Louis Roney: Mr. Natale's Christmas

The day before Christmas, Mr. Natale stepped out onto his sunny, palm-lined driveway. A little boy was staring at him from the sidewalk.

Mr. Natale walked slowly over to the pale motionless lad, and said, “Well, sir, what can I do for you?”

“I wanted to know if I could fish in your lake.”

“Well, I don’t see why not. You got any tackle?”

“There’s a pole over in our garage across the street,” said the lad.

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

“No sir. We’re leaving tomorrow,” said the boy. “We’re going back home.”

“Why didn’t you come to see me before? I would have taken you out on the lake with me in my canoe.”

“I was in the hospital the whole time we were here.”

“You all right now?”

“Yes, sir. They say I am.”

“What was it?”

“A long name I can’t say. They gave me blood transfusions. Chemotherapy too. But I’m OK now.”

“Well, I’m sure glad to hear that,” said Mr. Natale. The old man and the boy walked down to the lake shore.

“Where’s the best place to fish?” the boy asked.

“You’d best sit on the end of the dock. Dig some worms here on the shore. There’re some big bass in there, nice bream too.”

“My dad told me your name is Mr. Natale. He said you’re a great singer.” “Did he now? Was, son — was. That was a long time before you were born.”

“You don’t sing anymore, Mr. Natale?”

“No.”

"Why not?”

Mr. Natale looked down. “I guess I just got old, that's all.”

“You could still sing great now if you really wanted to.”

“You don’t really think that, do you?”

The boy looked up quickly at Mr. Natale.“Yes, I do. I know it.”

“Well, we’ll see... Now you go have a good time and catch a fish.”

When Mr. Natale walked into the bank lobby he didn’t see anyone he knew among the customers standing in line. “Morning, Dottie,” he said across the counter to a tall redheaded teller.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Natale?”

He laid a check on the counter, and said, “I’d like to cash this...”

Suddenly Giuseppe Natale’s mouth opened wide and began to sing. The words,“Che gelida manina....” came out as clear and strong as they had 50 years ago, when he was singing “La Bohème” in all the great opera houses of Europe. His wrinkled hands gestured gracefully while his mouth sang the aria. A ringing high C came out at the end. The people in the bank stood transfixed – then broke into loud applause.

“Golly, that was really something, Mr. Natale!” Dottie said.

“Yes, wasn’t it.” said Mr. Natale, smiling. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “Now, would you cash this little check for me, Dottie?”

Later, Mr. Natale went into the supermarket. He walked down the aisles and put a few things in his cart.

The cashier gave him her usual smile.“Mr. Natale, are you paying cash or by check?”

He said, “I’ll pay...” Then Giuseppe Natale’s mouth began to sing “Celeste Aida.” The people in the cashiers’ lines stared open-mouthed as he ended on a big B-flat, the way he used to do it in Rome and Paris.

“Wow, Mr. Natale, I never heard anything like that!” The dark-eyed young cashier and all the people standing in line at the cash registers clapped loudly.

“No, Rosie, I guess you didn’t...But then... Say, there’s no price on this olive oil.”

On the way home Mr. Natale stopped by the service station to put gas in his car. Old Frank walked around to the rear of the car.“Mr. Natale, want me to check the oil for you?”

Mr. Natale said, “Thanks, Frank. That would be very…” And his mouth suddenly launched into “La donna è mobile” from “Rigoletto.” He held the high B at the end as long as he had ever held it when he was 35. People pulled their cars over to the curb and rolled down the windows. As he finished, horns honked and people waved. Giuseppe Natale spread his arms and bowed low to the halted traffic. When Mr. Natale got home, the little boy, fishing pole in hand, was coming up from the lake.

“I don’t see any fish, my friend.”

“I caught some.”

“Well, where are they?”

“I threw ‘em back,” said the little boy.

“Don’t you eat fish?”

A big-toothed grin spread across his thin face. “Yes, sir. I just hadn’t ever caught one before, and I was sure I could if I tried. I’m really glad I did it.”

“I wish you were going to stick around. We’d do lots of fishing.”

“I wish so too, Mr. Natale.”

The next day — Christmas Day — the family across the street went back up north. More Christmases came and went and Mr. Natale’s mouth never again sang any songs.

Merry Christmas!