A Christmas Meal of Snow

Merope sank against the dirty wall, exhausted. Her round belly protruded out so far that she had a difficult time actually sinking against a wall, but she had long since given up comfort. Besides, she no longer cared. It was freezing cold out, and snow fell heavily around her. Trying to sit down was the least of her worries.

At the moment, her problem was the lack of food. Ever since she had taken to the streets, sources of food had become scarcer. Merope was no stranger to hunger and going without, but her last meal had been a week ago. Or had it been longer? Shorter? It was hard to tell when she couldn't even distinguish night from day.

She glanced around the alley, briefly wondering if she could call this her new home. After all, she needed someplace to rest and give birth. The baby was due any day, and if she kept bouncing around, she could find herself in the middle of the road with a newborn. True, it would be more ideal to find real shelter, or a house, or just a room, but Merope had given up on ideal when Tom left.

Here she was, thinking about him again. However, those thoughts no longer brought pain - and if they did, she couldn't tell. If anything, remembering him only reminded her of how destitute she was, how low she had sunk. It reminded her of days spent with food.

Food. There had to be a few crumbs somewhere. If she didn't eat, she'd surely faint and never wake again. And even if she didn't care much for her own life, she could never do that to her baby. She refused to harm her baby in any way. It wasn't going to grow up as she had, she knew that for sure. This baby was destined for greater places. If only she could find food!

Desperately, her skeletal fingers clawed through the garbage and snow surrounding her. Anything would do. Anything. But all that littered the alley was trash, dirt, and snow. Apprehension and melancholy pressed down on her, and, out of habit, she began to gnaw her fingernails. They tasted grimy, and yet, there was a sweetness. Taken aback, Merope examined her hands and found she had been eating snow along with her nails. Snow. One could eat snow!

She scooped it up into her hands and began eating with wild abandon. A cold empty sensation filled her belly, but she pushed on, eating the airy ice.

"Is it good?" a raspy voice sounded from the corner of the alley.

Alarmed, Merope turned around, her mouth full of the dirty snow, and saw a ragged man crawling over to her. He was wearing a ratty red beanie and a moth eaten shirt, and he had a scraggly beard as untidy as his tangled hair.

"Is it good?" he repeated with a crooked smile, revealing chipped and uneven yellow teeth.

Merope hastily swallowed her mouthful as she backed up against the wall, trying hard to avert her eyes.

"Mind if me try it? There's a good gal," he said, and he scooped up some of the snow and began to eat it. After three bites, he sighed happily.

"Nothin' like a Christmas meal to lift the spirits, gal. I've been hankering for some fresh snow. Mighty grateful to ya."

Merope blinked in surprise. "Christmas?"

"Oh, yes'm. This here day be the day of the good Lord and all them presents. I wearin' me special cap just for the occasion."

The hunger pains started to stab her insides, and she guiltily looked down at the snow in her hands. Some Christmas meal. But did it really matter?

"Say, gal, I feel mighty obliged to ya, and I hopin' that maybe we could share this meal. It beats loneliness on the day when families meant to be together." He chuckled good-naturedly, and he stuffed his pudgy hands into the snow.

At that moment, the baby grew restless and kicked. A wave of nausea hit Merope, and she could feel the world reeling. Suppressing it, she fed herself some more of the snow, but she found she couldn't ignore the hunger gnawing at her insides, nor the unsettling nausea.

"Gal, ya okay? Ya look like ya gonna waste away."

She just nodded her head and moved a little further away from the man, allowing her dank hair to fall in front of her face. Fervently, she hoped the man would go away and leave her alone.

"Ya could use a warm fire and some bread, gal. Ya skin is lookin' to be as ice." He shifted over to her, still smiling crookedly.

She didn't respond. However, her stomach growled, and heavy cramps attacked her. Eating the snow had only reminded her body that it hadn't eaten for days, and it was begging for food with more sustenance.

“Lady, I betcha I could find ya a nicer meal than snow on the ground. Ya just have to know where to look,� he said to her, his eyes twinkling.

Merope’s brow furrowed in confusion, and this time she allowed herself to speak up. “Why are you eating the snow, then?� It wasn’t an accusation, just softly spoken.

“Ah, the snow. It’s me way of connectin’ with nature, and ya were eatin’ it, as well. I like to join me fellows in their meals.�

She wasn’t sure what to think of that, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted help from this man. “I’m fine,� she lied to him, though the noises her stomach was making betrayed her.

The man sighed. “Well, then, I be off to find another fellow to share Christmas with.�

He spryly walked off around the corner, leaving Merope to shift uncomfortably. The cold, wet snow was seeping through her clothes, and the sickness she felt was worsening. She looked back down at the snow in her hands, dirty and slightly discolored from being in the alleyway. The thought of eating any more of it was repugnant, and she was sure that another bite would cause her to vomit.

But what else was there to eat? Especially on Christmas day? A heavy sigh escaped her. What was so special about Christmas anyway? It wasn’t like she had ever truly celebrated it. Her father had always spent the holiday seasons drunk, and her brother spent all of his time with the snakes. She didn’t even remember her mother. Sometimes, she liked to believe that before her mother had gone away, life had been different, more cheerful, and maybe then, they had celebrated Christmas. But that was a long time ago.

Would her baby know its mother? She didn’t really mind dying, but when she thought of how her life had been without a mother, she worried about her own precious baby. And yet, every day it seemed more likely that she would not survive through the winter. She didn’t even know if she would make it through to the new year. There were nights when she couldn’t fall asleep, for fear that she would pass away and therefore ruin the baby’s chances. Even now, with the snow digesting inside her, Merope had no certainty that she would live to see nightfall.

Her eyes searched the snow once again for even a crumb of food, but to no avail. Without even thinking, she stuffed her hands into the snow and began to devour it again, not even noticing the bits of paper and flecks of mud she was consuming as well. And as she had suspected, her stomach rebelled. With a sickening heave, the Christmas meal of snow lay in puddles around her. The smell of the stomach acid caused her gag, and before she could move away from it, she vomited again. Something curdled within her, and very slowly, she crawled away from the mess. She only got a couple of feet before another wave of nausea swept her, causing her to dry heave.

The baby kicked and squirmed, only adding to the intense pain in her abdomen. Weak and sick, Merope collapsed to the ground. In that instant, she wondered if one could actually give up the ghost on command.

After a couple minutes, the pain started to subside, and she felt ravenous. But how could she bring herself to eat the snow again?

“Gal, ya okay?�

It was the man again! She hadn’t even noticed that he had crawled to her side. He didn’t smell very good, and Merope could feel another gag coming on.

“Gal, ya care for some bread?� he asked nicely. He held up his hands, and Merope saw, with disbelief, half a loaf of bread.

“It’s kinda dry, on account of bein’ old, but it’s still good. Got it from behind the baker’s shop.�

Shakily, Merope reached out to the meal, but she stopped herself. “Why?� she asked.

“Why what?�

“Why are you doing this?�

“It’s Christmas, gal! I have the spirit of it within me heart. Besides, ya look like Death hisself, and I figured this would put color back into ya cheeks.� The man smiled, and he broke off a piece of the bread. “Here ya are, gal.�

Merope accepted the food, but she couldn’t bring herself to eat it. The taste of bile still lingered in her throat.

“Eat it, gal. Ya will feel mighty better, trust me.�

Hesitantly, Merope placed some of the bread into her mouth. He was right - it was dry. But she didn’t care. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She greedily ate up the rest of food he had given her, and found that the worst of her hunger had subsided. But it still wasn’t enough.

The man chuckled at her actions, and he handed her some more bread. “Ya need it more than I do,� he explained, and Merope almost cried at his gesture. How could this man be so nice?

She gobbled down the morsel, and found that she was beginning to feel more alive. She could swear that color was flooding her cheeks, but perhaps it was from the embarrassment she felt at being given charity by a ragged stranger.

He gave her all of the bread he had brought, and for the first time since she had taken to the streets, Merope felt full. The man winked at her as she finished up the last bite, and then he left without another word.

Later, as Merope relaxed against the grimy wall, she wondered if it hadn’t all been a dream. But there were still the remains of her stomach contents a few feet away, and something else caught her eye. It was the ratty red beanie. She leaned over to pick it up, and found to her surprise that it felt warm and comfortable at the touch. What had he called it? His special cap?

She pulled it onto her own head and immediately noticed that she felt even better. With the ache of tears in her eyes, she wondered why everybody else could not be like that man.

---

The man shuffled up to the door, stomping the snow off his shoes. He rubbed his hands together before opening the door and walking inside.

“Mathilda, I’m home!� he cried out, his voice no longer accented as it had been before. A woman came rushing out at his words.

“Peter, what have you been doing? You look to be cold as ice.� She hurriedly pulled off of him the moth-eaten shirt and gave him a warm towel. “Don’t tell me you were out in the alleys again, Peter. Those bums are dangerous to be around.�

Peter chuckled. “Mathilda, they aren’t dangerous. I wish you’d let me bring them into our home, especially on Christmas.�

Mathilda sniffed at the air. “Beggars and thieves, that’s what they are. It’ll be a cold day in hell before they step one foot in this house.�

With a sigh, Peter said, “At least I was able to help them a little. You know, the world would be a better place if everyone pitched in to help the poor and sick.�

Shaking her head and pursing her lips, Mathilda replied, “Peter, there’s no help for it. That’s how the world is, and it will always be that way.�

With those words, she left the room, but Peter walked over to one of the windows. “I wish it weren’t,� he whispered softly. And he bowed his head in shame, thinking of a Christmas meal made of snow.