A Christmas Eve Dinner

Abstract

two women had bought the mountain cottage together, years ago, during a time of idealism and hope for the future. And as the years had passed, the cottage was, at separate times for each of them, the only thing that held life together. Husbands, lovers, children, friends had shared summers amid the towering, sunlit conifers. Many hopes, dreams, and desires had been christened in the embers of the cottage's warm winter holiday ftres. And though husbands and lovers sometimes changed, though the children grew up and began their own traditions elsewhere, the women loved and nurtured the cottage as the thing that always remained. One winter, I was among the friends gathered at the cottage for the winter holidays. I had been there twice before, during sununers past, and had enjoyed the caress of the mountain sun as it ftltered through the powerful redwoods. peaceful serenity of the land had so enveloped me that I returned to the city somehow changed, as if I had brought part of that world back with me and had left a part of my city world behind. Yet this winter, all was not as it should have been at the cottage; those of us who were guests took longer solitary walks than usual, and our eyes often pensively sought the ground when tensions rose. And tensions often rose, because in spite of their years of friendship, the two women were not getting along. They spent long hours murmuring in low voices, their heads down and their eyes looking at either the soft, brown earth or the gentle folds in the hardwood floor. arguments seemed simple-whether or not a tree should be chopped down, where a new flower garden should be planted-yet they were clearly not simple, or they masked something vastly more labyrinthine, for there was little happiness between them. We guests seldom heard much of these discussions, except for one: the argument about the chickens. For the past few years, several chickens had roamed about near the barn, scratching, pecking, murmuring in low voices as they searched for food. original few chickens had been purchased as fuzzy, young chicks for eclectic reasons. Both women knew that the chickens would eat leftovers and provide an excellent source for composting. They both knew that chickens would lay eggs, and they both knew that the chickens would give a warm feel to the mountain cottage, for the rooster now welcomed the sun each morning with a glorious shout, and the fuzzy, yellow chicks wobbled after their mothers and chased each other about. Yet one of the women knew that chickens were also to be eaten. other knew that they were not. The chickens are ours-they should be used as food, argued one woman. The chickens are our pets,