Blue Christmas

Blue Christmas

J.R. Spotswood

12/24/13

Else Cotton was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt about that truth. The register of her burial was signed by the minister, the mortician, the clerk, and the Old Man himself. He was the one who gave his signature, confirming his wife's death, which occurred at approximately 5:41 PM, December 24th, 1993.

Poor Else was as dead as a door-nail.

Yet the old man was unable to fully comprehend the fact that his wife was indeed dead. He often spoke with her still, most of the time being when he stared at the oil portrait hanging on the wall, which was a gift for her twenty-fourth birthday, nearly thirty years prior. She was quite beautiful in life, with her long blonde hair, deep grey eyes, beautiful smile, and her voice.

Her voice.

Nicolas could barely recall what it sounded it like, save for the fact that it, in it's hauntingly melodic beauty, was beautiful, like that of a muse. He was still unable to accept the fact that Else was dead. It had happened oh so very fast. Nicolas was out buying a gift for her: a beautiful amber pendant he had found at an antique store downtown. Little did he know that while he was making the exchange with the old woman at the cash register his wife was being consumed by the Flames. He was greeted by the sound of sirens and the urgent shouts of the fire brigade when he returned home, unable to comprehend both the fact that his house was indeed on fire and that his wife's body had reverted into a heap of ash in what used to be the forward living room.

He still remembered how he, still in the seat of his car, watched the flames rise high into the darkening December sky as the white jets of the firemen's hoses collided with the Flames, which appeared to fully embody the true malice of Satan himself. Once the fire had finally been extinguished, the near unrecognizable corpse of his wife was finally displayed to him, her tattered clothes still singeing with what was left of the flames that were, just a few minutes ago, engulfing his home, or at least what was left of it.

The insurance was able to cover the damages to his house, but nothing was able to change the fact that Else was dead and would never be seen again by poor Nicolas in the world of the living.

That was twenty years ago.

Nicolas and Else never had children of their own. Else wanted to wait several more years before she'd even consider doing such a thing. The both of them had always wanted a little girl. Of course, that never happened and never would now. Nicolas was unable to truly recover from his wife's death. Ever since that terrible, terrible day Nicolas had never much cared for Christmas, which was, in his younger and more vulnerable years, the day in which he looked forward to the most. The amber pendant which he had bought for his wife was now worn by him around his own neck, serving as a harsh reminder of what had befallen his poor wife years earlier. The Old Man had never since bothered to seek love again. Else was the only person he ever did and ever would love, that is if love even existed at all. Nicolas didn't know anymore. He couldn't even remember what love felt like.

It was December 24th, twenty years after Else’s death…to the day. She was the first thing Nicolas thought of as he emerged from his bed, as was the case every day. Each time he woke up he imagined his wife’s slender body lying down beside him, safe in his arms, but his happy dreams were shattered every time he realized that what he held in his arms was in fact a pillow. But this morning was different. While sweet Else was the first thing that Nicolas thought of as he emerged from his bed, it was not the usual images of her former, beautiful self. The only thought that filled his tormented consciousness was the smell of smoke and the mangled corpse of his Else. A rush of anxiety soon overcame him as he walked over and looked at himself in the mirror across from his bed, still completely naked except for the woolen stockings he wore on his feet, which knitted by his late wife.

Nicolas Cotton, while not a particularly old man felt like a very Old Man. He was of average height with graying brown hair and slight scruff on his face. In his younger years he had been one to work out regularly, but ever since Else’s death he had quickly lost interest and gained quite a few pounds.

Nicolas was a nothing.

He wasn’t tall or short. He was neither skinny nor fat. He wasn’t old; he wasn’t young. He wasn’t anything. From what he could remember he had no major accomplishment in his life, nor did he have any greater purpose. Nicolas had absolutely nothing to his name, be it negative or positive. It was almost as if he was the patron saint of mediocrity itself.

“You’re a nothing,” Nicolas said to the reflection of his naked body as he gazed at it through the glass portal, omitting a laugh of pity and demeaning attitude.

He went about his morning as he usually would, putting on his bathrobe, brushing his teeth, and descending down his steep, dismal stairs as if they were the very steps that led to the vestibule of Hell itself, only to make his way to the kitchen to concoct his breakfast of sorrow, mediocrity, and Raisin Bran. The snow had stopped falling outside, instead, little by little, morphing itself into rain…not freezing rain, but true rain resembling the thick drops of water that could usually be seen on a mid-April’s day. As it came down, the snow melted with it. Nicolas considered the slow melting of the snow, in general, as one of the most depressing things in the world.

When he had finished his serial, which was very much stale, he drank what was left of the expired milk that was still in the bowl. Nicolas then proceeded to read the local paper as he drank his lukewarm, sugarless, Folgers black coffee. There was nothing substantially important in the Tuesday paper, save for that bit about the serial killer who had allegedly killed six people dressed as a Christmas Elf. Nicolas had no idea why, but for some reason he found it funny. It was the irony that better enhanced the fact, being a common, cynical concept heavily believed in by Nicolas ever since his wife’s death, that Christmas wasn’t this happy go lucky, bubblegum holiday of total goodness. Like everything, it has a dark side. For Nicolas, this “dark side of Christmas” happened to manifest itself in the fact that it was the day on which his wife, bless her soul, was brutally taken from him.

After a quick shower Nicolas dressed himself for his day…a day of absolute mediocrity. He put on the warmest clothes he could find and walked out the door towards his car, the same car that he had driven for the past thirty years. It was a cold day in spite of the lack of snow. It was one of those days wet, extremely cold days where the wind constantly bites at your face and the rain makes a vicious attempt to freeze off your skin. The presence of the rain, in a way, seemed to be mocking Nicolas, who hated the rain more than anything. He had a feeling that, due to the unwelcoming, malevolent will of God, it would be sunny the next day. Nicolas, being a compulsive man, hated sunny Christmases. He found them…depressing, to say the very least.

The man backed out of his driveway and started down the road. Work was waiting, and with it another day’s paycheck. That’s what this was, just another day.

Nicolas had been working at the shopping mall ever since his therapy practiced was shut down. Some woman, a woman whom Nicolas was trying to council no less, accused him of “sexual harassment” and sued just so she could financially compensate herself for her recent divorce. His license revoked, Nicolas had no choice but to search for a sub-standard job, which would signal his full transition into the state of mediocrity. It was the last Friday in October, the 25th or 26th roughly, when his practice was closed and a week later by the time he found a new job…a job working as a Mall Santa.

The shopping center’s proprietors were in dire need of Santas ever since the infamous Santa Strike just the year before. Most of the men employed as Santas left, leaving the administration with no choice but to search for replacements. However, since the strike, Santas were hard to come by. Since the mall had a reputation to underpay their Santa actors, only a very desperate man would take the job.

Nicolas was a very desperate man.

He was one of three Santas working at the mall. There were supposed to be four, but the fourth had gone missing, the last sighting of him being as he ran from the scene of a brawl at a Quiznos in the next town over. The other two were pretty deadbeat and the mall knew it. That’s why it sometimes had to rely on its black floor manager to sport the red suit.

Nicolas pulled into the employees parking lot before heading into the locker room to change into the smelly Santa suit that he kept in his locker. It had been worn by ten different Santas before him, most of which were alcoholics. The smell of booze was still strong on the costume.

Realizing that he only had a few minutes to spare, Nicolas rushed to the center of the mall where the “Christmasland Theme Park,” which wasn’t even a theme park at all, was located. All it contained was a little castle, under which “Santa Clause” sat on his “candy cane throne,” a carousel, the station for a little train that went around the mall, and a cheap ball pit. There wasn’t even a Christmas tree.

“Attaboy, Sport,” the morning shift Santa said as Nicolas came to relieve him. “Thish goddamn-Christmas tree isn’t going to light itself. It’s like the elevator buttons on old Mr. Potter’s grundel.” He was drunk. It wasn’t even twelve PM. Nicolas took his seat. “Ahh, Charlie,” the drunk Santa continued, “it’s a marvelous steak, isn’t it?” he asked, pointing at the veggie Subway sandwich that one of the “elves” was eating for his lunch. “Makes me want some chicken, eh Charlie?”

“My name’s not Charlie,” Nicolas replied. He noticed that the other man wasn’t even wearing his Santa outfit - just a red Hawaiian shirt, cargo pants, and sandals. . He didn’t even have his beard on all the way, the string of it loosely held on by the back of his neck, making it look more like a hairy necklace. He had slight white scruff on his face, which somehow managed to fool all of the four year olds who came to get their picture taken with him. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest, Buddy. You should be sober by the dinnertime.”

“Aghh, screw dinner!” Santa exclaimed, slurring his words. “I’ll go have brunch. I think I’ll get a goddamn Heath Bar.” As he said this, which was loud enough for nearly the entire mall to hear, all of the parents leaned over to catch a glimpse of the drunken fool, all of them pulling their innocent children close as to prevent them from viewing the somewhat comical, but equally disturbing, spectacle. One of the children managed to break free from his mother’s embrace and run over to the two men. Nicolas was able to sneak around to the other side as to avoid being seen, as the sight of two Santas would confuse the other children immensely. Besides, both of them being seen together would be a breach of Santa Protocol, the ridiculous code that all mall Santas were required to follow. Nicolas didn’t want to risk losing another job, especially on Christmas Eve. Besides, in the contract that he had to sign before he could start working it said in the fine print that if such a breach of protocol were to occur he wouldn’t be allowed to collect any following paychecks. The mall had a reputation to avoid paying its employees whenever it could. Nicolas wasn’t even paid minimum wage. This was because he was technically allowed to be tipped. But who tips a mall Santa? Nicolas couldn’t afford to lose his final paycheck, which, since it was Christmas Eve, was the only generous one that the mall agreed to provide. He lived from paycheck to paycheck. After the holidays he didn’t even know how he’d be able to afford a semi-decent meal, or even be able to continue to pay off his house for that matter. He considered for a while burning it down, as it did twenty years earlier, and see if he could collect the insurance money and go buy himself a condo or something to live out the rest of his days. Or he could always let himself burn in the fire like his wife. What better day to do it but on Christmas Eve too? The thought came over Nicolas’ mind, but he quickly dismissed it as delusional.

Nicolas watched as the boy ran up to the Christmas Drunk and said: “Is it really you Santa?” He had a big smile on his face.

“Ahh, piss of will ya?” the drunk said, pointing his middle finger at the little boy. He still had his smile on his face.

He continued in spite of the old man’s inappropriateness. “I want a-”

“I said piss off!” He basically yelled right in the boy’s face. The boy then ran back to his mother in tears. Santa just laughed.

He rounded the back of the castle to face Nicolas, shoving a small bottle of Jack Daniels into his hand. “Alright, I guess Ima gonna see ya later, Charlie. Maybe at that Hanukah party at Herschel’s apartment. That’s a good Charlie. I’ll see ya there. Oh, tell me you’ll come, old Charlie, old boy, Are ya?”

Nicolas just sighed. “Maybe,” was all he said.

“Ah, that’s the spirit!” said Santa with a smile on his face before giving him a pat on the back. “Happy Easter, Charlie!” he quickly walked away. Nicolas rounded the castle to go back and assume his role as Santa. He was no longer just Nicolas. He was now Old Saint Nicolas.

It was then that a young mother, most likely in her early thirties, walked over to him. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said sternly, “to talk to a child that way! Why they hire people like you, I have no idea.” She continued to ramble. Once there was a break in her seemingly useless prattling, Nicolas seized an opportunity to defend himself.

“Ma’am,” he said calmly. “I would never speak inappropriately to a child. I swear, it wasn’t me. The other Santa just left and it’s the start of my shift now. The first thing I’ll do is report the incident.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me!” she said, practically yelling. “Don’t save it. I find it absolutely disgusting that you are not taking accountability for what it was you did.”

“But ma’am!”

“You should be setting an example. Children look up to you and what you represent. You’re supposed to be good with kids.”

“Ma’am, I can assure you that it wasn’t-”

“I can assure you, Sir, that this will be reported to management.” And before he had a chance to further make his case the woman walked away with her son, still in tears.

Nicolas assumed the position, taking a seat on his Candy Cane Throne, waiting for the children to come to him. One by one the little boys and girls came up, sat on his lap, and walked away content. This went on for about two hours. By the time the last child came to sit on Nicolas’ lap, he was exhausted.

“So,” he said in a board voice, no longer sounding like Santa Clause “what do you want for Christmas?”

“Call of Honor!” the kid yelled, practically in the Old Man’s ear.

“Isn’t that game a bit violent for you, Kid?”

“Aren’t you supposed to get me whatever the hell I want?”

“That’s no way to talk to me, Kid!” Nicolas barked. “I don’t have to get you a single damn thing!”

The kid smiled smugly. “If you were the real Santa you wouldn’t be talking to me like this!”

Nicolas looked at the kid with a confused look on his face. He looked far to old to believe in Santa. It seemed to him that he was just being a smartass looking for an opportunity to just dick around with his brother or, at least, whom Nicolas assumed was his brother. There was an awkward looking teenager, a sporty one by the looks of it, sixteen or so, flirting with one of the elves, a blonde teenager of about seventeen. She reminded Nicolas of Else.

“Are you sure you’re the real Santa? You smell like beef and cheese! And this retarded chair, why it’s a goddamn throne of lies!”

“Oh, give me a break!” Nicolas shouted, attracting the attention of both teenagers. “How old are you kid? Huh? How the hell old are you?”

“Ten. What’s it to ya?”

“Ten,” Nicolas laughed. “Well, I got news for you, Kid. I’m not the real Santa because there’s no such thing as Santa. If you still believe in that bullshit then you must be the stupidest kid alive! You obviously live a sheltered life, young man. Christmas isn’t some happy funland or whatever the hell this sorry excuse for a “theme park” is. Christmas is like any other time of the year, depressing and miserable. You may think that it’s not, but the truth of the matter is that it is perhaps the worst time of year. You may wake up feeling happy, but the next thing you know it, your wife will be dead and you’ll be working as a Mall Santa because you can’t find any other goddamn job!”

“Oh, is that what it is?” the kid asked sarcastically. “Your wife’s dead? She was probably a bitch like you, anyway!”

Nicolas had just about had it. He slapped the kid in the face. “Don’t you dare talk about my wife that way!” he yelled. “Now get out of here before I punch you in your stupid face!” The boy, frightened by Santa’s aggression, did as he was told and ran off of the man’s lap. His brother and the girl just stared at him in disbelief. The two boys then walked away, viciously staring back at Nicolas. He tore his beard off and walked over to the girl.

“You alright?” he asked, rather aggravated by the teenager’s advances on her.

“Umm, yeah, I’m fine,” she said with an uncomfortable laugh, rolling her eyes.

Nicolas smiled. “Good. The guy seemed like a total jerk.”

“I mean, he kinda was, but he was cute.” She stared back at him.

“Are you serious?” Nicolas asked perplexed. “Else would’ve never went for a guy like him?”

“Who’s Else?”

“My wife.” There was an awkward silence.

“Are you comparing me to your wife, Mr. Cotton?” she asked, backing up a little.

He smiled. “You remind me a lot of her.”

She looked anxious. Nicolas could tell. “Umm, thanks?” she said, in the manner that most teenage girls do.

“Come, on,” he said, still smiling, “why don’t you let me give you a ride home?”

She laughed uncomfortably again. “Yeah, I don’t think so.” Nicolas looked stunned and felt rather sad inside. He wanted to make a connection, regardless of the girl’s age. “If I didn’t have my license and you weren’t such a creep, maybe. But no, I’m not riding home with you, Perv.”

Nicolas was hurt.

He started to tear up a bit. The girl turned around and walked away, leaving Nicolas all alone. Nicolas went back to his chair and sat down, waiting for more children. It was very unlikely more would come, it being Christmas Eve and all. He took his beard off. Nicolas sat there still for another twenty minutes, contemplating about his past, present, and future. His pensiveness was then interrupted by the floor manager.

“What the hell did you think you were doing back there?” he asked. “And don’t you act like you don’t know what I’m talking about!”

“Well,” responded Nicolas, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I got two complaints about you, Mr. Cotton - two complaints!” He seemed rather frustrated. “First you breach protocol by yelling at a four year old, then you yell at another kid, also proceeding to tell him that you don’t exist! If that‘s not a breech of Santa Protocol, I don‘t know what is. Plus, you aren‘t even wearing your beard. That‘s the most important part!”

“That’s not exactly what happened,” Nicolas countered. “That wasn’t me the first time. It was the morning guy. He was drunk. The second time I can take accountability for. But I only reacted that way because the little brat was mocking my dead wife.”

“Still,” the manager said, “it’s a breech of protocol.”

“But I-”

“Save it, Cotton! You’re supposed to be setting an example. You’re Santa Clause for Christ’s sake! Kids look up to you. Now half of them think that Santa’s either a sham or that he hates them. If that gets back to the parents the mall could be in major trouble!”

“Please, Sir. Just give me one more chance. It’s Christmas Eve and-”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cotton. I’m afraid you leave me no choice but to terminate you.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve.”

The manager laughed. “I don’t care if it’s goddamn Wookie Life Day! You broke the terms of you contract. You’re fired. And don’t even ask about your paycheck.”

Nicolas raised his eyebrows, his mouth gaping. “You can’t just do that. I need that money!”

“Does it look like I care?” the other man asked rhetorically. “I want you out of my mall in twenty minutes or else I’ll call the cops!”

“But I did nothing wrong?”

“You slapped a ten year old in the face! You’re lucky that I haven’t already called them. Consider that your Christmas gift.”

“Please, just give me one more chance,” Nicolas begged, knowing that it would be virtually useless.

“Twenty minutes,” was all the manager said. He walked away.

For about ten of those minutes Nicolas just stood there, not believing that he was just fired, on Christmas Eve no less. A little boy, eager to have his chance to talk to Santa, ran up to Nicolas and asked: “Why aren’t you on your throne? Can I tell you what I want for Chritmas.”

Nicolas just rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time right now. I’m off the clock.” The kid just looked at him confusedly.

“I want a-”

“I said I’m off the clock. Do you need me to spell it out for you?”

“Please, Santa,” the boy urged, putting his hands together.

Nicolas sighed. “Come on. I really can’t right now.”

“Are you going back to the North Pole?”

“No, I’m going to go drink?”

The boy smiled. “Can I come too?” He actually looked thoroughly interested. “Are you drinking hot chocolate?”

The Old Man laughed. “No, I’m going out drinking. You know, like alcohol?”

“Can I please tell you what I want?”

Nicolas smiled. “Okay,” he said sarcastically, “if you really want to come and sit on my lap and tell me your Christmas wishes, come meet me at the bar at the Applebee’s.” The boy didn’t respond. He just walked away dismayed and met his mother as she walked out of a store.

The manager came back a minute later dressed in his Santa outfit, intending to fill in for Nicolas until the late afternoon Santa came in. Nicolas found this rather amusing. First off he was black and kids actually seemed to buy the fact that he was indeed “the real Santa.” The man just gave Nicolas a nasty stare and a nasty eye, tapping his watch as to let Nicolas know that he had to get out. He nodded and began walking towards one of the mall’s many entrances.

The mall was empty this day, as most people were probably at home with their families. Nicolas found this rather depressing. What he found even more depressing was the fact that the Christmas decorations were already taken down, now replaced by gimmicky knick knacks for the Easter holiday. Ever still, what he found even more depressing than that was the music in the background. It was, instead of the Christmas channel, 98.5, the local variety station. This made Nicolas cringe.

It was about 2:30 by the time Nicolas left the mall heading in the direction of the airport. It was empty too. He walked over to the only restaurant that wasn’t passed security: Applebee’s.

He walked into the restaurant, which only had one other man at the bar. Nicolas recognized him as the Santa who had gone missing and smiled to himself. Next to him was a duffle bag that seemed to be overstuffed. He looked as if he was going somewhere. Probably trying to get out of Dodge, no doubt.

AWOL Santa nodded at him as he walked in.

The man working behind the bar smiled warmly at Nicolas. “Wasn’t expecting you in here today.” he said as he poured a shot of whiskey and laid it down on the counter, Nicolas gulping it down before he even got a chance to sit down.

“Neither was I,” he responded, putting his head in his hands.

“You alright?” the bartender asked, obviously worried.

I was fired,” Nicolas said with a sigh. “And I don’t even get my friggin paycheck.”

“Can they even do that?” Nicolas nodded. “Well, I’m sure things will get better, it being Christmas and all.”

“I hate Christmas.”

The bartender looked shocked. “How can you hate Christmas?”

Nicolas just gave the man a look. All he said was, “Else.”

“Ah,” the bartender said with a nod, remembering what had befallen his friend’s poor wife. “Twenty years, huh?”

“Yep.” Nicolas sighed again.

The two of them talked for another hour or so, Nicolas drinking his sorrow away, becoming inebriated with every shot of whiskey. AWOL Santa got up at one point, Nicolas not noticing when, and walked out, probably intending to catch his flight.

“Sometimes I just feel that I’m better off dead,” Nicolas finally said. “I just have nothing to live for anymore. I lost my job; I have no living relatives; I have no friends…”

The bartender smiled. “Ah, lay off of it, Brother; you’ve got me, haven’t you.”

Nicolas waved him off. “Ah, you don’t count! No offense, but I think it’s kinda sad that my only “friend” is a bartender at a goddamn airport Applebee’s.”

“Well, it’s less depressing than having no friends at all.”

“I guess your right,” the Old Man said in submissiveness. “Thanks by the way. You’ve proven to be loyal for all of these years. Thank you so much.”

The other man smiled again. “Hey, don’t mention it, Nicolas.”

Nicolas changed the subject. “I just want a change in my life, ya know? I want either a chance to just start over or transcend into some other sort of state of being entirely.”

His friend nodded. “I hear you. It is Christmas, after all. I take it you don’t even have a tree.” Nicolas just looked at him. “Alright, forget I asked.”

“I was serious though,” Nicolas said pointing his finger. “I need to change. I need to find yourself.”

“Life isn’t about finding yourself, Brother. Life is about creating yourself!” The both of them smiled fondly at each other. “Maybe it is time you moved on. With your life, I mean.”

“What do you suggest?”

The bartender shrugged. “That’s for you to find out yourself.”

Nicolas then got an idea.

“ It’s best to do it by the new year, though. It’s good luck. It’ll be the end, yet it will also be a new beginning…very much like death. It’s all a part of life.”

“Thanks,” Nicolas said as he got up and put on his fleece. “For everything. You’ve given me valuable advice over the years.” The both of them smiled. “Thank you for being there for me.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” The bartender came out from behind the bar and the two men embraced. “It’s closing time. I better get going.”

“I do to,” Nicolas declared. “I guess I’ll see you soon, or not. I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” the other said with an understanding smile. “Maybe starting over means that you have to find new friends entirely.”

“The end of this life will be tonight. Thank you so much.” They embraced one last time before Nicolas turned and walked towards the door. He looked back at his friend one last time and waved.

Nicolas drove back in the direction of his home, the advice of the man echoing in his head. He turned it around in his mind until he reached his house. He arrived home around 5:30, pulling into his driveway and staring at his house for a good long minute.

He knew what he had to do.

He got out of his car. He then realized how warm it actually was…damn near sixty degrees. The snow was almost melted and the rain continued to come down.

5:32.

The Old Man went to his garage and found a full gallon of gasoline. He then proceeded to go inside his own house. He walked to each and every room, smiling fondly as he entered each one. Finally he entered the living room, giving Else’s picture one final gaze. With a firm nod he opened the gasoline container and started pouring, running to each and every room like a maniac as he sprinkled it everywhere before going to the junk drawer and fumbling around for matches.

5:37.

He lit a match.

Nicolas dropped it onto the ground and the room was caught in a burst of flames. He ran outside as quickly as he could and looked up at his house, watching the red blaze as it spread to the upper levels, as indicated through the open windows.

5:38.

It was then when Nicolas realized something: he forgot his wife’s portrait inside the house! Mere milliseconds after this realization struck him he rushed back to into his house, not minding the fire as he entered the living room. He stared into the deep grey eyes of his wife and just smiled. It was then that he made a decision…one very different from the one that he had thought was ideal just a while before. He turned to walk back out of his door as he held the painting, but only he didn’t go out of his door. It was then when he recalled his friend’s words. “It’ll be the end, yet it will also be a new beginning…very much like death. It’s all a part of life.”

“It’s all apart of life,” Nicolas said to himself with a smile. He then turned to his wife. “It’s all apart of life, Else.”

She smiled at the Old Man, not saying a word, but just smiling, the both of them lost in each other’s eyes.

Nicolas heard an explosion coming from below. The fire had breeched the gas pipe that ran beneath his house. He didn’t care.

Mr. Nicolas Cotton started moving his head back and forth, remembering a tune from his youth, the same tune that he and Else loved oh so very much, and began to dance with his wife as the Flames burned all around him.

5:41.