pjbooks Chapter 191 Christmas
Chapter 191 Christmas
The doors to the steelworkers' community center were pushed open.
A wave of heat, mixed with the complex aroma of turkey fat and mulled wine, violently assaulted Leo's sense of smell.
The heatwave instantly dispelled the biting chill of the Pittsburgh winter night, and also shut out all the scheming about budgets, bills, betrayals, and power struggles.
The room was dimly lit, and the heating was on full blast.
Margaret sat in her wheelchair, her legs covered with that familiar checkered blanket.
She was waving a ladle in her hand, directing two young volunteers to hang a string of colored lights on the ceiling beam.
Frank Kowalski is wearing a comical red and white Santa hat at this moment.
The hat was too small for his enormous head and hung crookedly on top of it.
He was holding a handful of candy and was being attacked by a group of children.
No one felt awkward because of the mayor's arrival. Everyone just turned their heads, glanced at the young man with snowflakes on his clothes at the door, and then smiled.
"Hey, Leo!"
Old Joe, holding a wine glass in his hand, shouted loudly.
"Don't just stand there, come here! That old bastard Frank tried to steal that chicken leg, and Margaret smacked his hand with a spoon. We saved it for you!"
Leo closed the door behind him.
The sound of wind and snow disappeared.
He took off his heavy black overcoat and hung it on the coat rack by the door.
At that moment, he felt as if he had taken off not just a piece of clothing, but a heavy suit of armor that made him feel like he was suffocating.
He was no longer the mayor who issued orders in the city hall.
He is Leo.
It was that history student who walked in here two years ago, vowing to help save the community center.
He walked to the long table and sat down in the empty seat next to Frank.
Frank shoved a glass of mulled wine into his hand.
"I drank it," Frank said. "To get rid of the chill."
Leo took a big gulp.
"Thank you," Leo said.
"Thanks my ass." Frank grabbed a handful of peanuts and stuffed them into his mouth. "No work talk tonight, and no talking about that bullshit Washington. Tonight is all about eating."
Leo smiled.
He looked around.
Children screamed and unwrapped presents under the Christmas tree. Although the presents were inexpensive, mostly homemade by community residents or bought from the supermarket discount section, the children's joy was genuine.
The workers gathered together, loudly boasting about how much work they had done on the construction site, or about whose child had gotten a good grade. The women sat around a long table, cutting up a turkey and distributing mashed potatoes and gravy.
Here, there is only the mundane necessities of life, the concrete details of daily living.
Roosevelt's voice became unusually gentle at this moment, and he seemed to be sitting next to Leo, at that greasy long table, looking at this group of ordinary people.
"This is what you must protect."
Roosevelt said.
"Whether it's the $500 million in bonds, the inland port, or your title as mayor."
"Those are all means, tools, and weapons."
"And that is the goal."
"This is your divine kingdom."
"The deals you made, the infamy you've borne, you've turned yourself into a monster."
"This is the moment we've been waiting for."
"So that this light can continue to burn."
"So that the people in this house can have a hot meal, a place to shelter from the wind and snow, and a genuine smile during this cold winter."
Leo held his wine glass, observing everything before him.
Yes, he earned all of this through his fighting.
But he did not feel relieved.
Another image uncontrollably surfaced in his mind.
The pile of old furniture lying on the roadside, the man named José, and his daughter clutching a rag doll, her eyes blank. They were celebrating Christmas together.
But they didn't even have a roof to shelter them from the wind.
This stark contrast stung him.
"But, Mr. President," Leo murmured to himself, "I saved some people, but hurt others. I made this city a better place, but I also caused some people to lose their homes."
"I can't be perfect."
"A leader is not a god; a leader is someone who walks carrying a cross. You cannot save everyone; you will inevitably trample some people along the way, and this is the pain you must bear."
"The only thing you can do is make sure you're heading in the right direction, and make sure you save more people than you hurt. Then, carrying those scars and guilt, keep going."
At this moment, the lights in the room dimmed.
Frank went to the Christmas tree and lit the top star.
Someone started humming.
At first, there were only a few deep male voices, then female voices joined in, and then children's voices joined in.
The singing was not professional, and even a bit off-key.
A rough voice mixed with a child's innocent voice echoed in the hall.
Leo closed his eyes, letting the familiar melody envelop him.
In the song, he saw Frank's wrinkled face, Margaret's peaceful smile in her wheelchair, and the clear eyes of the children.
He also saw the Jose family being driven to the streets on that snowy night, and the numb dishwashers in the kitchen.
Light and shadow, warmth and cold, hope and despair are intertwined in this simple song.
This is the world he wants to protect—an imperfect yet incredibly real world.
In that instant, he felt an unprecedented peace, and from that peace a resolute determination that could burn everything. As long as the light could stay on, as long as the song could continue.
He is willing to pay any price.
The song has ended.
"Merry Christmas!" Margaret exclaimed.
"Merry Christmas, everyone." Leo raised his glass.
Outside the window, snow was falling heavily.
The white snowflakes fell silently, covering the muddy construction site in the south district, the roads that were not yet repaired, and concealing all the scars and filth of the city.
The world turned completely white.
The Word became flesh and was crucified.
Those who love you should suffer for your sins.
This is true God's love for the world.