THE STRONGMAN’S CHRISTMAS
Part One
“BRRRR! It’s cold.”
The broad-shouldered man slapped his gloved hands together as he stepped out of the theatre and into the cold.
A sharp gust of wind hit him full force, almost pushing him backward despite his size and weight.
He lowered his head and shoulders and pushed his way forward, fighting against the cold and the wind. His hotel was seven and a half city-blocks from the theatre. Even under his heavy German coat, he’d be half-frozen by the time he got there.
At least there would be a hot meal waiting for him when he reached the hotel.
He had gone about three blocks when another gust of wind tore his hat from his head and sent it sailing across the street and down the sidewalk.
It was an expensive hat. He didn’t relish the thought of losing it. Nor did he relish the thought of completing his trek with a bare head. Not on a day like this when the North winds blew with full force and fury.
And besides, he kept something very special inside the hat. His good luck charm. It wouldn’t do to lose a good luck charm.
He darted across the street, moving with amazing speed for a big man. But his hat was nowhere to be found.
He stopped, stood and looked down the sidewalk.
Where could it be?
He walked up and down the sidewalk, peering into every nook and cranny where the offending bowler might have hidden itself.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
He growled in frustration, muttering faint words in German.
“Dumbkoppf!” he said. “You should have kept your hand on your head.”
He came to the entrance to a dark alley. Perhaps the hat was there.
He stepped into the alley, choosing his steps carefully to avoid the frozen mud, the dirt, and the garbage.
Ten steps into the alley, he stopped and shook his head in resignation. If the hat was here, it was as good as gone anyway. It would be ruined in any case.
He turned and retraced his steps.
Once he was back on the sidewalk, he took one last look up and down the sidewalk, then sighed, shook his head a final time, and turned toward his hotel.
He had taken perhaps a dozen steps when he felt a tiny hand tugging at the sleeve of his coat.
“Here, Mister,” said a small boy. “Here’s your hat.”
The boy held the hat in his pale, white hand, gloveless against the cold, and doubtless half-frozen.
The man reached down, took the hat in hand, turned it over, and peered inside.
His good luck charm was gone!
The small boy held up his other hand.
“This fell out of it, Mister,” he said.
He held up a small gold medal on a blue ribbon.
The man took the medal, and held it in his hand, feeling its weight, and reading its words. He already knew them, of course. He had read the inscription so many times since the day the King had given the medal to him.
“Thank you,” he said.
He reached in his pocket, and pulled out a handful of change.
The boy shook his head.
“No, Mister,” he said. “You don’t need to do that. I was just being a good Christian.”
The man looked at the boy silently.
“But you did me a kindness,” he said. “I should repay you.”
Once again, the boy shook his head.
“No, Sir,” he said. “It wouldn’t be right to take money for doing a kindness.”
“You must let me do something! This hat is very expensive – and this medal is – is very special to me.”
“Do you like chestnuts?’ asked the boy.
The man nodded.
“I sell hot chestnuts,” said the boy.
It was both a statement and a question.
“I’d like to buy some,” said the man.
“It’s right over there,” said the boy. “Where I sell them, I mean. That’s where your hat blew. That’s how I found it.”
“Thank you for finding it,” said the man.
“You’re welcome, Sir,” said the boy.
TO BE CONTINUED
