The Conjurer

ACCORDION CHRISTMAS CAROL

On the last Sunday night before the holiday, I was playing Christmas carols on accordion down on Mill Ave. I played for about 4 hours, and about 2 hours into playing I noticed a homeless man about my size standing off to my side, leaning against the post office building, just looking out at the busy street. As I was re-arranging my music to stand up to the December wind, he said that he really liked my playing. I thanked him for staying and listening. At that time he had been there for over an hour. At the end of the night, another hour later, as I was packing up, again the man spoke. I was surprised that he was still there. He had ducked further in the alcove to take refuge against the wind, which had even become more bitter. He asked me what size sweatshirt did I wear. I didn't think twice about my answer and told him large. From his pack he produced a very expensive sport sweatshirt, one that a sports enthusiast with money would not be without. He looked inside the collar and, with eyes with a sadness averting mine, extended the garment to me. "Here" he said. "Someone left it behind at the train station. I...well...I liked your playing and...well... I don't have any money..."

I told him that it was real nice, but I couldn't accept it. This was the nicest thing from what I could see that he owned, although I couldn't tell him that. He knew the value of it both in money and, more importantly, possibly survival in these winter nights. "Besides," he said, "It wouldn't fit me."

I could have easily argued the point, but his demeanor, that of almost embarrassment but with also with such humility, choked the words in my throat. "Thank you" I said, extending my hand to accept the gift. It was then, and only then, did his eyes meet mine and he sighed and smiled.