Red Magill's life had started out in the minus column. One week after he was born, his mother, Mary Margaret, had fallen asleep on a country road after four days of post-partem drinking and had been run over by a milk truck. His father's identity had never been established since Red was the product of a quickie behind the Cerulus bar, a haunt located one mile north of the Mohawk Indian Reservation. No words, no kisses, just a wham, bam kind of thing against a brick wall behind a dumpster.
Orphaned at such a mournful early age, Red was taken in by his Irish maternal grandparents, neither of whom felt particularly keen on having a grandchild so clearly different from themselves. His name was spawned more from his grandfather's meanspirited nature, than from the color of Red's hair or cheeks, which was anything but. Red grew up in a household with little conversation, less affection, comforted only by the constant blare of the television.
Unfortunately and for whatever reason, Red developed a speech impediment, a halting condition where, second, third syllables would evaporate for brief but certain moments before rematerializing garbled and swallowed up seconds later. It was beyond a stutter or a stammer; a condition so futile, so uncontrollable that by the delicate age of twelve, he simply stopped any elective speech that required polysyllabic words. His verbalizations were reduced to giving his first name, answering yes or no, asking what, and saying thanks.
As expected, due to his impoverished, unproductive speech, Red's education and job options were truncated. At sixteen, and in the same year that his grandparents moved to Florida, leaving him behind in a rented trailer, he dropped out of high school and began working odd solitary jobs. He delivered the Penny Saver on Saturdays and, depending on the day and neighborhood, rummaged through garbage bags for bottle returns. Surprisingly and to his credit, Red was able to take care of himself from this seemingly meager existence. He lived a simple life.
Besides riding his bike everywhere, he ate a lot of elbow macaroni and canned tomato soup.Soon Red developed a clientele of sorts, those persons who would, instead of lugging bottles to the store or out to the curb, put them aside in pre-arranged spots for Red's weekly pick-up. One particular person was the Reverend Eugene Park, who did not want to broadcast the weekly amount of Labatt's Blue he actually drank.
By the time Red was twenty, he became a staple in the neighborhood, a gentle giant who waved and smiled to others as they walked their dogs or went for early morning constitutionals. Soon he expanded his trade to cleaning gutters, washing windows, clearing out basements and attics. He did whatever he was told and only took the money that was offered.
It should be no surprise given his quiet, agreeable nature, that Red eventually got a break. It came on Thanksgiving Day from the Reverend Park, who after assuring that Red did not have a police record, offered him employ as grounds keeper and general maintenance worker at St. Matthew's Episcopal Church, a closely supervised position which entailed any and all jobs that had to be done outside, in the basement or on a ladder.
Red quickly found out that December was his busy month. In addition to his normal duties, he assisted with the church decorations. There were the obvious things: unpacking the cr6che from the basement and hauling it upstairs, putting up the tree, running lights, arranging the poinsettias. He was also asked to stay late on Mondays, Wednesdays as well as all day on Saturday while the choir practiced. It was up to Red to make sure everything was turned off and locked up once they left. His favorite part of the job was when, after a long day, he'd sit in a back pew while the choir sang yet another chorus of "The First Noel" or "Ding, Dong! Merrily On High".
And on those same nights when the choir rehearsed, the Reverend Park, tucked neatly under his electric blanket, would listen until he was lulled exquisitely to sleep by the breathtaking harmonies: "Gloria, Hosanna in Excelsis..." "And what was in those ships all three on Christmas Day?"
The choir at St. Matthew's was the jewel of the church. It drew worshipers from the entire city and not just Episcopalians. The Reverend Park could tell the difference as he stood outside and shook hands with the throngs of people who didn't wear conservative suits and ties, or camelhair coats. For the past three years, midnight Mass had been standing room only, and on Christmas day, two extra services besides the eleven o'clock had been added. For the first time this year, the choir had sung with the Philharmonic and now there was talk of a record deal. A windfall for the church.
It was rumored that a member of the congregation was bringing someone in from PolyGram Records to listen to the choir just this Christmas and the Reverend Park became very concerned with presentation. He ordered new cassocks, red with white surplices, and also decided to put the choir up front, to the right of the altar. Olive Prudhomme, the choir mistress, had agreed that the voices would showcase better that way.
Another idea of the vicar's was to have a huge star placed above the singers. He drew up the plan himself and drafted a blueprint on graph paper. A star of David, he envisioned, cut from a four by four, half-inch thick piece of plywood, sprayed gold and covered with one-thousand of those miniature white lights. He gave specific directions to Red and oversaw his daily progress.
The making of the star was not an easy job. Many tiny holes, measured precisely one-quarter inch apart, needed to be drilled through the plywood to secure each light. Soon it became evident however that the layout had been miscalculated and the whole undertaking had to begin again, not once but twice. Adjustments to the width and spacing of the lights were calibrated and the their final number rose to over two thousand. It was a difficult time for the Reverend as he guided Red through every redesigned step. Red, in his usual way, showed no end to his patience and did what he was told.The final product was much heavier than what the Reverend had imagined. Still, with wire, screws and several heavy-duty extension cords, Red managed to hang their creation from the ceiling. And on the night before Christmas Eve the star was lit. Its blazing light illuminated the sanctuary with such a crushing brilliance that even the Reverend Park could not find the words to exalt its magnificence. A masterpiece.
On Christmas Eve the church was ready. The choir dressed, the organist arrived and one hour before the service, they warmed up. Red sat in his usual spot in the back of the church, dazzled by the spectacle, when suddenly, during a rousing rendition of "God rest ye merry gentlemen," the light from the star wavered as if blown by a breeze. Red imagined it was the sheer power of the voices that made the light shimmer but before he could investigate, the star shuddered, then shook, before crashing down, plummeting onto two unsuspecting male choristers, who quickly toppled backwards, disappearing from view. Olive screamed. The choir scattered, and the vicar rushed in from the rectory.
By the time Red got to the front of the church, the two young men were sitting up on the floor, half-dazed amidst the startled group. Red stood off to the side with his head hung down. Surely St. Matthew's chance for fame and fortune was not to be this year. He uttered an apology, "Sor.." but nothing more came out.
The Reverend and Olive fired off orders. An ambulance was called and the choir quieted. Red swept up the shattered plastic bulbs, gathered what was left of the star and carted its remains into the basement, passing the Reverend Park and Olive who were in the sacristy, their heads huddled together.
Red wanted to help, but how? and quietly while in the damp, dark basement, he began to sing Av6 Maria in a tone so rich and mellifluous that the floor vibrated underneath where the vicar and Ms. Prudhomme stood. The Reverend Park recalled that same voice from his dreams. He reached out and grabbed Olive's arm as they silently listened to the deep resonance that spanned two octaves. They flew down the stairs to find Red. Olive's only question was, "Can you read the words?" He nodded, and without forethought, they dressed him in a crimson robe.
Six-foot three-inch, two-hundred and fifty pound, ragged black-haired Red positioned his ungainly frame in the last row of the choir and for a moment, he felt disoriented and somewhat dizzy. Whether these sensations were caused by seeing the church from a different angle, or feeling the heat of a thousand eyes, he couldn't quite say. His breath quickened as a man close-by nudged him to open his song book to page one. His vision bluffed, then focused - Silent Night.
Olive stepped to the front of the choir, her hands in mid-air. She looked at him and nodded. When her arms came down, slicing the air, a bellowing organ chord filled the cathedral. Red mouthed a silent prayer as if ready to dive, and listened acutely. He felt the chorus take their first beginning breath as he too inhaled before pushing off gently and starting...
Red became the music, the beautiful sound, not missing a note, from the "S" to the "I" to the "Lent" to the "Night". He closed his eyes from the magic and splendor of it all. It overwhelmed him, consoled him, lifted his spirit beyond comprehension - singing, so clearly. Suddenly, a surge of gratefulness overcame him and he exclaimed in a rumbling, baritone voice that lilted and boomed, "Round yon virgin mother and child..." His voice was not his own as he praised whatever power that gave him this moment. When the song finished, he remained in a darkened space, his eyes still closed.
The first person he noticed was Olive. She stood stalled, motionless in the front of the choir, her eyes glistening. She blinked. Tears washed down her face. An echoing quiet shrouded the church. And this time he was certain all stares were on him and only him. There was a slight movement in the stunned crowd as a man from a near-by pew sprang up. "Bravissimo," he blurted. Spontaneously, a thunderous applause erupted as the crowd jolted to their feet, clapping wildly, so wildly that the floor shook, the lights flickered.
The Reverend Park pressed through the congregation and pulled Red from the choir. "Just bow," he whispered. And Red did just that.