"Do you know what the French expression for dusk is?" Lucas asked, behind me. "The phrase is Entre chien et loup."
"That's not literal, surely?"
"No – it means between the dog and the wolf. Uncertain times," he said. "Not one way or the other yet. Come in," he added, opening the door.
The house was as cold as I'd imagined it would be, but Lucas went straight into the living room and lit the paper under the kindling in the fireplace. I switched the lights on and looked around while he watched the kindling begin to scorch and burn.
There were still masks everywhere, completed or in progress. There were still little boxes of feathers and trim, thread, glue, sacks of plaster, lumps of clay. Most of it, however, had been pushed aside or relegated to shelves, and on the main workbench there was a wide clear area with only one occupant, an odd armature of sticks held together with glue and string. A series of sewn-together scraps was thrown across it, leather and cloth with wide gaps here and there. No attempt had been made to hide the seams – they were done in thick black twine in an even-patterned diagonal stitch. Other pieces of leather lay nearby, apparently waiting to be added. Behind the workbench was a chair from the kitchen table, over which Lucas had thrown his thick gray coat. At the moment, the assembled parts looked like beginning of an animal's muzzle, shaped around the wooden mold.
"What's it going to be?" I inquired.
"I don't know yet," he answered. "I'm still working on it. It's taking some time; anyway, other things keep distracting me."
He pointed to one of the other tables, where a series of smallish oval masks were apparently waiting to be finished.
"Japanese?" I asked, recognizing the motifs vaguely.
"Yes – Noh masks. They're a sort of symbol," he said. "They say the mask unlocks the actor's talent. You join with the mask and all the learning you've done, the untapped potential, becomes manifest."
"You seem very interested in them," I said. There had to be at least a dozen – all different styles, some with horns or fangs, others with delicate painted accents, but all sharing a similarity of shape that was hard to define.
"I like them," he said simply. "They're a perfect fusion of use and beauty. One day I'll understand them. Those aren't real Noh, anyway, you have to do a lot more studying than I've done to make a real Noh mask. Cheap imitations, but pretty. By the way," he said, and dug a small package out of the desk. "I got this for you."
I looked down at it and grinned – it was plain brown paper, but it had a nice ribbon and Merry Christmas was scrawled in one corner. I tore it open and had to catch a handful of straps as they all but fell out. Beaded and bell-decked – some of the boot decorations the Friendly had sold when they were passing through.
"For your shoes," he said.
"I guessed," I replied, with a smile. "Thank you, Lucas, they're great – I'll wear them home. I have something for you..."
I rummaged the bag I'd been carrying and came up with the package the boy had hidden there for me – slightly better wrapped, but not much larger. He took it, looking delighted and amused.
"Book?" he asked, holding up the oblong packet and studying it.
"Might be," I answered. "Open it, go on."
He unfolded the ends carefully and pulled the paper away, running his hand down the smooth dust jacket.
"I thought you might not have that one," I said.
"The Book of the Werewolf," he read aloud. "I – wow. This is out of print, way out of print."
"You know it?"
"I tried to find a copy in Chicago, once. The library doesn't even let you take theirs out of the building."
"I have connections," I said, watching as he paged through it, then closed it and set it carefully on the edge of the workbench.
"Thank you," he said, and I found myself in a warm, wholehearted hug. He smelled like cheap soap, dust and plaster – not unpleasant scents at all.
"Well," I said, when he stepped back and looked overwhelmingly embarrassed. "Merry Christmas, Lucas."
"Merry Christmas. Can you stay for a while?"
"I shouldn't, it's getting dark," I said regretfully. "I don't want to freeze on the walk home."
"I'll walk you out," he replied. I noticed, pleased, that he took the book with him as we went. "Stay warm once you get back."
"I plan to," I replied, strapping the decorations he'd given me around my boots. They jingled, and we grinned at each other for a moment before I put the snowshoes on over them. "I'll see you for New Year's if I don't see you before, right?"
"Definitely," he said, and I stepped back out into the crisp Low Ferry night.
***
The first year I spent in Low Ferry, I really didn't get why people were so excited about New Year's. I'd already been forcibly welcomed by the Friendly and blindsided by the Halloween festivities, but I thought with Christmas I was on pretty solid ground. In Chicago – especially in Chicago, City of Big Retail – Christmas was the main event. Wasn't it that way everywhere? New Year's was just an excuse to drink and ride the El for free and watch fireworks. Which is all fun, don't mistake me, but not nearly as important as Christmas. And anyway, I didn't see how a potluck at the local cafe could really compare to Chicago for sheer entertainment value.
This is because I was still a city boy at the time.
Christmas in Low Ferry is a strictly stay-at-home event, except for the Christmas Eve service at the church. Everyone confided in me that it was really for the kids, and I'd get it when I saw the New Year's party. This didn't go far towards comforting me when I spent Christmas day alone in my pajamas, reading, but I had to admit that it was pretty relaxing. Still, it bothered me until that first New Year's, and then they were right: I got it.
The New Year's party, held in the cafe with all the chairs and tables pushed back, was less formal than the Straw Bear and it really was a time for the adults – food, talking, company with which to welcome another year. There were usually one or two fights, of course, because there was also plenty to drink, but nothing ever came of them and usually being tossed in the snow by the rest of us was good for a quick, sobering cool-off.