{"id":411,"date":"2010-12-23T22:58:17","date_gmt":"2010-12-24T04:58:17","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/?p=411"},"modified":"2012-12-10T22:10:31","modified_gmt":"2012-12-11T03:10:31","slug":"screw-job-of-the-magi","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/screw-job-of-the-magi\/","title":{"rendered":"Screw-job of the Magi"},"content":{"rendered":"<div id=\"tweetbutton411\" class=\"tw_button\" style=\"\"><a href=\"http:\/\/twitter.com\/share?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mattdebenham.com%2Fblog%2Fscrew-job-of-the-magi%2F&amp;text=Screw-job%20of%20the%20Magi&amp;related=&amp;lang=en&amp;count=horizontal&amp;counturl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mattdebenham.com%2Fblog%2Fscrew-job-of-the-magi%2F\" class=\"twitter-share-button\"  style=\"width:55px;height:22px;background:transparent url('https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-content\/plugins\/wp-tweet-button\/tweetn.png') no-repeat  0 0;text-align:left;text-indent:-9999px;display:block;\">Tweet<\/a><\/div><div id=\"fb_share_1\" style=\"float: right; margin-left: 10px;\"><a name=\"fb_share\" type=\"box_count\" share_url=\"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/screw-job-of-the-magi\/\" href=\"http:\/\/www.facebook.com\/sharer.php\">Share<\/a><\/div><div><script src=\"http:\/\/static.ak.fbcdn.net\/connect.php\/js\/FB.Share\" type=\"text\/javascript\"><\/script><\/div><p style=\"text-align: left;\">By request, a seasonal oldie:<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><strong>Screw-job of the Magi<\/strong><\/p>\n<p><em>There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have seen a pier-glass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art. <\/em><\/p>\n<p>&#8211;\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 <em>O. Henry, \u201cGift of the Magi\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n<p>So what have we got?\u00a0 We\u2019ve got no watch and some useless-ass combs.\u00a0 What was I thinking?\u00a0 Had I ever <em>seen<\/em> her wear hair combs?\u00a0 Hair-ribbons, yes, once or twice.\u00a0 But combs?\u00a0 No.<\/p>\n<p>This kind of thing happens to us way too often.\u00a0 Two Christmases ago, for instance, when I sold my gold fillings for a silver brush and mirror and Della sold her hair for a big box of taffy.\u00a0 Then there\u2019s this past anniversary, which left me shoeless and her, again, with short hair.\u00a0 We\u2019re like two ships passing in the night, with me on my way to the pawn shop and her always on the way to the hair-buyer.<\/p>\n<p>Della\u2019s friend Hank was particularly interested in this latest disaster.\u00a0 Shocker.\u00a0 Hank\u2019s what you might call an \u201caspiring writer.\u201d\u00a0 I would amend that to \u201caccomplished asshole.\u201d\u00a0 What he said once about our money situation was typical Hank.\u00a0 \u201cThis instigates in one the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Seriously, he talks like this all the time.<\/p>\n<p>Della collects weirdos like normal people collect Hummels or those little Spoons of the World.\u00a0 Freaks walk in and out of here like they own the place.\u00a0 <em>We<\/em> don\u2019t even own the place.\u00a0 We just pay the $8 a week to stay here, which is nearly half my weekly paycheck.\u00a0 I told Della, \u201cOne day we\u2019re going to come home and find everything gone.\u201d\u00a0 She said, with no meanness in her voice, \u201cHow would we know?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>So any given day, I\u2019ll bump into Jobless Actor Andy on my way home from work.\u00a0 Then I\u2019ll turn into the courtyard and there comes Clinically Depressed Tom.\u00a0 Or Suspiciously Cheerful Debbie.\u00a0 In the apartment, maybe Beverly-Who-Talks-to-the-Dead is making eggs, or One-armed Rubin\u2019s helping Andy run lines.\u00a0 (Jobless Actor Andy; he uses the fire escape.)\u00a0 It\u2019s a regular drop-in center we\u2019ve got here.<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019m the only one who works.\u00a0 When I get home, all I want to do is sit down, crack open an ale, and listen to the victrola.\u00a0 Except I sold the victrola for something a while back, I don\u2019t remember what.\u00a0 Probably something hair-related.\u00a0 Damn that woman\u2019s beautiful hair.\u00a0 Cascading, rippling, shining.\u00a0 It does all the things you think a woman\u2019s hair is supposed to.\u00a0 The fact that she looks less appealing with it short just makes it more painful every time she cuts it off.\u00a0 Although it grows back amazingly fast.\u00a0 And, of course, I want to give her hair-things to encourage her to grow it back.\u00a0 It\u2019s a vicious circle.\u00a0 Cycle?\u00a0 Circle.<\/p>\n<p>Worst of all the deadbeats is good buddy Hank.\u00a0 He\u2019s always marveling over our superabundant generosity and multitudinous selflessness.\u00a0 Meanwhile, he\u2019s happy to stand selflessly behind Della in step class and help himself to generous amounts of bustle-gazing.<\/p>\n<p>Hank\u2019s in New York \u201cgetting his life together\u201d (Della\u2019s words) after a rough patch in Texas.\u00a0 He used to run a bank, now he lives two doors down from McGuirk\u2019s Suicide Hall.\u00a0 Why am I the only one who finds this suspicious?<\/p>\n<p>But, really, that\u2019s Della for you.\u00a0 She\u2019s rich\u2014or would be, if she hadn\u2019t run off with me.\u00a0 And by \u201crun off,\u201d I mean \u201cconvinced me to clamber up to her window in the middle of the night and help her climb down so as to ensure maximum horror the next morning.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Again, I say: Damn that woman\u2019s hair.<\/p>\n<p>That night we ran, I didn\u2019t look at her until we were halfway down Park Avenue.\u00a0 When I did, I realized she had only pair of dresses balled under one arm.\u00a0 Her hair flowed behind her like flags waving from a battlement.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPacked a little light, didn\u2019t you?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n<p>She looked surprised.\u00a0 \u201cWhat?\u00a0 I have my clothes and my beautiful tresses.\u00a0 What else could I need to survive?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>How right she was.<\/p>\n<p>My mother always told me I should try hard not to live like anybody else.\u00a0 For the longest time, all through the \u201990s, the way to do that was to be poor.\u00a0 We were poor already, so I\u2019m sure my mother meant something far different for me.\u00a0 Still, it was fine for a while.\u00a0 Being poor in the country\u2019s a dirty business.\u00a0 Poor in New York City is still a dirty business, but also kind of romantic.\u00a0 In the midst of squashing roaches, or monthly bill-terror, you may feel a strange little thrill, like a breath across the back of your neck.\u00a0 At those moments, you are no longer an American, or an Irishman; you are a New Yorker.<\/p>\n<p>But now that everybody\u2019s doing the poor thing, I\u2019d like nothing more than to be in a taller building.\u00a0 Something granite, lots of windows, like a Sphinx gazing over everything south of 14<sup>th<\/sup> Street.\u00a0 I\u2019d look down at these acres of yellow, gaslit apartment windows and think to myself, <em>I wonder what the poor people are doing to-night?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I set this scene once for Della, and she began flapping her hands in excitement.\u00a0 \u201cOh, James,\u201d she said.\u00a0 \u201cI used to think that very thing!\u00a0 And now I\u2019m here!\u00a0 Isn\u2019t that grand?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>The day after Christmas I\u2019m still depressed over my lost watch, so I go for a walk alone.\u00a0 Hank comes with me.\u00a0 We wander all the way up into the 30s, where all the big, shiny stores are open early to handle returns and exchanges.\u00a0 We make an odd pair.\u00a0 I\u2019m the tall one in the worn-out coat and too-short suit.\u00a0 Hank\u2019s the little guy in the dirty t-shirt and Texas-shaped belt-buckle; no overcoat.\u00a0 The thing about Hank, though: as slobby as he gets, his nails are always pink and spotless.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cShame about your grandfather\u2019s watch,\u201d he says.\u00a0 He\u2019s caught on: the more normal he speaks in my presence, the more I\u2019ll talk back.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIt was my uncle\u2019s, actually, my dad\u2019s brother.\u201d\u00a0 Della always tells people it belonged to my father and grandfather.\u00a0 I\u2019m never sure if she thinks it sounds more devastating if I gave up my <em>grandfather<\/em>\u2019s watch for her, or if she just doesn\u2019t have what you\u2019d call an eye for detail.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHe\u2019s deceased, your uncle?\u201d says Hank.<\/p>\n<p>He looks at me hard, like he\u2019s concentrating, making sure he remembers.\u00a0 Oh, so that\u2019s it: the aspiring writer.\u00a0 \u201cNo,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n<p>Suddenly he\u2019s several feet ahead of me, walking stiffly away.\u00a0 For a moment, I wonder if my answer was too terse, too clear.\u00a0 Did I actually push him away this time?\u00a0 If so, I nearly feel bad about it.\u00a0 Then I realize someone behind us has been calling Hank\u2019s name for the last minute.<\/p>\n<p>I turn around and through the heavy crowd I see a large, red-cheeked man in a black stovepipe hat.\u00a0 He\u2019s got his chin up, huge hands parenthesizing his mouth.\u00a0 \u201cHey, Hank!\u201d he yells.\u00a0 \u201cIt\u2019s Walter!\u00a0 Walter Beardsley!\u00a0 From Texas?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I watch this man another moment, then run to catch up with Hank.\u00a0 Only he\u2019s not in sight.\u00a0 What I don\u2019t need is him scurrying back to the $8 apartment to tell Della I abandoned him.\u00a0 By luck I glance down 33<sup>rd<\/sup> Street.\u00a0 There, shivering against a building, is a coatless man with perfect nails.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHank, did you realize someone was calling you?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, were they?\u201d he says.\u00a0 His eyes ferret all around, avoiding mine.\u00a0 \u201cHa-ha.\u00a0 Is it tax-season already?\u00a0 Or perhaps a friendly representative from the mendicancy squad.\u201d\u00a0 More nervous titters.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cBullshit,\u201d I say.\u00a0 \u201cThat guy knew you.\u00a0 He said Texas, even.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He smiles a bit longer, then drops it.\u00a0 \u201cOkay,\u201d he says.\u00a0 \u201cI made some king fuckups in my former lifetime as a banker. \u00a0Trouble in the head office, let\u2019s say.\u00a0 Good money, bad thoughts.\u00a0 That man you saw?\u00a0 He and I were on the same cell block in prison.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPrison!\u00a0 Holy shit, I knew it!\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cPlease.\u00a0 Don\u2019t tell Della.\u00a0 I would wither and die if the generous light from that good woman\u2019s regard were to wane even in the\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCut the crap, Hank.\u00a0 Is that the kind of guy you think I am?\u00a0 This is between Della and you.\u201d\u00a0 And, of course, in my mind I tuck it away like an emergency bank note.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, James,\u201d he says, and he takes my hand in those smooth little mitts of his.\u00a0 \u201cYou are a true friend.\u00a0 My only wish is that one day I can have the good fortune you have.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>And of course, now I feel guilty as hell.<\/p>\n<p>At the corner of 34<sup>th<\/sup> and 7th, there\u2019s a little\u00a0 wooden cart set up with brown glass bottles of all sizes.\u00a0 A swarthy-looking man sits beside it on an upturned apple crate.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSoaps?\u201d he says in a strange, thick-tongued accent.\u00a0 \u201cShampoos?\u00a0 Ablutions?\u00a0 Unguents?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I turn away before he can catch me with his good eye.\u00a0 That\u2019s how they get you.\u00a0 Then a flash: Della lying on our bed, naked and sleeping, hair splayed across the pillows like a silk-spun fan.\u00a0 Do I love her?\u00a0 I\u2019m not sure.\u00a0 Does she drive my every cell sick with lust, to the point where I\u2019m willing to trade my money, my integrity, my teeth?\u00a0 Stupid question.\u00a0 I turn back and point at the bottles.\u00a0 \u201cWhich one\u2019s the shampoo?\u201d\u00a0 Della\u2019s hair is shorter than mine right now.\u00a0 I realize this.\u00a0 But in three, six months.<\/p>\n<p>Behind me, Hank clucks his tongue.<\/p>\n<p>Back at the apartment, Della greets us.\u00a0 Her eyes are red and her mouth is tight and twitchy.\u00a0 This is the less appealing side of Della, the emotional side.\u00a0 She\u2019s been having another of her episodes, a case of the Why-Are-We-So-Poors.\u00a0 She never does this in front of me.\u00a0 She knows the first words out of my mouth would be, \u201cHoney, it\u2019s okay.\u201d\u00a0 And then, \u201cSo call your rich family, please, and get us the hell out of here.\u201d\u00a0 For some reason, though, this to Della is worse than the $8 room.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDella,\u201d says Hank, sliding past me into the living area.\u00a0 \u201cI deduce by your countenance that as regards the ratio of smiles to sniffles, you are feeling considerably deficient in the former.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019m about to say something shitty to him when, amazingly, Della\u2019s pout breaks like a cloudy sky.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, Henry,\u201d she cries.\u00a0 \u201cYou always know just the words to cheer me up.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Hank works hard at it, but he can\u2019t keep his black mustache from curling up over those big teeth.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cReally,\u201d he says.\u00a0 \u201cIt is my sole duty and compulsion to recompense the fates as best I can, in exchange for the literary talents awarded me.\u00a0 My method of payment, which is thrice the value of gold and more reliable than any cheque, is to ensure that happy times continue within these\u2026meager walls.\u201d\u00a0 He glances at me.\u00a0 \u201cFor true love is like a four-leaf clover: much-storied, but seldom seen.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Della gives a little sigh, the kind I\u2019ve only ever heard in the dark.\u00a0 She smiles at Hank, and he smiles back, fixing those tiny black eyes on her.\u00a0 And then I see: it goes way deeper than looking down blouses or checking out asses in bustles.\u00a0 This son of a bitch wants my wife.<\/p>\n<p>I think fast.\u00a0 \u201cYou know Hank, others say love is like the Loch Ness monster,\u201d I say.\u00a0 \u201cAn ancient thing many <em>have<\/em> seen, but difficult to prove.\u201d\u00a0 I don\u2019t know what it means either, but Della gives me a look of surprise and delight.<\/p>\n<p>Hank clears his throat.\u00a0 \u201cStill others say love is the one vocation where working <em>too<\/em> hard may result in loss of employment.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>What the fuck?\u00a0 \u201cLove is like honey: delicious and sweet, but a dangerous thing to try and take for your own.\u201d\u00a0 I mean because of the bee-stings, but I can\u2019t work the bees in and Hank\u2019s already coming back at me, too fast, too fast.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLove is like an Arabian tapestry: rich and made with great care, but all too often mistaken for a rug.\u201d\u00a0 Della, seated now, claps her hands and bounces.\u00a0 She knows what this is.\u00a0 She\u2019s always enjoyed sports.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLove is more like a pair of rabbits,\u201d I say. \u00a0\u201cIf you leave it <em>alone<\/em>, it\u2019ll multiply a hundredfold.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLove is like wood: abundant\u2026easily procured, but only an artist knows how to make something beautiful with it.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Della is gazing at Hank now in a way I really do not like.\u00a0 Is she actually listening to the words?\u00a0 For what I can only now admit isn\u2019t the first time, I realize there\u2019s very little I know about my wife.\u00a0 Still, damned if I\u2019m going to let this die in Hank\u2019s court.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cLove is like cheese,\u201d I say.\u00a0 \u201cHow many books you read in prison, Hank?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFour hundred thirty s\u2014\u201d\u00a0 And he stops, eyes shifting between Della and me.\u00a0 His mouth hangs open, miraculously silent.<\/p>\n<p>Got him.<\/p>\n<p>Della\u2019s the first to speak.\u00a0 \u201cWere you\u2026in prison, Hank?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cFor a time,\u201d he says quietly.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI\u2019m sorry, Hank,\u201d I say.\u00a0 \u201cIt just slipped out.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh that\u2019s quite all right,\u201d he says, and he actually smiles.\u00a0 \u201cI\u2019m sure it\u2019s for the best.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Six months later I run into Hank on the street.\u00a0 It\u2019s summer, but he\u2019s wearing a long black topcoat.\u00a0 Odd man.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSo,\u201d I say.\u00a0 \u201cHow\u2019s Della?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cMarvelous,\u201d he says.\u00a0 \u201cHer hair\u2019s growing back.\u00a0 Amazing the speed at which those chestnut follicles regenerate.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>He\u2019d known it all along: the only thing that could excite Della more than a poor man was a poor man who\u2019d been in prison.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cSeeing anyone yourself?\u201d he says.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cJust a girl from work,\u201d I say.\u00a0 This is Charlene I\u2019m talking about.\u00a0 She\u2019s very nice.\u00a0 Decent hair, nothing to write home about.\u00a0 Which, in my case, is probably for the best.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWell,\u201d I tell him, and begin to turn away.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cWait,\u201d says Hank.\u00a0 He digs in the pocket of his topcoat.\u00a0 \u201cI published a story last month, and it\u2019s given me cause to carry something for you on my person.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cOh, Hank.\u00a0 No offense, but you took my wife.\u00a0 I don\u2019t want to read one of your stories.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>\u201cNot that,\u201d he says, and he hands me a pocket watch.<\/p>\n<p>It could be my uncle\u2019s gold watch, except it\u2019s, well, silver.\u00a0 And with Roman numerals.\u00a0 And a missing fob.\u00a0 And a naked lady etched on the inside of the cover.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDella described it perfectly,\u201d says Hank.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cGosh, how did she even know where to find it?\u201d I say.\u00a0 I\u2019d sold mine to a guy in Washington Square Park.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cDella knew the establishment where this treasure was enshrined amid other priceless yet undervalued objects.\u00a0 The story I wrote was inspired, shall we say, by certain events.\u00a0 The pay was pitiful, but still enough to snatch this artifact from the beak of the hock-bird.\u201d\u00a0 He blinks, obviously waiting for me to acknowledge the awful play on hawk-hock.\u00a0 I give him nothing.\u00a0 Finally, he says, \u201cAnyway.\u00a0 Now your watch and chain may finally be joined in union.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Looking at the watch, I begin to laugh.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cYou must tell me the source of your bewildering amusement,\u201d Hank says, attempting to jump-start his own laughter.<\/p>\n<p>But I can\u2019t stop.\u00a0 We\u2019re beside a building, and I slump against it, shaking.\u00a0 He stands, shifting from foot to foot, mustache twitching in annoyance.\u00a0 There\u2019s so much I want to tell him.\u00a0 I want to tell him Della\u2019s not interested in any situation that doesn\u2019t make her feel either desperately wanted or just plain desperate, and that there\u2019s no formula for figuring out which it is at any given moment.\u00a0 I want to tell him 60 percent of what he says makes no sense, and the other 40 is just boring.\u00a0 I want to tell him to make sure Della never meets a poor ex-con in a wheelchair, because that\u2019ll be the end of Hank.<\/p>\n<p>I want to tell him the chain Della traded her hair for is now the property of my divorce lawyer.<\/p>\n<p>Instead, I curl my fingers around the watch and I use it to break Hank\u2019s jaw.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>(2004)<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<div id=\"tweetbutton411\" class=\"tw_button\" style=\"\"><a href=\"http:\/\/twitter.com\/share?url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mattdebenham.com%2Fblog%2Fscrew-job-of-the-magi%2F&amp;text=Screw-job%20of%20the%20Magi&amp;related=&amp;lang=en&amp;count=horizontal&amp;counturl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.mattdebenham.com%2Fblog%2Fscrew-job-of-the-magi%2F\" class=\"twitter-share-button\"  style=\"width:55px;height:22px;background:transparent url('https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-content\/plugins\/wp-tweet-button\/tweetn.png') no-repeat  0 0;text-align:left;text-indent:-9999px;display:block;\">Tweet<\/a><\/div><p>A Christmas story from long before the book. Never before seen!<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-411","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-writing"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/411","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=411"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/411\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1090,"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/411\/revisions\/1090"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=411"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=411"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mattdebenham.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=411"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}