A Christmas Bet (1958)

By: Dennis L. Siluk


We could hear the television on in the living room, grandpa was watching it. My brother Mike and I looked at all the presents scattered under the tree, where mother had wrapped them in Christmas colored paper, with our names on them, we were in the kitchen finishing up our supper—pork steak, and pork n beans, the gifts were in the next room over.
“That one’s yours,” I said to Mike pointing my finger at a small rounded—the size of a shoe—somewhat soft looking present, with a near silent laugh. (I had read the label.)
“Sho now,” Mike said. “Grandpa will hear us laughing, he’s watching a western.” Then Mike stared at the small package.
“I know what’s in it,” he said. “I could tell you if I wanted to.”
(Chick looked at Mikes present, and the many other presents around the tree.)
“I suppose I can wait to find out on Christmas day,” I said.
“I’ll tell you what’s in it for a quarter,” Mike told me.
I looked at his present again. “I haven’t a quarter,” I stated.
“But you’ll have one Christmas morning when grandpa gives you five-dollars, like he does to all the family members on Christmas day,” Mike remarked. “Matter-of-fact,” Mike added, “you’ll know what’s in it by opening up your presents that look like my present—because mom is giving us the same. She does every year,” Mike told me. “If you don’t believe me go and ask mom!”
Then Mike grabbed me by the forearm. “Before you go into the living room to watch T.V., do you want to bet?”
“I’m not sure, can I feel it?” I asked—meaning the package. Then I stood up from the chair, washed my hands in the kitchen sink and looked through the doorway at all the presents all scattered out under the tree—many the same size as the one my brother wanted to bet with me on, and to be frank, he never did answer me the question I gave to him.
I could almost smell Christmas around the corner, to-morrow morning to be exact. Thus, it would be just tonight I could make this bet. In the morning with our red and white robs on, the ones mother had made for us a year before, Mike and I would sit next to one another, alongside of the tree, opening up one present after the other—unless we could talk mother into letting us open them up this Christmas Eve—which would be in a few hours.
“Well,” Mike insisted, “do you or don’t you want to bet?” Then there was a hesitation, hollowness in the air, “Chick!” he bellowed—but in a sedate manner, to get my attention, “Do you or don’t you?”
“If I guess what is in it, will you pay me a quarter?” I asked.
“Go watch T.V.,” he said somewhat frazzled.
I was only eleven-years old, Mike two years older than I, but I knew Mike was cleaver, I guessed he knew more than what he was saying, it was as if he had the edge. Yet I didn’t know what was in it, and my best guess was that he did.
“Don’t tell ma,” Mike told me.
“Why?” I asked.
“She’ll say I’m taking advantage of you, that’s why!” And just then, just at that very moment, mother had come out of her bedroom, which was a few feet away from the kitchen, not sure how much she heard but she said, “Hah?” as if it was a statement and a question all in one, as if she knew more than what she really knew. (Then there was an explanation that followed, not sure who said what.)
“You’re too old to be betting with your brother,” she said to Mike, after she found out that the game was a betting one.
Now Mother, Mike and I were all looking at that one present that looked so much like so many other presents under the tree—meaning, there were perhaps ten in total, that were of the same nature, in size, roundness and litheness. Grandpa was still watching his cowboy movie, mumbling something, smoking his pipe as if we didn’t exist, as if we were the silly cluster. He liked his quiet moments, his cowboy shows, and any kind of disturbance, as we were causing, even as light as it was, was for the most part, an imposition.
Anyhow, Mike asked ma if she would bet with him, that he could guess what was in the small packages.
“No,” she said, “we don’t bet here but I don’t think you really know anyhow.”
Now there was nothing at stake, except Mike’s pride, or call it, reliability, and that maybe was payment enough because he said what he thought was in those packages that all looked alike. And he chuckled when he said it, and he said, with a manner of confidence, “All right, okay, its socks, all those small same size packages are socks, because every year, ever since I can remember you’ve been giving us socks in the same size packages. Matter-of-fact, in my dresser drawers, two of them, all that is in them are socks, perhaps fifty-pairs, from years past.” And he wasn’t kidding.
“Well,” said mother, “now you know Chick, would that have been worth losing a quarter over?” And we all laughed quietly, and lightly. Then I asked, “Can we open the presents up at 6:00 p.m., (less than two hours away)…” waiting for her response, I added “since we all know what is in half the packages anyhow!” And that brought on a bigger laugh, and a shake of my mothers head, to the right and left and she said, “Maybe.”
“Your maybes are always no’s,” I commented.
“Well all right,” she said, and then gave us a big smile, and added “but be quite about it, don’t disturb grandpa, he likes his cowboy movies.”


No: 457/8-27-2009••