A SAD CHRISTMAS EVE STORY

The evening was dark and frosty. Shortly after dusk, an unusually tall, slender man walked through the deserted streets. He was dressed very strangely, like a medieval peasant: in an old, worn russet coat tied at the waist with a rope. Despite the frost, he wore no hat, and on his bare feet, he wore sandals tied with leather straps to his calves. Anyone who looked at his bearded face was immediately drawn to his large, brown eyes. They glowed with an eerie, mesmerizing light that demanded respect and obedience.

Snow was falling in large flakes, and the sky, shrouded in heavy clouds, showed no stars. The few street lamps cast a dim light, reflecting a yellowish glow off the snow-covered sidewalks and streets.

The man approached the door of one of the single-story houses and knocked loudly. No one answered, so he knocked again, this time louder. However, this time the door remained locked. So he went on and opened the gate, entering the yard of the neighboring house. He had gone only a few meters when a large, black-and-brown wolfhound ran out of the darkness, growling softly. It attacked the man, but when it was very close, it suddenly stopped dead in its tracks, frozen in place by the man's gaze. The man backed away from the gate, his eyes fixed on the dog.

At the next house, the door of which he knocked, was opened by a fat, balding man. He surveyed the stranger and his meager clothing, then tilted his head high to look the newcomer in the face. He looked into the eyes, which glowed with a mysterious light, and immediately lowered his gaze.

"I suppose you're coming for Christmas Eve because you have no one to sit down with?"

The stranger nodded.

"I'm sorry, but we've already finished Christmas Eve dinner. I really am. I'm sorry."

The man turned without a word and left. The fat man closed the door with relief and returned to his family, to the sumptuous table. At the next few houses, no one answered, despite the loud knocking of a strangely dressed man.

The next house was a large, two-story villa, with several luxury limousines parked in the yard, and the din of loud conversations emanating from inside. The man was about to enter the yard, but he saw several large dogs running loose under the fence, so he decided against it.

The next two houses remained deaf to his knock, so he crossed the street and knocked loudly on the door of a small, single-story house. He waited a moment, then knocked louder. An elderly, thin woman with purple-dyed hair opened the door.

"What do you want?" she asked rudely and impersonally.

"It's Christmas Eve, and I'm homeless and have no one to sit down to Christmas Eve with," he said in a deep, melodic voice with a strange accent that betrayed a foreigner.

"Then let him go to a homeless shelter. We're leaving now. And don't let him wander around here, or I'll call the police!"

"Don't you even have love for your neighbor in your heart on a night like this?

" "What will I do here..." the woman was speechless. "Get out of here, you stray!" she slammed the door in his face.

The man called a stray emerged from the street where he'd been treated so inhospitably and turned right. He entered the doorway of the first tenement building he came across. Lights were on in every apartment, but no one answered. He was about to leave when he noticed another apartment, located in the basement. He descended a few steps and knocked on the shabby door. After a moment, he knocked again, waited a moment, then turned and headed for the tenement building's exit.

"Sir! Sir!" a male voice called after him.

He turned and looked at a short, graying man with sparse hair, a tired, wrinkled face, and sad, watery, light blue eyes. He couldn't have been more than fifty, but he was already stooped and looked worn out. He was dressed in a cheap, worn gray suit with patches on the elbows.

"Did you just knock? I'm sorry I took so long to answer, but at first I thought I misheard.

" "It doesn't matter. I'm glad you answered.

" "Come in. We're just starting Christmas Eve dinner, and it's not proper to refuse someone a place at the Christmas Eve table on such a night." The man smiled sadly at the stranger.

The newcomer brushed off the snow and stepped inside, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. He looked around the small, poorly furnished apartment: it consisted of a single room, a tiny kitchen, and a bathroom.

"Please come into your room," the host invited, following his guest in.

The walls in the small room were dirty and hadn't been painted in a while, as evidenced by the faded yellow paint. A worn couch stood by the window, and a small, scratched sectional sofa stood along one wall. A tiny, artificial Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room. Two people sat at the table in the center of the room: a young woman and a boy.

The girl, a long-haired blonde with large green eyes, was beautiful as an angel and terribly sad. Perhaps because she was in a wheelchair. Next to her sat a slim, teenage boy with short hair, staring with blank, uncomprehending eyes.

On the table were a Bible, four empty plates and as many sets of cutlery, four mugs, a jug of compote, a plate of wafers, a bowl of mushroom soup, a plate of potatoes, a platter with several pieces of fried carp, and a small plate of salad.

- I'm sorry that it's so poor here and the food on the table is not very sophisticated, but I'm not a wealthy man - the embarrassed host explained.

"It's not a shame to be poor and hospitable. It is a shame to be rich and inhospitable," replied the stranger, seeing that, according to ancient custom, a plate had been set for the unexpected guest.

"This is my daughter, Eliza," the host introduced the girl, who nodded politely. "She's had a car accident and can't walk. This is my son, Marek," he pointed to the boy. "He's a bit handicapped, but he's a very good child. My name is Henryk. And how can we address you?

" "You can call me Pilgrim," replied the stranger.

"So, shall we start Christmas Eve?" suggested Henryk.

He took the Bible and handed it to his daughter. The girl opened it and read the passage about the birth of Jesus. Everyone listened intently, standing with their hands folded as if in prayer.

"Let's pray now," said Henryk when Eliza had finished reading and put the Bible aside. "Our Father, who art in heaven..." he began the prayer, and everyone joined in.

Then they said the "Hail Mary" and the prayer for the dead. Henryk became very sad, and Eliza looked as if she were about to cry. After a moment, however, she composed herself.

"Let us exchange Christmas greetings," the host said.

Everyone took a wafer from their plate. Eliza wheeled the cart to her brother, and Henryk approached the Pilgrim. They shared the wafer, and when Henryk took the stranger's long, narrow hand to offer his wishes, he felt something strange. The stranger looked into his eyes, and for a moment, the host felt a headache, as if someone were sticking tiny needles into his brain.

That moment was enough for the stranger. He learned everything. He had seen Henryk twenty-four years ago, happily marrying a blonde woman, beautiful as a dream. He had seen their first child, Eliza, born. He watched as Henryk began drinking daily with his friends and beating his wife. He watched Marek being born, and as a drunken father dropped their several-month-old son on the floor. He witnessed the scene where a drunken Henryk beat his wife in front of their one-year-old son and eight-year-old daughter. When the woman defended herself, he took a knife and struck her so brutally that she died instantly. He watched Henryk sitting in his cell by the barred window, crying through the night and begging his wife, children, and God for forgiveness. He watched as a murderer was released from prison, released after fifteen years for good behavior, and as, after a long battle with bureaucracy, he miraculously managed to take his mentally ill son home from the hospital. He also witnessed how, a few months later, Henryk brought home his beloved daughter, paralyzed from the waist down after an accident. How diligently and devotedly he cares for his children, keeping his promise to himself by never touching a drop of alcohol. He saw all the sadness, regret, humility, and desire to make amends for his actions.

"All the best, health, happiness, and prosperity," Henryk offered him holiday wishes.

"Faith, strength, and God's blessing," the stranger replied.

The pilgrim went to the girl and shared the wafer with her. While offering his wishes, he looked into her eyes for a split second, reading her thoughts.

In a flash, he understood all the emotions gripping the young woman. The longing for her mother, who left when Eliza was eight. The hatred for her father for what he did to her mother. The painful memories of the accident and subsequent paralysis. The sadness and despair when her boyfriend, who didn't want to be with a disabled girl, dumped her. The helplessness and sense of dependence on other people associated with her disability. The gratitude to her father for taking her from the hospital—where she was treated like a thing—home to care for her. The loneliness when her father left for work and she was left at home with only her disabled brother. A great desire for love, for finding a man who will be with her for the rest of her life.

"I wish you happiness and to find a man with whom you will be happy," the stranger said. "That you can forget the bad times and that you will never be sad.

" "And I wish you good health and that you will never feel hungry or lonely."

Then the stranger approached Marek. One look into the boy's eyes was enough. He saw immeasurable sadness in them. A longing to be around his peers. Resentment towards the people who locked him in a mental institution and stuffed him with medications, forgetting about him between medication times. And above all, a desire to be normal. Like other people.

"I wish you recovery and find true friends," said the Pilgrim, sharing the wafer with the boy.

"I also... wish you... all the best," the boy spoke slowly, struggling to form the words.

After the greetings were exchanged, everyone sat down at the table in silence. First, they ate mushroom soup, then fish and potatoes. It wasn't much, so they finished quickly. Then the stranger stood up and approached Eliza. He looked into her face, and she unconsciously turned the cart to face him. He knelt before the girl and placed his hands on her knees. Eliza felt a strange warmth spread through her legs, and her muscles quivered as if an electric current were coursing through them. After a moment, Pilgrim stood and took her hands.

"Stand up," he said, looking into her eyes and gently pulling her toward him.

The girl, as if forgetting that she was paralyzed, tensed her leg muscles. Unexpectedly, she managed to stand.

"Come to me!" The man slowly backed away, holding her hands.

Eliza, staring as if mesmerized into the stranger's enormous, unearthly eyes, walked slowly and with great effort, gritting her teeth.

"I'm walking!" she cried, astonished and delighted. "Daddy! I'm walking! And the doctors said I'd be paralyzed forever!

" "The nerves in your legs are working now," Pilgrim said in his deep, melodic voice with a strange accent. "Your muscles are just stiff, because they've been unused for so long. You need to exercise a lot to get them moving. You need to walk every day, and every day more than the day before. First with a cane, and then on your own. Everything will be alright.

" "Daddy, I'm walking!" Tears of joy streamed down the girl's face.

Henryk approached to hug and kiss his daughter. Then Marek hugged his sister too. The stranger stood to the side and watched silently, smiling only with his eyes.

"Marek, come to me," he said gently, once the family had reveled in Eliza's recovery.

The boy obediently complied. The stranger looked deeply into his eyes, then placed his hands on his head. A wave of soothing warmth and a slight tremor ran through Marek's body, as if a faint electric current had passed through him. Then the man leaned low and kissed the boy's forehead. He stepped back, and a cheerful spark appeared in Marek's eyes. They were no longer empty or mindless.

"Thank you, Dad," the disabled boy said. "Thank you for your care and love. And thank you too, for everything, dear sister. In this whole wicked world, you are the only ones who love me. I sense love from you too," he said to the stranger. "But it's not the same love as a father and sister. Thank you all. For everything." The boy's eyes grew very sad for a moment, then brightened with genuine joy.

Henryk, moved and surprised by such a long and thoughtful statement from his son, who had previously been unable to string a single, longer sentence together, tears welled up in his eyes. He quickly wiped them away, ashamed of his weakness.

"Thank you, Pilgrim," he said to the stranger, his voice breaking. "I don't know who you are or where you come from, but I'm so glad you visited us this Christmas Eve. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything you've done for us.

" "Don't thank me. Thank the Most High," the stranger replied.

"I never thought I'd ever experience such happiness in my sinful life... I didn't deserve such grace... But how... How did all this happen? My daughter is walking, has the boy regained his senses?

" "Search for the answers in the Holy Book," the stranger pointed to the Bible. "It's time for me. I have to go."

The man stepped out into the hallway, and the host followed him. Marek stood in the doorway, and Eliza rolled up behind him in the wheelchair. The stranger looked at Henryk and saw tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Do not worry, brother. Your sins are great, but your penance is also great. I tell you, I will remember you to my father, so that he will not hold evil against you, but will remember your good deeds.

" "And who are you..." Henryk looked at the bearded face, reminding him of the likeness he had seen so many times in church. Suddenly, it dawned on him. He understood. He fell to his knees and folded his hands piously.

"You are..."

"Yes. I am," the stranger replied.

"Rise, brother." The pilgrim grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him with unexpected ease. "For I tell you: he is dearer to my father who never falls to his knees or prays to him, but does good, than he who spent half his life kneeling in church and has no love for his neighbor.

" "Stay with God." The newcomer nodded to everyone and left, closing the door behind him.

Henryk stood by the door, dazed and crying. After a moment, he regained consciousness and ran after the man. But he didn't see him anywhere. He looked down and saw sandal prints in the deep snow. They were clearly etched by the door, but the further away from the building, the less visible they became. A dozen or so meters from the house, they ended abruptly, as if cut by a knife. As if an unexpected guest had vanished into thin air.