The Major
It was mid-December. There was a light covering of snow on the ground-just enough to allow Philadelphia's soot and grime to color it black. The skies were gray too. Nevertheless, it was the season to be jolly. Soon there would be office Christmas parties, and gifts would be exchanged. Soon 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 desk areas with festive decorations, and I found myself developing the "ho-ho-ho" attitude toward everything.
I was full of cheer and good spirits as I thought about Major Nathaniel Peabody (USA, ret.). 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's holidays. Then I remembered that Peabody's nearest relatives were separated from him both by distance and temperament. It occurred to me that the Major would be spending the holidays alone in his apartment. It would not be a joyous occasion for him. On the contrary, it would be a lonely time for him.
I could understand why the Major might not greet the season with unbridled joy. 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.
Next stop: The Major's apartment. I knocked at his door. At first there was no response. After the third try, the door opened and, without a word of greeting, Peabody let me in.
"Good afternoon, Major," I said, smiling, as required by the holiday spirit. "You're looking well. A very happy Yule-time tiding to you." With that, I handed him his 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 the fireplace. As I had suspected, the Christmas season had not been a happy time for him. Clearly he needed cheering up.
"You look a bit depressed," I said. "And at this time of year, too. Unforgivable, Major. Just look around you. People shopping, full of the Christmas spirit. Children have their noses pressed against the toy-store windows, wondering what old Santa will bring them."
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 quote convinced me Peabody's depression was a bit deeper than I had suspected. He had to have been sitting there, alone, for some time. The ice in his drink had melted, and the liquid at the bottom of the glass was uncharacteristically colorless. He made no attempt to rattle the nonexistent ice cubes-the usual method he had adopted to ask for a refill. He simply handed me the glass, saying, "Have one yourself." I did. I put a little extra Scotch in the one I brought to him.
Peabody put it on the table next to the unopened box of cigars and stared into the fire. Finally he looked up and said: "I'm sorry, my boy, I'm not very good company."
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 worried. I was sure Peabody knew the weight and size of a box of cigars, but he hadn't bothered to open my gift. The unattended single malt 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 positive proof of his depression. He had to be pulled out of his funk, and I was sure I could do it. I decided on the direct approach.
"Come on, Major," I said. "I know Christmas can be a sad time, especially if you're alone. When you are all by yourself and surrounded with the spirit of the holidays-by televised programs, the radio music, the store windows, the smiles and greetings of friends and strangers-well, 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. Don't mess with Mr. In-Between.'"
"You're probably right," Peabody said 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," he said. "Would you suggest I visit them?"
"I don't know what to suggest," I said, "but I do know that this is no 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'd had a good morning, and he was happy. Speckle-bellied and blue geese were in abundance. Canadas and snows completed the birds that had joined with millions of other waterfowl at their winter staging area in Mexico's northeastern Gulf Coast. The guide picked up the geese, and they headed for the truck 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," he said. "I saw you miss a couple of easy shots."
"I don't recall missing any easy shots," Carmichael said. "I don't even remember missing any very difficult shots. I do, however, vividly recall a specklebelly 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," the Major said. "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 freshwater lakes."
Galen Winter's favorite Major stories have been collected and anthologized in The Best of the Major, available for $25 (plus shipping) from 800-685-7962; www.shootingsportsman.com.
I was full of cheer and good spirits as I thought about Major Nathaniel Peabody (USA, ret.). 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's holidays. Then I remembered that Peabody's nearest relatives were separated from him both by distance and temperament. It occurred to me that the Major would be spending the holidays alone in his apartment. It would not be a joyous occasion for him. On the contrary, it would be a lonely time for him.
I could understand why the Major might not greet the season with unbridled joy. 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.
Next stop: The Major's apartment. I knocked at his door. At first there was no response. After the third try, the door opened and, without a word of greeting, Peabody let me in.
"Good afternoon, Major," I said, smiling, as required by the holiday spirit. "You're looking well. A very happy Yule-time tiding to you." With that, I handed him his 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 the fireplace. As I had suspected, the Christmas season had not been a happy time for him. Clearly he needed cheering up.
"You look a bit depressed," I said. "And at this time of year, too. Unforgivable, Major. Just look around you. People shopping, full of the Christmas spirit. Children have their noses pressed against the toy-store windows, wondering what old Santa will bring them."
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 quote convinced me Peabody's depression was a bit deeper than I had suspected. He had to have been sitting there, alone, for some time. The ice in his drink had melted, and the liquid at the bottom of the glass was uncharacteristically colorless. He made no attempt to rattle the nonexistent ice cubes-the usual method he had adopted to ask for a refill. He simply handed me the glass, saying, "Have one yourself." I did. I put a little extra Scotch in the one I brought to him.
Peabody put it on the table next to the unopened box of cigars and stared into the fire. Finally he looked up and said: "I'm sorry, my boy, I'm not very good company."
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 worried. I was sure Peabody knew the weight and size of a box of cigars, but he hadn't bothered to open my gift. The unattended single malt 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 positive proof of his depression. He had to be pulled out of his funk, and I was sure I could do it. I decided on the direct approach.
"Come on, Major," I said. "I know Christmas can be a sad time, especially if you're alone. When you are all by yourself and surrounded with the spirit of the holidays-by televised programs, the radio music, the store windows, the smiles and greetings of friends and strangers-well, 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. Don't mess with Mr. In-Between.'"
"You're probably right," Peabody said 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," he said. "Would you suggest I visit them?"
"I don't know what to suggest," I said, "but I do know that this is no 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'd had a good morning, and he was happy. Speckle-bellied and blue geese were in abundance. Canadas and snows completed the birds that had joined with millions of other waterfowl at their winter staging area in Mexico's northeastern Gulf Coast. The guide picked up the geese, and they headed for the truck 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," he said. "I saw you miss a couple of easy shots."
"I don't recall missing any easy shots," Carmichael said. "I don't even remember missing any very difficult shots. I do, however, vividly recall a specklebelly 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," the Major said. "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 freshwater lakes."
Galen Winter's favorite Major stories have been collected and anthologized in The Best of the Major, available for $25 (plus shipping) from 800-685-7962; www.shootingsportsman.com.
- By: Galen Winter
