Nine Lives To Die

Marked for thousands of years by festivals, the longest night of the year retains its primitive power. All animals see the dying of the light, but only the human animal creates festivals of light to fight it off.

Wrapping gifts, Harry and Fair sat at the wiped-off kitchen table among wrapping paper, ribbons, and two pairs of scissors.

The horses were cared for. Everyone was in for the night, with fresh water, even treats put up in the loft for Simon, and Harry and Fair could concentrate on Christmas duties. They started snipping paper, curling ribbon, hand-making big bows.

“Your mother was good at this.” Fair studied an antique level. He thought Blair, a young friend, would like the tool.

Married to Little Mim, Blair had become a new father, and everyone swamped them with baby gifts. Fair figured he’d find something just for Blair.

“Honey, the edges of that level are a little sharp. You need a heavier paper.”

“Oh.” Fair pointed to a thick paper dyed red. “That.”

Harry picked it up. “Yeah, just be careful at the corners.”

“Isn’t this women’s work?” he teased.

“Not this woman’s.” She took one arm of a scissors, ran it along ribbon off the big roll.

The gray cat ran with it, unspooling the ribbon.

“Hey! Hey!” Harry ran after the cat, who, naturally, dropped the ribbon and kept running.

“She’s mental.” Tucker believed this and pronounced judgment far too often.

“I remember Harry once saying that the mentally ill get worse at Christmas. More people get depressed. Lots of stress. More drinking.” Mrs. Murphy, tempted by the ribbons and papers, resisted for now.

“That doesn’t sound like much of a holiday,” said Tucker. The sweet-natured dog gnawed on her play bone.

“Saturday. Remember when we lived for Saturdays?” Harry stood up to get a better angle on tying a ribbon.

“Usually I was recovering from getting knocked around on the football field.”

“You did okay.” She handed him green ribbon. “Goes better with that paper.”

“Oh.” He took the ribbon, changed the subject. “Sometimes I think about the days being named for the gods, mostly Norse gods. Of course, Saturday is named for Saturn, and he’s an odd fellow, whether he’s Saturn or uses the Greek name, Chronos. I wonder why he was honored and not, say, Poseidon or Neptune? Then I think about Jupiter or Zeus. It gets a little confusing.”

“Yeah, we got Thor and Wōden’s day.” She twirled a big bow she’d made with a flourish. “Saturn is an odd choice, but it’s a reminder. He brings harsh lessons, which I suppose we must learn.”

“M-m-m. I loved it when we read the myths. Wasn’t so happy when we had to read twentieth-century poetry.”

“Fair, we read about four poems.”

“And I didn’t like a one.” He smiled.

Harry rose again, walked to the kitchen window over the sink. “Boy, it’s dark. No wonder there was Saturnalia, then Christmas, then Yule Girth—all those festivals from pre-Christian times to now. Can’t really wipe them out so we co-opt them.”

“And a lot else.” He finished wrapping Blair’s gift. “What do you think?”

“He’ll pick it up and wonder what it is, especially when he tips it and feels the level marker, that little roll of liquid.”

“Think he’ll like it?”

“Of course he’ll like it, it isn’t a pair of booties. People go overboard. The baby is too little to know about Christmas. Give to the parents. Actually, the best thing you can give them is a good night’s sleep.”

In the distance, they heard Odin call a long, high-pitched howl.

Harry heard an answer from another coyote. “How many of them do you think are out there?”

“If you see one, you know there’s a family somewhere. They’re established here now. We will never get rid of them.” Fair picked up a GPS system for Reverend Jones to put in his truck.

“Fair, the new truck the church bought him has a screen in the dash.”

“I know, but he can use this when he’s out fishing.” Fair grabbed shiny bright green metallic paper. “Honey, you were the one who suggested this, since he wanders about so when he goes fishing.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess I did. I don’t know, Fair. All this stuff that’s happened. I’m forgetful. Preoccupied. I forgot to tell you that Rick, Cooper, and others from the department are going to try to get up the mountain Monday and look at our skeleton. Everyone needed this last weekend for shopping.” She peered up at the sky, then over at the Chinaman’s hat light at the edge of the barn roof. Below, the hayloft doors were shut tight, as were all the barn doors. “It’s snowing again. This wasn’t on The Weather Channel.”

Fair got up, stood beside her. “Who can predict weather on mountainsides or on the top of mountains?”

“I predict we’ll get socked.”

Pewter sauntered back in the kitchen, leapt onto the table. Mrs. Murphy joined her. Tucker prudently took to her bed. You could never trust those cats around paper or ribbons. Tucker had seen them steal and shred stamps. They were obsessed with paper.

As the cats selected what they wanted to play with, the humans stared at the snow, which shimmered in the halo of the Chinaman’s hat light. It wasn’t heavy, but small flakes were coming down.

Odin howled again.

All the animals looked at one another. The cats leapt over to the kitchen counter. They, too, peered out the window.

Odin howled. “Danger!”