Publisher's Message The Man in the Bisque Cap

by Sue Gillis

A True Story

Cape Cod in winter has a desolate barren kind of beauty. Year-rounders, abandoned by the fury of summer crowds and out of work, struggle to overcome the weight of isolation and loneliness and poverty. Holidays for many are rugged.

Two days before Christmas, a few years ago, I was one of them. Alone. Weary. Depressed. Darkness at 4 p.m. was almost more than I could bear. Worse, the Christmas tree I had decorated with Quahog shells suddenly came crashing down, the shells pummeled into limestone dust. Sitting on the edge of the couch, I wept for myself and for the tree, which seemed like a symbol of my fallen life.

Out onto Commercial Street, in a fresh-fallen snow, I made my way toward the center of town. I could see the entire length of the street. No one was in sight, not a car, not a person. There was one dim light in the distance, coming from the Town House Bar. Looking in the window, I could see some people at the bar. Inside, I ordered a Bailey’s and gave away the Enya CDs I was carrying in my pocket. Enya, too, was more than I could bear.

Then I told my story to a man with a round face and a cap the color of bisque.

No, I did not know anyone in town, I said. I was unemployed. I was alone. And worse, my Christmas tree fell down and I didn’t even have ornaments. The man in the bisque cap, with eyes as deep as a winter pond, listened and then sweetly offered some ornaments he had found in a dumpster.

I thought he was kind, but strange. I declined and left for a cup of soup around the corner.

Making my way home, a fierce gnawing wind began to thrash against me. Arriving at my house, I could just make out a snow-covered box on the doorstep. I knew what was in the box. Falling to my knees into the snow, I opened it. The most beautiful Christmas ornaments I have ever seen were carefully arranged. They were old and lovely and I wept. I wept for the kindess of a total stranger. I wept for light where there is dark.

The next day my brothers and my little nephew and niece arrived. My spirits lifted, then soared, as I watched them decorate the tree with the ornaments from the box.

I knew then, as I do today, that I would never see a tree so beautiful again, nor would I ever forget the man in the bisque-colored cap.