Skinny Legs & All by Tom Robbins

Author:Tom Robbins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: For the Benefit of Mr. Kite
Published: 1989-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

The Sixth Veil

The cold spell snapped in mid-December. Christmas shoppers went about in their shirt-sleeves. Poinsettias could have grown along Fifth Avenue, the days were so balmy and grand. The waxing moon was a winter moon, typically high and pasty, but the nights in which it swelled were as mild as baby oil. By Christmas Eve, the moon was full. It rolled in the sky like a spook wheel, a hoop of grainy ghost cheese. Despite the fact that it was the brighter of the two, the Christmas star kept its distance from that moon.

Midnight mass at St. Patrick’s drew a capacity crowd. The archbishop spoke in a long-dead language about a long-dead carpenter. Nevertheless, an air of solemn gaiety prevailed. Down in the sub-basement, the choir barely audible to them, the inanimates lounged in the moonlight that streamed through the grate.

‘It’s a crying shame little Spoonzie ain’t here,’ said Dirty Sock. ‘She’d enjoy the puddin’ outta these carols and hymns.’

‘Indeed, she would,’ Can o’ Beans agreed. ‘Indeed, she would. Personally, I prefer carols to rap tunes, but not by a wide margin. The carol radiates hope, the rap radiates aggression, but both are rooted in humanity’s overwhelming feeling of helplessness.’

‘Stow it, perfesser. Give us a friggin’ break. It’s Christmas Eve!’

‘And what might that occasion have to do with you, my polyester pal?’

In an attempt to head off a tiff, Conch Shell treated the can and the sock to a description of the winter festivals that had been held at that time of year on Jerusalem’s Temple Mount. Evidently, the service under way upstairs was rather pale in comparison, although even Painted Stick, taking time out from his contemplation of that point where the beam of the moon intersected light from the star, had to admit that the pipe organ provided musical possibilities unimagined by drum or tambourine.

‘Music has changed,’ said Painted Stick. ‘But the star in the East is the same.’

Outside, in the newspaper delivery trucks that were making their early rounds, the headlines read: ‘Troops Ring Bethlehem as Tense Pilgrims Flock.’

And in the men’s toilet at Isaac & Ishmael’s restaurant, over on United Nations Plaza, Verlin Charles stared through a tiny window at the Christmas star as he stood with his hand on his fly.

Verlin and Patsy had expected Ellen Cherry home for Thanksgiving, but she stood them up. At the last minute, she realized that she couldn’t face the prospect of looking down the long oak table at a roast turkey, what with Boomer not yet back from Jerusalem. Her parents were disappointed but accepted her promise to spend Christmas in Colonial Pines. When Boomer’s return was further delayed, she had backed out on Christmas as well.

‘Fine and dandy,’ said Patsy. ‘If she won’t come to us, we’ll go to her.’

‘Hold your horses, woman,’ said Verlin. ‘Are you talkin’ New York City? Christmas? Us?’

‘All of the above. It’ll be family. And it’ll be romantic.’

‘It’ll be a blessed nightmare. Of all the places to have Christmas…’

‘Bud’ll be there.’

‘I don’t care.

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