It was mid-December. There was a light covering of snow on the ground - just enough to require Philadelphia’s soot and grime to color it black. The skies were gray, too. Nevertheless, it was the season to be jolly. Soon Smythe, Hauser, Engels and Tauchen would announce the firm’s office Christmas party and gifts would be exchanged. Soon, the regular end-of-year bonuses would be distributed. In spite of the gloom of the weather, the spirit of the holiday was making its presence known. Secretaries began covering their desks with festive decoration and I found myself developing the “ho-ho-ho” attitude toward everything.
I was full of cheer and good spirits and I thought about Major Nathaniel Peabody. Though his Spendthrift Trust remittance wasn’t due for delivery until January 1 – another 19 days – I presumed he would, nevertheless, be caught up in the pleasantries attending the Christmas and New Year holidays. Then I remembered Peabody’s nearest relatives were separated from him both by geography and by temperament. It occurred to me the Major would spend the holidays alone in this apartment. It would not be a joyous occasion for him. On the contrary, it would be a lonely time.
I could understand why the Major might not greet the season with unbridled joy. I was happy, but he, in all probability, was sad. Somehow, I felt guilty. To erase that feeling, I decided to give him a special present. I visited a tobacconist and made a substantial investment in a box of H. Upmann six ring cigars. The next stop was the Major’s apartment. I knocked at his door.
At first there was no response. After the third try, the door opened and, without as word of greeting, Peabody let me in. “Good afternoon, Major,” I said. I smiled, in accordance with the custom dictated by the holiday spirit. “You’re looking well.” Peabody remained silent. “A very happy Yule time tiding to you, Major,” I said and reached out to hand him the present.
Peabody really didn’t look well. His eyes had lost their sparkle. His expression seemed fixed and empty. Without comment of any sort, he stared at me for a few seconds and then took the gaily wrapped box of cigars from my hand. He placed it, unopened, on the table beside the winged back chair next to his fireplace. As I suspected, the Christmas season had not been a happy time for him. Clearly, he needed cheering up.
“You look just a bit depressed,” I said to him. “And at this time of year, too. It’s unforgivable, Major. Just look around you. People are shopping and full of the Christmas spirit. Children have their noses pressed against the toy store windows, wondering what old Santa will bring them. Ha, ha, ha.”
Then Peabody spoke for the first time. It was a quotation from Richard III. “How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world,” he said. “Fie on’t. Oh, fie. ‘Tis an unweeded garden that grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature possess it merely.”
That Shakespearean quote convinced me Peabody’s depression was a bit deeper than I had suspected. He must have been sitting there for some time. The ice in his drink had melted and the liquid at the bottom of his glass was uncharacteristically colorless. He made no attempt to rattle the non-existent ice cubes – the usual method he had adopted to receive a re-fill. He simple handed me the glass, saying: “Have one yourself.”
I did. I put a little extra Scotch in the one I brought to him. I thought it would be easy to bring some joy into his life, so I brightly suggested: “If your busy social calendar happens to be open, why don’t we visit Bookbinders tonight and see if their rack of lamb is as good as advertised?”
Peabody wasn’t tempted. “No,” he answered. “I just don’t feel up to it.”
Now, I was really worried. I was sure the Major knew my present was a box of cigars by the weight and size of the package, but he didn’t bother to open it. The unattended single malt Scotch and water was an additional signal of his distress. His refusal to enjoy one of his favorite meals at one of his favorite restaurants was further proof of depression. He had to be pulled out of his funk. I decided on the direct approach.
“Come on, Major,” I said to him. “I know Christmas can be a sad time – especially if you’re alone. It’s tough when you are all by yourself and surrounded by the signs of the holidays, by televised Christmassy programs, by the carols, by the store windows, by the smiles and the greetings of friends and strangers. It’s only natural for a wistful yearning for something lost or unrecoverable to enter your thoughts. Nostalgia can be sweet or bittersweet or sad. It all depends on what you make of it. Like the song says: You got to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative, latch on to the affirmative and don’t mess with Mr. In-Between.”
“You’re probably right,” Peabody answered quietly, “but it’s easier to give advice than it is to take it. You’ve got the lovely Stephanie and your office associates. You’ve lived here all your life and have your circle of friends. All of you have families for Christmas dinners and gatherings around the Christmas tree.” Peabody produced a small derisive ‘humpf’ sound. “All I’ve got are relatives in Virginia who don’t approve of me. Would you suggest I visit them?” he questioned in a somewhat laconic manner.
“I don’t know what to suggest,” I answered. “I do know this is not a time for you to sit in your apartment thinking lonely thoughts. It’s a time when you should be with friends. Surely you have some friends.”
* * * * *
Doc Carmichael got out of the pit and stretched. He had a good day and he was happy. Speckled Belly and Blue geese were in abundance. Canadas and Snows completed the birds that joined with the millions of other waterfowl at their winter staging area in Mexico’s northeastern Gulf coast. The guide picked up the fallen geese and they headed toward the vehicle that would carry them back to the lodge.
They detoured past another blind and the guide added more geese to his burden as Major Peabody got out of his pit. “You must be getting old, Doc,” the Major said to him. “I saw you miss a couple of easy shots.”
“I don’t recall missing any easy shots,” was Carmichael’s response. “I don’t even remember missing some very difficult shots. I do, however, vividly recall a Speckled Belly that tried to land inside your pit. If he hadn’t flared at the last moment, I believe he would have knocked your hat off.”
“I remember that one, too, Doc. I was distracted. I was chuckling over how easy it was to con my attorney into delivering my January Trust remittance over two weeks early – just in time to be able to join you on this hunt. I knew I had him when he said: ‘It’s a time when you should be with friends.’
“Tomorrow, let’s go for ducks on one of those fresh water lakes.”