The Man, who had nothing and belonged nowhere, sat motionless on the cemetery bench as flakes of snow drifted gently down. There was no wind. It was Christmas Eve and he was alone, so there was no one to complain of his ragged presence. Few came here on this night. So he sat, undisturbed, and imagined himself frozen blue beneath a blanket of white, melting away to nothingness in the thaw, a few ravens hopping about and cawing as if alarmed at his vanishing. Of course that wouldn’t happen.
He never cried anymore, though he used to, over almost anything for a time there. But now hope was gone. Shame was gone. His dreams were gone. With those things, his tears had gone, as well. It didn’t matter. Nothing did.
It was nearing midnight. There was some small illumination from decorative lights and the streets outside the cemetery. The Man noticed, in his peripheral vision, motion among the gravestones. He didn’t turn to look. He wasn’t afraid or even curious. He was beyond caring. Something was headed toward him, though, difficult to discern amid the falling snow and darkness, and it brought with it a glow.
The something that approached was not human. It appeared to consist of gossamer and soft, shifting, pastel light. Fairy, genie, angel or spirit of empathy and goodwill, it had often been mistaken for those things, but there was no name for what it was. It was a benign Being of some sort, let it go at that. It halted before the Man.
“Greetings,” it said.
The Man looked up at the Being confusedly, as if awakened from a doze.
“Oh, hello,” said the Man. “I’m sorry, most — people — don’t speak to my sort. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Why are you not at home or with friends on this holy night?” the Being asked.
“I have none, of either.”
The snow began to fall more heavily, creating little piles on the Man’s shoulders and lap and uncovered head. He made no move to brush it away. The flakes didn’t appear to touch the Being at all.
“Are you cold?" the Being asked. "I could provide you with warmer clothes. A coat, boots, a hat and gloves. It would be no problem.”
“I’m fine. I don’t mind the heat or cold much any more.”
“You must be hungry. How about a big Christmas dinner — turkey, dressing, all the extras?”
“I don’t have much of an appetite these days,” the Man said. "Such a meal would be wasted on me. Thanks anyway.”
“A bottle?”
“I don’t drink.”
“How about a companion? A cheerful, loyal dog, perhaps, to keep you company?”
“Better not. When I go, the poor animal would be left alone with no one to care for it.”
“Money?”
“What would I buy? I sold all my possessions long ago, and the money didn’t last long. I always needed more.”
“There must be something,” the Being insisted. “I have powers beyond those of men; you’d be surprised at what I can conjure. Is there nothing I can do for you or give you that will make you happy, perhaps change things for the better? It’s what I do, you see. I try to bring comfort and cheer.”
“Maybe, once. Maybe yesterday, or years ago. A person changes, he reaches a point of no return. I don’t really know when the change occurred. This is hardly the first Christmas Eve I’ve sat alone in the snow, though. I believe you want to help, but it’s been too long for me. I think I’m beyond even your powers to aid now. It’s peaceful here. I believe I’ll just sit for a while longer.”
The Being was saddened by this, its inner light dimming briefly,, but it accepted the Man’s words, understanding at last. “I see. I wish I had come before, when I could have done something. I am very sorry.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” said the Man.
“I’ll stay with you a while,” said the Being.
“Thank you.”
They waited silently. Some young people walked along a bordering street singing “Kumbaya” as a distant church bell struck midnight. The Being watched a small cascade of snow tumble to the bench as the Man vanished.
“I will return here to see you next year,” said the Being, and went off to offer what joy and succor he could to others. Before it was too late.
