needed help getting it right,” said Ben.

Dan took another drink in silence.

“Standalone works,” Ben said then, “are the ones that don’t belong to a larger series, like the little story about Mr. Holmes here, where they start with a goose and a stolen gemstone and end with-- if I remember -- Holmes breaking habit by letting the criminal go free, because it’s Christmastime.”

“Actually it starts with a hat,” said Dan.

“Whatever,” said Ben.

“And,” Dan went on, “Holmes lets the criminal run any number of times, there’s the Abbey Grange, Boscombe Valley, the one with the guy who woos his step-daughter--”

“Whatever,” said Ben again.  “My point is, standalone works don’t have ordinary episodes to fall back on for contrast, they’ve got to say something on their own.  And of the major works that have influenced such upstarts down the years, I trace most of the new Christmas stories you’ll find back to three major sources.”

“List them please,” said Dan, in a tone to say get on with it.  “And you may as well start with Dickens.”

“First,” said Ben, as if he had not been anticipated by his companion, “and foremost, is Dickens.”

“Shocked,” said Dan, taking a drink.

“His little story did more than anyone in recent history,” said Ben, “or so I have read, to make Christmas into a day worth celebrating.  It wasn’t his only Christmas story, but it is an old favorite.”

“The movies always frightened me,” said Dan.

“The principle emotion,” said Ben, “is fear.  The man is scared straight by seeing uncharitableness as the start of his emotional misfortune, and by seeing that the world would be a better place, and also still a miserable one, with him out of it.”

“Even the second ghost, the giant,” said Dan.  “He had those two kids under his cloak...” He gave an apparently involuntary shudder.

“The boy Ignorance and the girl Want,” Ben intoned.  “‘Most of all beware this boy,’” he began quoting, “‘for on his brow I see that written which is Doom, unless the writing be erased.’”

“This is why I’m your only friend,” said Dan.

“Long story short,” said Ben, “fear being bad, so be good.”

“Dickens made up a nice little hell on earth,” said Dan, “and populated it with his antihero, I understand.  People who need the fear of hell not to be bad people will probably be bad people anyway.”

“That’s a self-defeating notion,” said Ben, “but we can go into it another time.  The second primary work is from Mr. Seuss.”

“That’s the same story,” said Dan, making a face and sagging into his seat.

“It’s the opposite story,” said Ben.  “Sure, the main character is the antagonist, and they hate Christmas until the end, when they become good people because of it.  But--”

“But,” said Dan, “one is green.”

“That’s only in the cartoon,” said Ben.  “In the book the Grinch is grey.”

“I’m not sure that’s right,” said Dan slowly.

“Anyway,” said Ben, “But the difference is in the Seuss the primary emotion is love.”

“What does the Grinch love?” asked Dan with a laugh.

“The Grinch loves the Whos,” said Ben flatly.  “And he thinks they don’t love him back.”

Dan raised a hand to comment, then closed his mouth and considered.

“I disagree,” he said.

“I’m sure you would,” said Ben.

“But I can’t explain why just yet,” said Dan.

“We can discuss it later,” said Ben.  “I can’t stay long to chat over it now, because I’m late.”

“Late?” said Dan in surprise, looking up from his text.

“Yes,” said Ben, “I have to go to mass.”

“Mass?” said Dan, sounding twice as surprised.

“I’m going with a friend,” Ben said.  “He said he didn’t want to be that guy who only goes to church on Christmas Eve this year, and I said I’d go with him, because I never go and won’t mind taking all the attention for being a heathen on myself.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Dan.  “And who cares anyway?”

“To summarize,” said Ben, “the Grinch loves the Whos, and is only looking for the slightest excuse to show his love to them, and there you have it.”

“What does this have to do with hypnotism again?” asked Dan.

“Both Scrooge and the Grinch,” said Ben, “hate the superficial obnoxiousness of Christmas.  Everything that I said before was like a quiet room for hypnotism, all the pudding and holly and noise noise noise.  It’s what they hated the most about it, anyway, that people are partying when they have no good reason to, and partying too much to boot.”

“Scrooge hated everything,” said Dan.  “Paying his employee to have Christmas off was just part of it.”

“Fair enough,” said Ben, “but you see where I’m going, so just bear with me.”

“I thought you were late,” said Dan.

“I am Scrooge,” said Ben.  “I am the Grinch.  We all are.  We all get sick of people, especially of other people being happy when we’re not happy ourselves.”

Dan shrugged and finished his drink.  Without a word Ben got up and got them both two more.

“That was my round,” said Dan quietly.

“On me,” said Ben.  “The point of those stories is, that if you allow yourself to be happy for other people because you’re happy, even if it’s only once a year, you’ll find the reward is better than the price to do so.”

“I’m not sure I followed that,” said Dan.  “Hurry up and tell me what the third master work is.”

“Die Hard,” said Ben.

“Very funny,” said Dan.

“I’m completely serious,” said Ben.  “It’s either Die Hard, or some other story about an out-of-towner stuck in an inconvenient situation and, eventually, putting his life on the line for a bunch of strangers who don’t really deserve it because he knows there’s at least one who does.”

“You’re very clever,” said Dan.  “I suppose you also want to point out that at the climax a guy with a beard is killed?”

Ben shuddered.

“This is why I’m your only friend,” he said.

“Did you really have a third masterwork?” said Dan.

“Anything that teaches the value of self-sacrifice,” said Ben.  “I didn’t say I’d be specific.”

“Well it’s better than being ordered to buy a bunch of stuff I guess,” said Dan.

“A person simply doing something good for someone else without reward,” said Ben.

“I get it,” said Dan.

“I talked to Professor Cook this evening,” Ben said, rising from his seat.

Dan looked up at his friend with sudden interest.  Ben looked back at him for a moment.  “Wilkins will pass,” he said.

Dan nodded.  “Thanks for letting me know,” he said.

Ben raised his glass, drained it, and walked out the door, heading in the direction of the church a few streets over.

Dan closed his book, shouldered his bag, dialed a number on his phone, and walked home to start packing.