"Good morning, Dr. Fleischman," said Ed cheerily.
Joel frowned. "It's four degrees above zero. It is snowing. The sun is not going to rise for another -" he looked at his watch - "three hours. And you are sitting in my chair, with your feet on my desk, in my ostensibly closed office. Which I suppose shouldn't surprise me by now." After a long moment during which Ed just continued to smile at him, he sighed. "Good morning, Ed. What's on your mind?"
Ed swung his feet off the desk and leaned forward. "I was wondering if you'd thought about what you might want for a Christmas present. It's getting to be that time of the year."
Joel opened his medical bag and began laying things out. Lester Haynes was scheduled for an eight o'clock appointment, and he knew from long experience that any delay would result in pointed remarks about how much money Lester could have been making if Joel hadn't been wasting his time. "Don't worry about it - you don't have to get anything." He shot Ed a pointed glance. "Other than out of my office."
"We could get you another tree. Like last year," said Ed, pointing his index finger at him. "You're a spruce man, right?"
"No, thanks. Not that I didn't appreciate it, but it's a little hard to deal with having a Christmas tree when you've been a nice Jewish boy all your life. Do you think you could let me sit in my chair now?"
"Sorry, Dr. Fleischman." Ed stood, and Joel gratefully sank down in his chair. Ten minutes to eight, three hours to sunrise, six patients scheduled - and God knows how many would show up. And Ed still in his office.
"Is there anything else, or can I start being a doctor now?"
His tone was clearly lost on Ed, who nodded cordially. "So what can we get you for Chanukah?"
Joel rolled his eyes. "Ed, this is ridiculous. You don't have to give me anything. Either for Chanukah or for Christmas."
"We thought it might help with your bad mood. You've been kind of grumpy lately."
"Grumpy? I'll show you grumpy. Get out of my - wait a minute, 'we' who?"
"Oh, pretty much everybody," said Ed, pulling aside two of the slats in the blinds to peer out at the still-dark street. "Hey, isn't that Lester Haynes?"
"Great, he's early," said Joel, burying his face in his hands.
"Well, I'll leave you to it. Are you sure there isn't anything you want us to get you?"
"A lock for his office door?" repeated Ruth-Ann incredulously.
"He was probably joking," said Ed. "You know Dr. Fleischman." He turned at a tap on his shoulder; it was Dave with a basket of French fries, fresh and hot and salty. "Oh, thanks. Just put them in the middle."
Dave reached past him and dropped the basket neatly in the exact center of the table, then headed back to the kitchen. It was still early; the Brick wasn't crowded at this hour, but soon people would start drifting in.
Maggie reached for a French fry. "Knowing Fleischman, he was probably perfectly serious." She shook her head. "I can't believe the mood he's been in lately. I mean, it's practically Christmas!"
Chris shrugged. "Well, he is Jewish. Maybe he doesn't like being surrounded by reminders that he's in the minority."
"He seemed to enjoy himself last year," said Ruth-Ann.
"You're right," said Maggie. "And it's not as though Cicely has a particularly religious Christmas."
"Unless you're Tlingit," murmured Chris.
"Oh, he liked the Raven pageant," Ed assured them. "Marilyn told me he asked her if she was going to be in it again this year. He told her he was looking forward to it."
"Well, something's eating him. I'm sure of it." Maggie frowned. "I'll stop by tonight and see if I can talk with him. If he doesn't bite my head off."
Ruth-Ann stood. "I've got to get back to the store. But if you figure out what it is, be sure to tell the rest of us. If there's something we can do to make him a little happier at this time of year, you know we'll all pitch in."
At least Maggie knocked, thought Joel as he opened the cabin door. "Yeah, what is it? Come in, you're letting in the cold air."
"Hi!" she said brightly, then tripped over the threshold, barely catching herself on the door frame. "Oops, sorry. I was just…I just wanted…how are you doing, Fleischman?"
He closed the door and regarded her skeptically for a moment. "What do you want, O'Connell?"
She pouted. "Do I have to want something? Couldn't I just - I don't know, be on a friendly visit?"
"Your visits are never just friendly."
"Oh, come on. Do you have any plans for Christmas? Um, I mean, Chanukah?"
"For Christ's sake, say Christmas." Joel let out a short bark of bitter laughter at his own joke. "Believe me, by now I'm used to being the only Jew in Arrowhead County." He sank down onto his couch. "What about you? Did you get out of going home again this year, or do you want me to write a note excusing you on grounds of a broken leg?"
The corner of her mouth quivered a little before settling back into a smile; maybe someone else wouldn't have noticed it, but Joel had known Maggie for long enough to read her moods. "My mother wanted to get out of Grosse Pointe. Too many memories, she said. She rented a condo in Florida for Christmas week. On Marco Island." She looked at the floor, then added, "She invited me to come down."
"Are you going?"
She shook her head. "It wouldn't seem like Christmas to spend it on the beach. I don't know." She paced about the small room, stopping to look out the window - not that there was anything out there other than snow. It had stopped snowing a few hours ago, but the wind was still picking up the flakes and swirling them around in little white tornadoes. She turned back to him, frowning. "It's just - those memories are the whole point of Christmas for me. I mean, I understand how she feels. But Florida?" She sighed. "I'd miss all those things that say 'Christmas.' A tree, lights, eggnog. Snow on the ground."
"Twenty hours of darkness," muttered Joel, and she shot him an exasperated look.
"And I don't want to miss the Raven pageant," she continued. "It's just so…so…so Christmas. Even though it's not really, you know, Christmas Christmas." She waved a hand in the air and narrowly missed knocking over a lamp. "Not what my parents would think of as Christmas, anyway. So, Fleischman. What says 'Christmas' to you?"
"Well, he's right," said Ed. "You do get kind of klutzy at this time of year."
"Oh, I'm sure he was just joking." The tips of Maggie's ears turned red. "But he's definitely nostalgic for something. He had a kind of far-away look in his eyes."
"Maybe he's missing New York," said Dave as he deposited a basket of French fries on the table.
"I'm sure that's not it," said Ruth-Ann, taking a French fry and popping it into her mouth. "The weather's even worse there - all slushy and icy. Miserable, I hear." Looking up at Dave, she added, "These taste marvelous. New recipe?"
He smiled and blushed a little. "Naw. Just the same as always. The secret is to use a combination of solid shortening and vegetable oil. Some people like canola because it's healthier, but I've always stuck to safflower."
"Well, they're delicious." Grinning, Dave ducked his head and went back to the kitchen. "Which reminds me, it's getting to be time to bake raisin bread."
"I love your raisin bread," said Chris. "I'll have to stop by for some."
"You do that," said Ruth-Ann. "I expect Joel will come by as well - a book he ordered just came in. I'll see if I can get any hints about what he might like."
"Well, maybe you'll have better luck than I did," said Maggie. "There's got to be something we can get him for Christmas."
Ruth-Ann's store was crowded with Christmas things. Boxes of traditional ornaments vied for shelf space with raven carvings, raven posters, and raven decals; a single string of colored lights hung over the door, dispelling the late-afternoon gloom, and the scent of freshly-baked raisin bread filled the air. When Joel closed the door behind him the bells hanging from the doorknob jingled lightly, and Ruth-Ann looked up from her magazine and smiled.
"I figured you'd be by this evening," she said. "Here you go." She handed Joel a package over the counter.
"Thanks." He opened it, and his face fell. "Wait a minute. This is the paperback. I distinctly remember asking for this in hardback."
"I don't remember you asking for either in particular." She shrugged. "The paperback's less expensive."
"But the hardback's more durable." It was an important reference, and he knew he'd be using it a lot. Considering what a pain it had been to get it ordered and sent up here in the first place, he'd just as soon that it lasted a while. He tossed the book from hand to hand, frowning. "Damn. I should have known things would get screwed up."
"If you want me to send it back and get the hardback version -"
"That would take weeks. Probably months." He sighed. "No, I'll just take it."
She rang it up. "Have a slice of raisin bread, Joel. Fresh-baked today. It always makes me feel better when I'm down."
Joel took a slice and sniffed it, a smile spreading over his face at the aroma of cinnamon and yeast. "Holiday comfort food, huh?" He took a bite. "Good mix of white flour and whole wheat. Raisins nicely plump and moist. Not bad. And probably better for me than my grandmother's - oh, never mind."
Ruth-Ann raised an eyebrow. "Better for you than your grandmother's what?"
"Maybe we could ask her to come for a visit," said Ed.
"To Alaska? In December?" Maggie sighed. "Besides, she's probably dead."
"Could we get some shipped in?" asked Chris.
"That's an idea," said Maggie. "I remember he had bagels and lox shipped in once."
Ed shook his head. "They have to be freshly-made. Hot off the griddle."
"Why, Ed," said Ruth-Ann, surprised. "I didn't know you knew anything about food. Let alone traditional Chanukah food."
"I saw Lights. You know - an animated movie about Chanukah," said Ed. "Leonard Nimoy was in it. Well, his voice was."
"Here you go," said Dave, placing a basket of French fries on the table. "Anything else you folks want?"
"We could try to get the recipe," offered Chris.
"It's no secret," said Dave. "Although I like the Yukon Gold potatoes better than the Idaho Russets. They don't soak up so much oil."
"Not fries, Dave," said Ruth-Ann. Then she paused. "Well, maybe. In a way. Do you suppose if we got you a recipe you could cook it up?"
Grinning, Dave nodded. "I can cook up anything."
Joel stomped his feet on the mat to shake off the snow, then went into the Brick. The heat and light and noise struck him in an almost palpable wave. It was as though he'd gone from a black-and-white photograph to a full-color movie, coming in from an empty street on a frigid night. Outside was nothing but cold; inside were voices raised in conversation, and cigarette smoke, and the aroma of something frying in the kitchen.
Shelly waved as he made his way past the pool table. He spotted them in the back: Maggie, Ruth-Ann, Ed and Chris, standing around a table with identical serious, almost solemn expressions on their faces.
"Marilyn gave me your message. What's up?"
The four of them exchanged glances; then Ed stepped forward. "We have a present for you. From all of us."
A small and embarrassed smile stole across his face. "Ed, what is this? I told you I didn't need a Christmas present."
Ed nodded cheerfully. "That's all right, Dr. Fleischman. Go ahead and sit down."
"I'll tell Dave," said Chris, and he disappeared into the kitchen.
"Well, go on," said Ruth-Ann, gesturing at the table. A single place was laid; Joel gathered that was where he was supposed to sit. Shrugging, he pulled off his coat and sat.
"I feel a little weird, here. What's going on?"
"Hush up, Fleischman," said Maggie. "It'll just be a few minutes."
Joel drummed his fingers on the table and fiddled with the silverware while he waited; the others looked off in the distance, or watched Ronald and J.T. play pool, or basically did anything other than look at him. He was about to ask again what he was doing there when Chris came out of the kitchen, grinning and carrying a small bowl.
"Just about ready," Chris told him.
"What is?"
Chris looked over at Ruth-Ann and Maggie, who shook their heads. "You'll see in a moment. They smell really good."
Joel rolled his eyes in exasperation. "What does?"
And then suddenly he could smell it too. Like Dave's French fries, except…there was a hint of cumin, and pepper, and…it couldn't be, could it? He twisted around in his chair, and there was Dave, carrying a big platter of…
Joel blinked. Sniffed the air. Looked at Dave, at Maggie and Ruth-Ann and Chris and Ed, who were all smiling and looking at him. Dave set the platter in front of him with a flourish, and for a moment Joel could only stare.
Finally he shook his head in disbelief. "You made latkes?"
Dave shrugged. "That's what they're called? They look like potato pancakes to me. I just followed the recipe Maggie gave me."
Joel swung his head around to look at Maggie. "You have a recipe for latkes?" he asked, unable to keep the incredulous note out of his voice.
She gave him an indecipherable look and waved a hand in the direction of the table. "Yes, well, not exactly. Um. Why don't you try one?"
"All right," said Joel. He cut off a wedge with the edge of his fork, then hesitated.
"Oh, the applesauce," said Chris suddenly, and put the bowl he'd been holding onto the table. "Sorry. I was supposed to set it out when I came back in."
"I can't believe this," said Joel as he scooped up some applesauce with the wedge of latke and popped it in his mouth. "I absolutely can't…hey, this is pretty good." He took another bite; he was grinning like a loon, he knew it, but he couldn't help it. He was sitting in the Brick, in Cicely, Alaska, and eating latkes. Really good latkes, he decided as he cut off another piece. "In fact, this is amazing. It tastes almost exactly like -"
His eyes narrowed as he broke off. "O'Connell. Where did you get this recipe?"
Maggie's smile faltered, and she looked at her feet. "Well, um. I called Elaine -"
"My ex-fiancee Elaine?"
"- and she called your mother, and your mother -"
"Gave you my grandmother's latke recipe," Joel finished for her. "I can't believe it. You made me my grandmother's latkes."
"Are they all right?" asked Dave.
"Are you kidding? They're fantastic. They're - I can't believe it," he repeated. "You can make more, right?"
Dave looked at the plate in front of Joel, which was still piled high with latkes. "That's not enough?"
"It's enough for me. But you need to have some - you all need to have some."
"Well, they do look tasty," said Ruth-Ann.
"Believe me, they're wonderful. You'll love them. Here, have a bite." Spearing a piece of latke with his fork, he dipped it in applesauce and handed it to Ruth-Ann.
"My, that is delicious." She gave him back the fork. "Go on, Dave. You'd better cook up a big batch." Dave smiled and headed back to the kitchen; Chris and Ed brought more chairs over, Maggie rounded up some plates and silverware, and soon they were all sitting at Joel's table.
He looked around the table at his friends. "You guys are incredible. My grandmother's latkes. Thank you. All of you."
Ed grinned. "Merry Christmas, Dr. Fleischman."
Joel laughed. "You know, it's not really appropriate to say Merry Christmas over a plateful of latkes." Then he reconsidered. "Never mind. Here," he said, scooping up a couple and placing them in front of Ed. "Merry Christmas, Ed. Have a latke."
They were, after all, really good latkes, made from his grandmother's recipe. Even though they had been made by a male Tlingit short-order cook rather than a Jewish grandmother, clearly they'd been made with love. And that, Joel knew, was the most important ingredient.
art by Signe
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http://hieroglyfics.net/merryxmas.htm| written December 2005 by Isis