Snow Princess:
A Gnostic Christmas Story, of sorts
Bill DeArmond
“Well, I’ll be damned!”
Harrison Banks slammed the cupboard door so hard it popped back and smacked him in the face.
“Sorry-ass night to be out of tomato sauce when you’re making spaghetti.”
He stopped in the middle of fastening his overshoes, the kind with metal hooks that you can never quite get closed.
“I’ve got some V-8 Juice. I could use that,” he thought. “It would be loose but at least it would be red. But I’m out of spices as well.”
The frigid Colorado wind sucked the breath right out of his lungs as he locked the apartment door.
“Damn hawk!”
It had been one of those winters that started early and stayed late and had already worn out its welcome, and it was only December. The thin layer of hardened snow crunched under his boots. He shuffled his feet along the sidewalk and, for an instant, he was a child again playing snowplow.
He passed windows brightly adorned with holiday lights and occasionally caught a glimpse of decorations and festive gatherings through softly frosted windowpanes.
He was destined for a 24-hour-we-never-close-not-even-on-Christmas-Eve convenience store on Platte Avenue. It was nearly a mile away, a long distance under these conditions, but the only thing open this night. Passing a church, he heard faint sounds of a familiar hymn, but the tune that kept intruding upon his reverie went something like: “Oh, thank heaven for 7-11.”
He cut through Monument Park, so named for its memorial erected to the local war dead. Although he had to break new ground through the freshly fallen snow, the detour would save him nearly two blocks. He began to pick up his pace and stomp his feet with each step, for the cold had begun to filter through his boots and shoes.
Harrison paused near the memorial in the center of the park, a miniature replica of the Washington Monument. Remembering the incident later, he couldn’t recall exactly what it was that made him slow his pace. Perhaps it was a sound. The wind was howling through the trees, spraying tiny ice crystals into his eyes, but under the din he thought he heard the muffled sound of someone crying.
Through the haze, at first he wasn’t sure what the apparition was that suddenly appeared before him. The girl was sitting on a wrought-iron bench covered with snow in a far corner of the dimly lit plaza. Though she had her back to him, Harrison could see that she was only wearing a thin wool jacket.
“Miss?”
When she made no response, he ventured closer. In the faint light she appeared young, too young to be out alone on a night like this dressed the way she was.
“Uh...excuse me, Miss.”
Her face, though slightly red, was familiar and rather...attractive.
“You talkin’ to me?” said the girl in her best Robert DeNiro imitation.
“Well...yes.”
“So? Whadaya want?”
“I heard you crying and I...”
“Who says I was cryin’?”
“That’s what I thought you were...I mean, it sounded like...and you’re dressed...”
“Well, you’re wrong, Jack. So why don’t you just piss off?”
The vehemence of her words struck Harrison with a force greater than the gale screaming down off of Cheyenne Mountain. It reminded him of the voice in the movie he once saw...the Exorcist. And while he immediately knew better, he turned back to her once again.
“Aren’t you cold?”
“Huh?”
“You don’t have on a very heavy coat or any gloves so I thought...”
She got up and walked to the monument. Leaning against it with her arms crossed, he could see that she must have been there for quite a while. He really thought he should leave, but couldn’t.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be...I just thought you looked distressed or something.”
“I wasn’t until you came along.”
“Are you waiting for someone?”
“Jesus Christ...Are you trying to pick me up?”
“No...really...”
“Then who in hell cares?”
“You just looked like you were in some kind of trouble.”
“I’ll tell you who’s gonna be in trouble. If you don’t leave in two seconds, I’m gonna start screamin’ and you’ll find you ass in...”
“OK...OK...I’m sorry...really I am.”
“So, be sorry somewhere else.”
The incident disturbed him as much as anything had for a long time. Walking away, he glanced back over his shoulder and thought: “Was I wrong to have stopped? To be the Good Samaritan?”
A welcome blast of life-giving warmth greeted Harrison as he pulled open the store’s glass door after two unsuccessful pushes. Suddenly he was gripped by a brief panic. The Weird Encounter of the X-mas Kind with the girl in the park had made him forget the object of his solitary journey.
His eyes rose to meet those of a skinny kid of dubious age who was suffering a case of the creeping uglies. Proudly displayed on his chest was a badge bearing his name and identifying him as the store’s assistant manager, only it was spelled: FRANKIE SENCE, ASS. MAN.
“Appropriate,” Banks chuckled to himself.
Harrison began walking around the store hoping he might remember what he came for if he saw it. “Spices and something else.” Signs everywhere proclaimed: SHOPLIFTERS WILL BE PERSECUTED TO THE FULL EXTENT OF THE LAW. Harrison thought there was something odd about that, but couldn’t put his finger on it. Twice he looked up into a large convex mirror to see Elephant Boy’s eyes watching his every move sure that Harrison Banks was the most dangerous criminal to hit these parts since Peter Pontius took out his perverse revenge on the local pawn shops and liquor stores over a decade ago.
“Do you have any tomato sauce?” He inquired across the empty store, startling the boy so much that he dropped his copy of Bigguns.
“Do you see any tomato sauce there?” Harrison was startled by how much the boy’s voice sounded like fingernails screeching on a chalkboard.
“No, that’s why I asked.”
“Then we ain’t got any.”
Banks decided on puree over paste in lieu of sauce, and carried the can to the counter.
“Is this all?” asked the boy in a tone that was both inquiring and derisive.
“Yes, that’s all I need.”
“That’ll be ninety-eight cents.”
Harrison handed him one of the new gold dollars and told him to keep the change. Frankie looked at the coin as if it were a slug as Harrison pulled twice on a door that said “Push.”
Pausing in his embarrassment, he turned back to the clerk and said: “Merry Christmas.”
“Yeah,” said the boy, whose case of the uglies had suddenly become terminal. Banks expected him to add “Bah, Humbug!” as he set out once again into the frozen night.
She was still there, tempting him.
Harrison walked past her...stopped for a full minute...and then turned around.
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Twenty-three.”
“You look twelve. If I can’t get a straight answer out of you, I’m going to have to call the authorities.”
“What’s it to you, man? What are you stickin’ your nose in where it don’t belong?”
“Outside of the fact that what you just said doesn’t make any sense, I’m concerned about you. Confess what’s wrong.”
“Nothin’s wrong.”
“You look like you’ve been cast out of somewhere.”
“No...not exactly.”
“Well, you can’t stay here. Why don’t you let me escort you home?”
“Why would you do that?”
“It would make me feel better. Where do you live?”
“No, I can’t go home until...Anyway, nobody there...no room in the inn...so to speak.”
“Well, you can’t stay here. Look, I only live a few blocks from here...”
“So! You are tryin’ to pick me up.”
“No, it’s nothing like that. I was fixing supper but I ran out of some things and I had to go to the store. I was going to invite you...but if you’re not interested...”
“Whataya fixin’?”
“Spaghetti.”
“Oh, yeah. I ain’t never had no guy fix a dinner for me before.”
“Well, it’s for me, too, but here’s your chance. What do you say?”
“You don’t use whole tomatoes do you?”
“No.”
“I can’t stand all the skin and seeds and crap...makes me barf.”
“No, I only use...”
“I think my mom uses real tomatoes just to see me puke.”
“I always use tomato sauce but tonight all I could find was puree. How about it?”
“Why not? What have I got to lose? Right?”
“Right. Here let me give you my coat.”
“Forget it, Jack. The way you’re bundled up, you’d probably freeze your weenie.”
“At least it’s not too far from here.”
“You better not try to pull somethin’ on me...”
“Scout’s honor.”
“Unless I want you to.”
“Hey, Jack, what’s your name, anyway?”
“It’s Harrison Banks.”
“What kind of dumbass name is that? Harrison Banks? God, is that ever stupid. I’m just going to call you Jack...just Jack.”
“Why?”
“’Cause you look like a Jack.”
“What’s your name?”
“Ally...Ally McBeal.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“Man, what planet are you from? Don’t you know the TV show?”
“I don’t watch much television. I read.”
“Christ, what century are you from?”
He opened his apartment door and ushered the girl in. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he began to unfasten his boots.
“Whatcha doin’ there, Jack?”
“I’m taking off my rubbers. I don’t want to track snow all over the place.”
“Taking off your what?”
“My rubbers.”
“Jesus.”
“The secret to making spaghetti is in the sauce. Actually, it’s not even spaghetti. I prefer angel hair. I don’t use onions myself. I don’t like them much.”
“Me neither. How about mushrooms?”
“What?”
“You eat mushrooms?”
“No, but I usually include a can of chili beans to give the sauce body. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Well, this is an awfully small room.”
“What are you running away from, Ally?”
“My name’s not Ally and I’m not running away from anything.”
“Then what is your name?”
“Robin Quivers.”
“Oh.”
“Hey, Jack. Can I turn on the TV?”
“Sure, and I wish you wouldn’t keep calling me Jack.”
“You don’t expect me to call you Har-ri-son, do you?”
“I hope this sauce turns out alright. I’ve never used puree before.”
“Don’t sweat it. You live here alone?”
“Yes...alone.”
“Christ-on-a-crutch!”
“What’s the matter?”
“There’s nothin’ but church junk on every channel.”
“After all, it is Christmas Eve, you know.”
“Yeah...so it is.”
“How’s come?”
“How’s come, what?”
“How’s come you live here alone? Why ain’t ya got a girlfriend or something? You’re not gay are you?”
“You don’t think...”
“It don’t matter none to me. Hey, we’re all God’s chillin’, right?”
“There was a girl once but...I’m just not very lucky when it comes to female friends, OK?”
“Don’t you have some stupid dog or somethin’?”
“Can we just drop this?”
“Really, haven’t you ever had a pet?”
“There was a cat I found once. Actually the thing found me. I’d left the bathroom window open one night and it woke me up. After that I left the window open all the time so it could come and go.”
“What was its name?”
“I called it Boo-Boo.”
“Like Yogi and Boo-Boo?”
“Yeah.”
“Does it still hang around?”
“No.”
“What happened to it?”
“I don’t know. One day I came home from work and it was just gone. I kept the window open for several days, but it never came back.”
“That’s too bad. I had a dog once that pulled that same trick but we were glad it took off ‘cause it was always dumpin’ all over the place. You should have locked it in.”
“What?”
“The cat.”
“I couldn’t do that. I took pleasure in the fact that it chose to return each time of its own free will. I couldn’t deny that freedom.”
“You believe in free will, Jack?”
“Certainly, we are free within certain restraints to chose the direction our lives may take.”
“Believe me, Jack. I’ve tried free will and it ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. Give me good old Godly predestination any day so I can just go along for the ride.”
“And look where it’s gotten you tonight.”
“Maybe this was supposed to be. Not for me, but for you.”
“Well, the night’s still young and other cliches.”
“You know, Jack, Boo-Boo probably quit commin’ because you told it your name was Harrison.”
“Them was pretty good eats, Jack...for a guy, that is. My old man can’t cook...my old lady neither for that matter.”
“Is that why you were leaving?”
“Maybe I wasn’t leavin’...maybe I was sent.”
“How old are you, really?”
“Older than I look, Jack.”
“Do you have any family? Brothers and sisters?”
“I had a brother oncest...but he got runned over by a Mister Softee truck. My kid sister’s crazy and we keep her locked in a cellar ‘cause she thinks she’s Joan of Arc.”
“I don’t know when you’re serious and when you’re not.”
“That’s a bitch, ain’t it, Jack? I did have somebody oncest...a long time ago. We was married but nobody believed it.”
“What happened?”
“He died...”
“Hey, Jack! How’s come you’re spending Christmas Eve by yourself?”
“My parents both died before I was twenty. I’ve got a brother near Bethlehem, New York, but we’ve never been very close and he’s got his own family.”
“Don’t ya know anybody here?”
“Not really.”
“How long ya been here?”
“Almost four years.”
“Four years! You mean you’ve been here four years and don’t know nobody? Why don’tcha go to a bar or somethin’?”
“I don’t drink.”
“Then go to some singles dance.”
“I don’t dance, either.”
“Christ, Jack, you’re makin’ your salvation hard on a girl, here. Look, you’re not a bad lookin’ guy in a sort of Urkel kind a way. I know some girls I used ta hang with I can fix ya up.”
“It’s really not necessary to...”
“Only don’t tell them your name is Harrison. Make up somethin’ like Rocky or Fernando or Barney?”
“Barney Banks?”
“Yeah, that sucks, doesn’t it?”
“Is that what you do?”
“What?”
“Ally McBeal? Robin Quivers?”
“I’m called on to be a lot of things to a lot of people.”
“Come on, now, what’s your real name.”
“Cameron Diaz. What’s it matter?”
“Funny, you look like a Scout to me.”
“A what? Is that some kinda gay reference?”
Harrison went to the bookshelf and removed a paperback that was well worn with use.
“Here,” he said, handing it to the girl. “Merry Christmas.”
“What’s this?”
“A very special book, at least it is for me.”
“I don’t read much.”
“That’s pretty obvious. But I think you’ll find this one just right for you.”
“What’s it about?”
“It’s about a young girl growing up and facing life.”
“Oh, very subtle, Jack.”
“Well, Ally-Robin-Cameron, we never did talk about your problem, did we?”
“You know what, Jack? It never was about me. My troubles were resolved long, long ago.”
“So what’s with the Drama Queen routine? You want to talk about that?”
“Nope, but thanks for asking. What time is it?”
“Goodness, a little after eleven.”
“You know what I’d like to do?”
“What?”
“Allow you to escort me home.”
A light snow was falling as they emerged from the apartment, the woman dressed in one of Harrison’s old army jackets.
“Hey, Jack! You forgot your ‘rubbers’!”
“To Hell with them.”
They stopped at the edge of the park and an impromptu snowball fight erupted. An innocent police cruiser happened by, the only vehicle that would venture out on this night. Harrison “Dirty Harry” Banks lofted a perfect slushball that landed square in the middle of the back window. The two fugitives were off running into the dark regions of the park before the car could turn around.
They stopped at the monument where it all began just a few hours earlier.
“Well, Jack, this is as far as you go.”
“Why?”
“It’s not necessary that you know where I live. You’ll know where to look for me.”
She started to remove the jacket but he stopped her.
“Why don’t you keep it?”
“I’ll return it to you some day.”
“Promise?”
“Hope to die. Come spring...this April...leave your bathroom window open and I’ll really give you a surprise.”
“God forbid!”
“Things you love without regard for return always come back, Jack. Kindness is the purest gift.”
“Well...”
“And thanks for the book. I’ve got a present for you, too. The Gospel of Thomas 48, verses 20 to 25.”
“That’s a book in the Bible? I never heard of it.”
“You’re on the Internet, Jack. Be creative...look it up.”
“Sure...well...I guess I’d better be going.”
“What did I just tell you?”
“Thomas 48: 20 to 25. I’ll remember it.”
“Yeah...well...listen, Jack...you fix a mean spaghetti.”
“Thanks.”
He started to turn away.
“When you get home, be sure to put you shoes over the heater so they can dry out.”
“I’ll do that.”
“But don’t let them dry so much they crack.”
“No...I won’t.”
“Well...I’d better go. I’m getting cold.”
“Yeah...me too...well...goodbye.”
He started to leave but she stopped him.
“Harrison?”
“Yeah?”
She rushed up and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“You’re going to be all right now. You’ve seen what’s inside you and it will save you.”
“Sure...well...see you around kid.”
Take care of yourself...hear?”
“I will.”
He was halfway to the park gate when she called to him.
“And Harrison?”
“Yeah?” he tossed back over his shoulder.
“My name’s Mary...but my friends call me Maggie.”
He turned to say something but she was gone. He imagined this princess dancing through the snow.
Back home Harrison entered “Gospel of Thomas” on a search engine and got what he needed on the first site.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Harrison said, although he knew just the opposite was true.
He downloaded the entire text from the Nag Hammadi for future reference, highlighting Mary’s gift:
They said to him, “Tell us who you are so that we may believe in you.” He said to them, “You read the face of the sky and of the earth, but you have not recognized the one who is before you, and you do not read this moment.”
Harrison knew that tonight was no accident and a solitary tear of joy rolled down the cheek she had blessed.
In the distance he could hear the sound of church bells.
It was Christmas Day.
