Another Christmas Carol - Part 1

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Another Christmas Carol

Part One - Nonsenso!

by Andrea Lena DiMaggio

Martino and Tirchio Italian Bakery, Staten Island, Christmas Eve...
 
Martino was dead; no question about it. Tirchio had watched his casket shoved rudely into the tomb. Martino was deader than the dot.com fad and the housing market in California. Still, Tirchio knew that he at least was better off than his partner, no matter how his business fared. And he never bothered to take Martino’s name off the sign out front.

“Martino and Tirchio Italian Bakery,” it read; almost twenty years after Martino’s passing, he was still doing business. Tirchio actually considered taking his own name off the sign, since nobody really liked him to begin with. And Martino was a horrible man, so you can imagine how bad Tirchio had to be in order for Martino to be the ‘loved’ one in the partnership.

Tirchio was a royal pain in the ass when it came to being a boss; nothing seemed to satisfy him. They would never say it to his face, of course, but sure enough he was a royal pain! He expected as much out of his employees at least as he’d demand of himself. Since he didn’t really have much of a life outside of the bakery, he demanded way more than what most folks were willing to invest. And the ones who did work for him worked hard because too many folks needed jobs.

Nothing seemed to faze him, which was all well and good for him, but horrible for the folks at the bakery, since he wasn’t at all bothered by cold, so the heat was always turned down. Air Conditioning was a myth invented by some science fiction author as far as his workers were concerned. So all in all, it sucked big time to work for Tirchio.

In that world of sheer miserliness it is how we find Alphonso Tirchio; sitting in the office that was built one floor above the bakery so that he could both oversee his business and enjoy the aroma of his workers’ efforts.

“’Scuse, Zio Al? Buon Natale!” Tirchio’s nephew called to him from the doorway of the office.

“Ah! Cosa Insensata!” He spat back at the young man. Fredo Seraphino was a cheerful young man; a notion that confounded Tirchio to no end.

“What do you have to be happy for?” Fredo’s wife was recovering from a double mastectomy, and even at that, there was fear that remission was a foolish hope. Angela and Fredo felt a peace that Tirchio could only dream about.

“What do you have to be miserable about, Zio?” Fredo laughed and kissed the old man on the forehead; Tirchio shooed him away.

“You tell him, Fredo,” Roberta, Tirchio’s accountant, said as she placed a print-out in front of him. He looked up at her as if she had two heads. If she wasn’t the best with numbers, he would have fired her long ago; mostly for her impertinent humor, but also because Roberta lived with her partner Becca, and they had adopted a boy and a girl. Tirchio was a bigot and idiot. Becca would say che cosa’ imbecile, but Roberta would always speak well of her boss; it wasn’t in her nature to complain or to be angry. Another celebrant of the Christmas season, she loved all the people she met and they loved her.

“You can always be replaced, MISS Crocetti!” He snapped at her; he made a point to forgo “Ms” in favor of the other, older title.

“If only, Papa T. If only.” She laughed and grabbed her jacket from the back of the desk chair. She duplicated Fredo’s kind gesture and kissed the old man on the forehead.

“Buon Natale, Papa T.”

“Show up early on Tuesday; we’ve got the end of the year figures to go over, and I don’t have time for this holiday foolishness! Okay?” It really wasn’t okay. Roberta and Becca had planned on taking the kids to Becca’s mother’s home in Kearny for the week, but that would have to wait until the weekend…at least for Roberta. She frowned, but her can-do attitude overcame any disappointment she felt. Becca would have to go with the kids to Nana’s by herself, but she blessed God for the job anyway.

She reached her thirteen year old Camry and sent up a quick prayer which was met by the purr of the engine as she breathed a sigh of relief. She sang to herself...

Christmas children gaze into loved ones eyes
Finding love within their blessed lives
Christmas love and joy
For a girl who was born a boy
Accepted for the one that they have come to know

Christmas spirit bestowing Christmas blessing
Has me thankful and has me confessing
No more hurt and no more pain
Oh so grateful tis my refrain
Now every Christmas morning’s known
So exciting to see how much the world has grown!

I suppose that children everywhere
Will finally see their Christmas prayer
Answered with the love that Christmas brings!

Christmas children dwell in a Christmas gifting
No longer waiting for a life to change
Wondrous things to see
Being who I was meant to be
No longer need to rearrange
No longer seen as wrong or strange

Other children desperate for Christmas morning
Looked upon as one some might behold?
Fine’ly see their dreams come true
Fine’y loved for me, for your
I believe that story we've been told
Christmas love will finally unfold


* * * * *

“Zio?" Fredo leaned on the old man's desk.

"Christmas is a great way of realizing just how wonderful life is, si? It may not have me driving a Hummer or building a second home in Boca, but it has done me good and will continue to do me good, so I say, God bless it!” He blew a kiss to his uncle before leaving. Tirchio could hear him whistling ‘And the Glory’ from Handel’s Messiah as he practically danced down the steps and onto the bakery floor.

“Idiota!” He grumbled.

“Nonsenso!”

I hate Christmas! I loathe Christmas! I abhor and really hate Christmas!
It is full of foolish sentiment
A waste of time; an emotional tenement!
Something that requires no intellectual investment!
I just cannot see
And I hate people who like Christmas!
And I don't care if they hate me!


* * * * *

Tirchio locked up and walked to his Lincoln Town car. It didn’t start, and he muttered some unprintable words under his breath before hailing a passing cab. Christmas Eve and a thirteen block ride added up, and he muttered once again under his breath as he handed the cabbie a twenty for a nineteen-fifty fare. The man held his hand out once again and was met with a duplicate gesture from the old man, who kept his hand out until the cabbie gave him his change. He walked up the steps to his front door and thought he saw an odd shadow cast over the number plate. He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

A few minutes later he was sitting in his Lazy Boy with the TV tuned to Iron Chef: America; his microwave Marie Calender Chicken Pot Pie drooling happily onto his TV tray as he drank from a very large snifter of Amarone'.

“Alphonso!!!!!!” The voice echoed throughout the cold apartment; made even colder by the frigid unbelief stored in Tirchio’s heart. He cringed as he heard the sound of rattling.

“Alphonso Tirchio!”

“Martino?” The old man creaked. He cowered behind his Lazy Boy as the apparition seemed to float around the apartment; a sad low moan coming from the spirit.

“Si, vecchio amico!” The spirit practically sang; his dirge-like moan frightened the old man.

“What do you want?”

“What I want doesn’t matter, imbecile!’ Think! What do you think I’m here for?” The ghost snapped at him.

“I…I don’t know!”

“I’m here to tell you to get your spiritual act together or you’ll end up like me. You wanna end up in chains and stuck walking around Staten Island forever? Get with it, Al! You’re goin’ to hell in a handcart unless you clean up your act.”

“I don’t understand…why are you stuck in those chains and why the hell do you have to walk around Staten Island? You were a pretty decent guy, as far as people go. What did you ever do to deserve this?” Al shrank back, wondering what was required; if Giuseppe Martino was stuck in chains, what fate would await Alphonso Tirchio?

“It’s not what I did, though what I did in life was bad enough. It’s what I didn’t do. When the bakery opened up and we didn’t…Yeah, we didn’t pay them what they were worth. And the cheap medical coverage? We coulda’ afforded more, but we didn’t. Not just me, but you too! And now it’s time to wake up….take some action that involves carin’ about someone other than yourself. Or this is what you’re stuck with! FOREVER!!!!!”

“Really?” Al was stubborn enough to believe words like kind and considerate were only for fools and saps.”

“L’Asino Obstinato! Do I look like I’m kidding? Geez, Al you always were stubborn. NO, I’m kidding…I made it all up because I’ve got nothing better to do on Christmas Eve than to rise from the grave and interrupt your friggin’ appointment with Bobby Flay and Cat Cora!” Tirchio looked relieved as he crept around from behind the recliner.

“All inferno!!!!” Martino screamed. The old man fell back into his Lazy Boy and began to cry.

“Listen….one more time…imbecile! You’re gonna have three ghosts visit you tonight. One at each hour….got it?” The old man nodded anxiously.

“One last chance, Al! You blow this, you can kiss any chance of hope goodbye, capisce?” The old man nodded again.

“One AM! Listen for your alarm….the clock is gonna go off and you’re gonna be visited. Don’t blow this chance, Al! Okay?” Martino began to moan even as he started to recede into the wall, helped along by hands that pulled at him; their screams and moans adding to the horror of his own voice.

Alphonso Tirchio looked around at his apartment and sighed. But then he looked over at the half-empty bottle of Amarone and laughed at the irony.

“Spirits….hah….Nonsenso!” He poured another glass of the wine before shaking his head one last time as he walked down the hallway to his bedroom.

“Insensato,” he laughed.

“Io sono un uomo vecchio.”

Next: Lo Spirito del Natale Passato


All music adapted from songs from the motion picture Scrooge; words and music by Leslie Bricusse

Christmas Children
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hzPBzyi5nTI&feature=related

I Hate People
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&NR=1&v=ODjDz_...

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Comments

Thank you 'Drea,

ALISON

You have made me think of an old Italian tuna fisherman,who if anyone said something out of place
he would throw his hands in the air and say "Hey!watsa matter you? You gotta no respect?" They are
such characters and you drew them beautifully.

ALISON

A new twist on a oft repeated tale.

RAMI

Dear Andrea

A new retelling of this oft told tale could not be in better hands, then yours dear friend. Your story will be added to a great list of such retellings since Dicken's original. The question is when this is brought to film, whom do you intend to cast in the film.

Your story is now added to:

Mr. Magoo's (what happened to him) Christmas Carol
Mickey Mouse Christmas Carol, starring Scrooge McDuck (Donald's Uncle)
Bugs Bunny's Christmas Carol
and
The Muppets Christmas Carol
to name a few.

A full list of Christmas Carols can be found at the following link.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_A_Christmas_Carol_adapt...

RAMI

RAMI

Hah Bumhug!

laika's picture

It's an old story that's been told a lot of different ways, but you've managed to pen a fresh version.
I love how the people working for this loveless miser don't seem terribly phased by him,
because they know what he doesn't, can feel what he can't. And now he's about to get
the shit knocked out of his atrophied little worldview, a spectral "intervention".
Can't wait.
~hugs, Veronica
.

I'm surprised that WIKIPEDIA neglected to include my favorite version of A CHRISTMAS CAROL.
This one by Lord Buckley (1959), the hipster monologuist who I always suspected
had a real influence on Bill Cosby's style as a stand-up comic:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xOLrZar3XRE

.
The closest approximation to what it's like in my brain:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u08E7c-FRbU&t=4s

Amos n' Andy

RAMI

I just listened to the recording. I can guess that the reason it was not included, is that it sounds like a parody of an American "Negro" dialect, such as that of "Amos n Andy". It appears (I could be wrong) that "Lord Buckley" is a white Englishman. If he was doing "blackface" comedy, it would be looked with with distain in today's America. It is almost impossible to find a copy of any Amos n Andy material, even though the T.V.series (1950's era) was performed by Black actors, probably the first on T.V. The main characters were no more silly or sterotyped than Ralph Kramden (Jackie Gleason) on the Honeymooners or Lucy Ricardo ((Lucille Ball). In fact some of the Honeymooners storylines were similar (copied) from Amos n Andy.

Rami

RAMI

Holy Mackeral Dere!

laika's picture

Where the dialect those white actors used in the original AMOS N' ANDY radio show had its roots more in minstrel show caricatures---generations of parody that only referred back to earlier parodies (for none of which was anybody really listening to the way black folks actually talked, since the basic object was ridecule)---what Lord Buckley was doing was more like what performers such as Elvis did musically; "Borrowing" African American idioms from his black peers in the jazz/viper crowd, using slang terms that were unknown to white Americans in 1959. And where Amos n' Andy notoriously used spoonerisms ("old tomato" for "ultimatum") to show a lack of education or of command of the English language, or some general laziness of thought; Buckley made use of the playful inventiveness of jive-talking, which like bebop jazz was all about being in control while playing with chaos, managing to create something graceful and internally coherent while skidding across the surface of whatever strange new terrain your jam has veered into. And then since it's allowed in jive, Buckley added a layer of surrealism ("and old Scrooge's brain was like fifteen Hallelujah Bombs goin' off at once!") that was all his own ...... But yeah, if you listen to the characters voices, their accents, they're definitly supposed to be black; and our first impulse anymore is to assume the worst about an artists motivations, and declare this off limits (Unless it's Robin Williams, for some odd reason...); a kind of cultural Jim Crow that we've corralled ourselves into with the best of intentions, that might actually be counterproductive when it comes to race relations.

.
The closest approximation to what it's like in my brain:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u08E7c-FRbU&t=4s

Scroogio!

joannebarbarella's picture

And Fredo Cratchittio! Love It! Love It!

Joannia!

Love It

littlerocksilver's picture

Now I wait along with your thousands of fans for the next delightful spin on this tale. I played the Young Scrooge about 50 years ago for our church's production of the Christmas Carol. I studied his life and have followed it closely ever since.

Girl.jpg
Portia

Portia

definately not humbug

I look forward to the rest of this story.

Dorothycolleen, member of Bailey's Angels

DogSig.png

Wondrous and Joyful

This is lovely Tante Andrea, i can feel the setting, smell it and hear the workers in the bakery. I love how Roberta is the T* of the piece...so far and Fredo...lol. Albert is in for several eye opening journeys and in your caring hands... well i eagerly anticipate riding along...
Thank you for the 'Spirit(s)' of the season,
Big Hugglesmooches,
Diana

Buon natale, mi bella

I know that Italy is the only other place, beyond England and Australia that I could live my life out in peace. I loved the US but it's soooooo BIG, there's no place like home! (click of red shoes!) xx

I love your story. I

I love your story. I collect different ways of telling this story as a hobby. The Albert Finny musical is high on my list as it brings out the old skin flint Scrooge's personalty the best. But people over look that the world is filled with Ebeneser's personality making everyone around them suffer for there problems. Thanks for another brilliant retelling of the story.

The only bad question is the one not asked.
What makes the Scrooge's of the world forget that very few people name there children Ebeneser any more?

The only bad question is the one not asked.