Yummy Yuletide

Chantal Schaul, 2007

It was on Lalibeena’s third week in the coffee shop, not long before Christmas, just as she was concocting a syrupy drink called ‘Fairy Cake Marshmallow Sprinkle Latte’, that she first laid eyes on the love of her life. She was convinced all her previous fancies towards men were mere flings compared to this one. It hit her like a snowstorm and avalanche combined: he must be the one!

“An Enormissimo Yuletide Latte with seven shots,” he ordered. His lanky friend, tagging behind him, wanted a simple half-espresso. Lalibeena passed the request on to her co-worker Beverley and hoped that she would lay aside her usual sloppiness and at least use a clean mug this time. “I’ll sit over there and wait”, the lanky man emitted. “Alright Blandon”, said the tall demigod in front of Lalibeena, and put some money in her hand. He was dark-blond, blue-eyed and somewhat unhappy. This, she sensed immediately. Exactly what bugged him, she could not quite tell yet.

“Don’t know how he copes with all that caffeine,” Beverly scoffed, after he had joined his friend at a table by the window. “Oh, is he a regular then?” Lalibeena asked innocently. “They’re normally in here every day, Roland and Blandon.” – “You know their names?” – “It’s only a small town, this is. Blandon’s a high spec developer. Everyone knows him. But I wouldn’t trust him.” – “And Roland?” Lalibeena asked gingerly. “He does something to do with hedges. But I never quite got it. He’s got a weak spot for me, and I don’t want to encourage him. Do you like him?” Lalibeena was afraid to lose face. “Oh, no, not me,” she said quickly. To her relief, two middle-aged ladies with puppies came in and requested some very time-consuming fluffy eggnog cappuccinos with cranberry powder.

As the ladies sat down contentedly and acquired pink moustaches, Lalibeena carefully glanced over at the new ruler of her heart. She caught a few snippets of conversation and savoured them languishingly. Blandon chuckled smugly and said: “I bought the cheapest under floor heating and remote control fireplace, and got a dodgy lame Polish guy to install it for next to nothing. And I’ll ask a fortune for that place!” He took a little sip from his half-espresso. “And how is the hedge fund disseminating going?” he asked the god opposite him. The heavenly Roland brushed through his thick golden hair and said: “Not bad, not bad. I got myself quite a bit of cash for Christmas. If only the lovely Beverly over there was less dismissive towards me, I would buy her the finest diamond ring I could find.” He smiled sadly. This, Lalibeena thought, explained his unhappy vibes from earlier.

That evening, Lalibeena walked to her hotel room with an aching heart. Her melancholy was greater than anyone might have guessed, as she was not an ordinary being. She was a Christmas Mystery Maiden, and as such infinitely more impressionable than any human girl. It was her job to peer into the innermost sanctum of people’s hearts and understand their deepest worries and fears. Only then would she be able to find out their most ardent wishes, and those she needed to know to bestow her magical gift every Christmas.

All Christmas Mystery Maidens, and there was a fair number of them, had the power to decide on both the type of gift and its recipient, under the condition that the result was beneficial and life-fulfilling. Traditionally, they took on seasonal jobs so they could perform their gift-giving duties under cover.

Lalibeena loved her job, even though the enforced chastity that came with the title was her hardest trial. She had a fluttering heart that made her fall in love with the most unlikely males, and that within a split second. A few years ago she had developed the most agonizing longing for a pale, podgy and nothing-to-look-at drinks delivery driver, and had almost compromised her entire existence by giving him a simple peck on the cheek, for she wasn’t even allowed that. In the end she gave him a delivery truck that resembled a hot dog and could also leap over small villages, which, oddly, seemed to be what he desired the most.

Lalibeena closed the door of her hotel room behind her and stared at a dreary beige wall. She took off her coat and barista’s uniform, revealing colourful clothes playfully festooned with sequins and beads. The festive season allowed her to get away with her tinsel-intertwined honey-coloured plaits, tied at the tips with sparkling fairy bows. Glowing glitter make-up was permissible, and even her shoes, twinkling with their own array of shiny mini-baubles, were nothing one would bat an eyelid at.

Lying down on the creaking bed, Lalibeena thought of Roland. She had figured out quite a comprehensive portrait of him so far. He worked in finances and lived alone in one of the nicer houses of town. He was very success-driven, a trait that had been installed in him by his great-great-grandmother, who had lived to a hundred and twelve. He drove an expensive sports car (she couldn’t remember the brand). And he was desperately in love with Beverley.

Lalibeena would have liked Roland to be unencumbered by infatuations, so he’d be free to perhaps develop a tiny little bit of a liking towards her. But, after all, what use would it have been? She was bound to her Christmas Mystery Maiden existence either way. So she decided to forget her jealous twinge and bestow her one mystery gift of the year on Roland. Still, she felt averse to satisfying his most pressing desire: to win over Beverley’s affections. It would have to be his second most ardent wish that she would fulfil. And what that was, she did not yet know.

The next morning, Lalibeena felt full of festive gumption. Having decided on the recipient of her gift, she was keen to move on to the second part of her mission. As if in accordance with her brimming spirit, soft snowflakes started tumbling down from the heavy-laden sky as she was walking towards the coffee shop. A choir sprang out of nowhere and sang Christmas Carols in the market place. On top of the post box, a robin appeared and cocked its head a few times.

Lalibeena bounced into the coffee shop and twirled past the display of aromatic seasonal coffees and vibrant mugs. Her plaits bobbed in the air. “You look cheerful today”, Beverley remarked suspiciously. “Jolly”, she added cynically. “I just feel very Christmassy,” Lalibeena said light-heartedly. Beverley raised an eyebrow.

It was a busy day. People were keen to try out the special Christmas drinks and cakes and consume as many as possible before the dreary January days came along and swept away all the festive cheer. Mince Pie or Fig and Satsuma Freezofrappios, Pine Kernel Lattes, Roast Nut Macchiatos, Honey and Angel Cappuccinos, Ginger and Brandy Loaf, Snow Cake, and Almond Date Choc-Truff Muffins.

Lalibeena was in the middle of brewing up a Pine Kernel Latte for a little well-groomed man in a long taupe winter coat, when she noticed in the corner of her eye that Roland was breezing in through the door, a few snowflakes flurrying in behind him. Blandon was close at his heels. Roland looked particularly appealing today. With his dark office outfit he was wearing a hand-knitted motley scarf, which made all the difference. He ordered a Mince Pie Freezofrappio, and a quintuple espresso. Blandon seemed content with a demi-ristretto.

Lalibeena kept a close eye on Roland this morning, and lent a sharp ear to his words. “You look rather grumpy this morning,” he said to Blandon, “What’s up?” Blandon grumbled: “I’m being pestered about a few leaks in the new development.” – What, the new high spec development?” – “Yeah.” – “Oh, and it’s leaking already?” – “It might be the fact that I used second hand pipes and a one-eyed Russian black market plumber. Still, it’s not my problem now, is it? It’s not like I’m the owner any more.” He paused and took the tiniest sip of his demi-ristretto. “What are you doing this Christmas?” he asked. Roland downed his quintuple espresso. “Don’t know. I haven’t made any firm plans yet. I might go to Italy.” – “To visit your folks?” – “Yes. Partly. And to eat good food.” He chuckled. “Your grandmother still cooks?” Blandon asked. “Oh yes, even though she’s 98. I wish I could have her polenta and rabbit dish every day. It’s the most sublime thing in the whole world, you know. Well, apart from Beverley, of course.” Blandon looked over at Beverley and sighed. “I think you’ll have to give up on that one,” he said. “Not yet,” tooted Roland, “I have a new plan. Watch this.”

Roland promptly strode over to Lalibeena, who was strategically clearing up a table nearby. He might as well have tossed a heavy sack of coffee beans on her chest. Unable to breathe, she watched him come to a halt just in front of her. “Excuse me,” he said, “would you mind passing this on to your colleague?” In his exquisitely shaped hand he passed her a baby pink envelope, a colour Lalibeena knew that Beverley detested. “It’s just a card,” he added. Lalibeena nodded faintly; she was running out of oxygen and only managed to gasp for air when Roland was halfway back to his seat. She tucked the envelope into her apron pocket.

“What was that?” Blandon asked, perplexed. “I thought you’d finally given up.” Roland smiled. “I bet she can’t resist this. We’ll see tomorrow.” With one giant suck he emptied the rest of his Freezofrappio and got up. Blandon tucked his greying curls under his woolly hat and shuffled out behind his friend.

During the lunch break Lalibeena took the pink envelope out of her apron. As a Christmas Mystery Maiden she was not allowed to do anything dishonest, so she dutifully passed the letter on to Beverley, who was devouring a tuna cheese melt ciabatta at this moment in time. “It’s from Roland,” she muttered. Beverley ripped the envelope open with greasy fingers and grunted. “What? What a brain-freeze tosser! I’m not interested in his stupid hedges!” She crumpled up the sheet, threw it towards the bin, and missed. It landed in a puddle of old coffee. “I’m going back in.” She stuffed the last corner of ciabatta into her mouth and left the staff room.

Lalibeena delicately picked up the letter with two fingertips and shook off the coffee drops. She unfolded it with care. It was an official pre-printed letter with Roland’s name on it, and the address of his office. It mentioned his official title: ‘Hedge Fund Disseminator.’ The letter itself was hand-written.

“Dear Beverley, It cannot have escaped your attention that I have developed a deep fondness for you. Not only that, I also find you enormously attractive. You have not accepted my recent invitation for dinner, but I am not discouraged by this decision. On the contrary, I’ve made it my personal challenge to otherwise tickle your interest in my humble person. You already know I’m a hedge fund disseminator. What would you say if I offered you a 99% stake in a brand new hedge fund operation that I have only just launched, and which is bound to lead to multiple success rates? And if I topped it off with a guaranteed full-term dissemination? Beverley, would you think me a better man for that?”

It was signed with “Deepest and truest love, your Roland.” Lalibeena sighed and put the letter in the bin.

During her afternoon dishwasher duty, Lalibeena concentrated on her task at hand. How could she fulfil Roland’s second deepest wish of eating polenta and rabbit every day? Surely the satisfaction of this dream would make him so happy that he’d forget all about Beverley, and thus indirectly patch up his broken heart. While unloading and re-loading the dishwasher, she thought up a magical system that would provide Roland’s desired dish in abundance and anywhere in the world. By the end of the working day the design had reached completion in her head, and she was going to lose no time in implementing it. Only one detail was still unclear: where to place the button.

The next morning, Roland woke up in his brown silken sheets with a heavy head. He felt in a daze but couldn’t remember why. He hadn’t bashed his head recently, or been out drinking. Perhaps he was ill. Groaning and rubbing his head, he slowly made his way to the bathroom. His toes were toasty warm on the heated natural stone tiles when he looked into the large mirror. He was greeted by a flashing plastic button with the symbol of a rabbit and a corncob on it, right on the tip of his nose.

Roland was aghast, and his first reaction was to try and remove the undesired knobbly intruder. Picking, squeezing, scratching, chipping, nothing worked. The nose around the button flared up from all the manhandling, but the button remained firmly in place. Close to despair and with no other option left, Roland pushed the infernal thing.

Accompanied by a shrill ‘ding’ a steaming dish of polenta and rabbit rose out of Roland’s head and stayed on top of it, until he made a sharp head movement and the plate with all its deliciously smelling contents slid off and crashed on the tiled bathroom floor. Roland pressed the button again, and another ‘ding’ sound announced the second plate of polenta and rabbit, just as steaming and fragrant as the first one. Quite where it came from, and how it emerged from Roland’s head, was not apparent. This time he took it with both hands and put it on the toilet lid for further analysis.

The food looked and smelled genuine. Although fully aware of the grotesque nature of this act, Roland dipped his finger in the sauce and tasted it. He was dumbstruck. No other than his own Italian grandmother could produce a dish of polenta and rabbit as close to perfection as this. He picked up a clump of polenta and ate it. There was no shadow of doubt as to the provenance of this dish. “Nonna?” he asked into space, but there was no answer.

Keeping a cool head, Roland called in sick at work. He had to get rid of the glowing button somehow. He went back to bed and hoped it would be gone by the time he woke up. But he couldn’t even sleep. At midday his hunger pangs had become so severe, and his course into inaction so hopeless, that he pressed the button once more and devoured a plateful of polenta and rabbit. It was so delicious that he pressed for another. His rational mind caught up with him when he had finished his feast, and he was violently sick. What had he just eaten? His own brain?

By the evening, Roland was delirious with hunger once more. As he could not go out and buy a microwave meal from the supermarket, like he did most days, he had no other option but to reconcile himself with eating fabulous food of unknown origins. He pressed the button for more polenta and rabbit, ate it with a couple of strong sleeping pills and went off to sleep with relative ease. When he woke up in the morning, the button had gone.

Roland was so ecstatic that he danced around the bedroom for a fair while. He took a quick shower and ran out into the world. It was Saturday so he went round to Blandon’s and dragged him to the coffee shop. “I want to see Beverley’s reaction to my letter,” he quivered with anticipation.

They sauntered into the warm haze of roasted beans and came to a halt in front of the bar. Beverley was standoffish. “How can I help?” she trilled like a record. “A tripletastic honeycomb cappuccino for me, and what did you think of my letter?” Roland exclaimed eagerly. “Letter?” Beverley asked. “Oh that! I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in hedges. I prefer shopping and stuff like that. That’s four pounds eighty-five then, please.”

Blandon had to manoeuvre his friend to a table, so dumbstruck was he. He piddled around with his cappuccino, staring into the foamy abyss. “Never mind, Roland,” Blandon said, “I never really thought you were cut out for each other.” Roland sighed. “She’s really nice-looking, though.” Blandon shook his head wisely. “A lot of the houses I’ve built are nice-looking, but, if you look at them closely, they’re basically crap.”

As if to taunt poor Roland, Beverley sashayed around their table, clearing up around them. During her clitter-clattering, a group of elderly gentlemen invaded the coffee shop and made for a large table in the corner. They flattened everything that lay in their paths and one of them accidentally and momentarily stood on Roland’s foot. A ‘ding’ resounded and an ‘excuse me’ was muttered, and, as the crowd was finally clearing, the newly-gained peace was yet again disturbed by a squelching crash from the floor. Roland looked down and, to his utter dismay, saw a broken plate and a heap of polenta and rabbit.

“I saw that!” Beverley squawked. “That just fell off your head! Fine mess you’ve made there, sir!” – “Sorry,” Roland mumbled. He was horrified. “Smells nice,” Blandon remarked. “What is it?” – “Polenta and rabbit,” Roland said sadly.

Suddenly, like a whirlwind, the girl with tinsel plaits arrived at their feet and swept the mess into her dustpan. She briefly smiled at Roland and whispered: “No trouble whatsoever.” Then she was gone again behind the bar.

“Let’s leave,” Blandon urged and tugged at Roland’s sleeve. But Beverley blocked their way out. “Not so fast,” she hissed. “Let me try something.” She looked down at Roland’s shoe. The end of it was faintly glowing red from the inside. “Is this some kind of trick?” she asked, and, without further ado, descended her heel harshly upon the luminescent toe. ‘Ding’, it went, and Roland felt the heat on his head. “You weirdo!” Beverley screamed triumphantly, and had to duck rapidly so the delicious dish wouldn’t hit her.

By now the entire coffee shop was staring at Roland. One of the elderly gentlemen made the sign of the cross. The other barista, the tinsel girl, had her hand clasped over her open mouth and looked at Roland with wide eyes. Blandon dragged his friend out of the door and into the biting cold outside. They didn’t stop until they were by the river and well out of sight.

“Is there something I should know?” Blandon finally asked. Roland was shaking. He tore off his Italian leather shoe and silken sock to reveal the dreaded button. “There!” he shouted. “The button has moved!” Blandon took a closer look at the button and pressed it tentatively. A plate of polenta and rabbit instantly rose out of Roland’s head, accompanied by the dreaded ‘ding’. Roland grabbed it and flung it into the river. “Freaky,” Blandon remarked. “How does that work?”

Deflated, Roland sat on a bench. “Yesterday the button was on my nose. Now it’s on my toe. That’s all I can tell you.” – “Have you tasted some of that stuff?” Blandon asked. “Yes,” Roland admitted reluctantly. “It’s quite nice.” – “That’s just weird,” said Blandon. “Well, chap,” he added, amicably clapping Roland on the back, “I must dash. I have an appointment with a low quality marble wholesaler. Ta-ta.” And he left.

Roland was sitting on the cold bench for a long time. The quacking ducks were his only company. They were after the clumps of polenta that had landed on the bank earlier. That was it, Roland thought, Beverley would never give him the time of day again. And perhaps that was the lesser evil compared to having a wandering polenta and rabbit button on your body. This Christmas was definitely not going according to plan, even though, financially, Roland was on top of the world. If only that blasted button hadn’t appeared. And who was to blame for it?

During the next few days, the button appeared in more or less convenient places: in his armpit, which was fine as long as he didn’t flap his arm too much, in the palm of his hand, which was bearable but he had to wear gloves to work, between his nipples, which was nice, and, most vexingly of all, on the tip of his penis.

Roland had started to wear imposing headgear to cover up any mishaps. He was constantly on the alert and, because the button was in a new spot each day, he could never relax and rely on a menace turned routine. He was a mere shadow of his former successful self. Blandon had stopped calling and they hadn’t been to the coffee shop since that fateful day. Even his former hedge fund dissemination skills had weakened, and that was the hardest blow. Roland had always taken his financial expertise for granted, but now he was losing the golden touch. Ironclad investments remained fruitless, and he could not explain why. His motivation for setting up hedge funds disappeared. He was a broken man.

On Christmas Eve, Roland sat down for yet another meal of polenta and rabbit, alone. He had decided not to go to Italy because of the unforeseeable migration of the button. His small fibreglass Christmas tree was flickering next to his inactive plasma TV while he drove his fork into a chunk of rabbit. He’d been too lazy to go to the supermarket to buy some alternative food, and he was afraid that he’d knock something with his elbow, where the button was located today. He’d cracked open his last bottle of red wine. Half of it was gone before he’d even pressed the button.

In the midst of this lonely meal, the doorbell suddenly rang. Roland was surprised. He’d invited no one. Looking through the hole in the door, he recognised the girl with the plaits from the coffee shop. She looked very Christmassy and glittery without her uniform. Almost magical.

“Hello,” Roland said in a rather unfriendly way, after opening the door. “Sorry to intrude on Christmas Eve,” she replied in a tiny voice. “My name is Lalibeena. I haven’t seen you in the shop for a while. I hope you’re ok.” Roland was slightly baffled. What did she care, he thought, and mumbled: “Well, I guess Beverley didn’t want to see me any more after that-,” he paused, “incident.” – “Yes,” she said delicately, “that was rather unfortunate.” She cleared her throat. “There’s something I have to tell you.” – “About Beverley?” he asked. “No, about the button,” she said. He stood aside to let her in.

Perched on Roland’s gigantic brown leather sofa, the twinkling girl briefly explained that she was a Christmas Mystery Maiden and admitted to being the architect of his misery. “I thought it would make you happy,” she sighed, “but I think I was wrong.” – “Too right,” Roland shouted, circling the room like a maniac and trying to contain his steaming fury. “That button has ruined my life!” he roared. Then his face lit up. “But surely you can undo your magic trick!” Lalibeena shook her head sadly, “I’m afraid I can’t take back any gifts. It’s not within my power. And anyway,” she whispered as if to herself, “I’ve lost my magical powers now because I’ve revealed myself to you.”

Roland sat down in a large armchair of the same design as his sofa. As he leant on the armrest, he triggered the polenta and rabbit mechanism. The plate crashed on the floor. “See what you have done?” he groaned reproachfully. “Why on Earth did you not decide on a more convenient spot for this blasted button?” Lalibeena was close to tears. “I was emptying the dishwasher at the same time as designing the gift. I couldn’t decide what would be the best position for the button, so I just set it to shuffle mode. I’m sorry.” – “Girls and technology,” Roland scoffed contemptuously.

After a moment of reflection, Roland said more calmly: “Did you say you sacrificed your magical powers for me?” Lalibeena sobbed: “Yes.” There was a silence. “You know,” she continued, “you could perhaps turn the polenta button to some use. You could open a restaurant.” – “But I’m a hedge fund disseminator,” Roland protested. “That’s what I do best. Risking assets, splitting fund data, strategizing indices, pooling hedges, and, above all, disseminating the whole lot, that’s my world.” Lalibeena smiled: “I think you’d be a wonderful restaurant owner.”

At that precise moment in time, the last glimmer of magic that still resided within Lalibeena glided out and floated through the Christmassy air. It made its way to Roland’s mind and relaxed the narrow blinkers that were attached on either side. Within an instant he could see for himself that what Lalibeena said made sense. To hell with hedge funds! And good riddance to Beverley! There were plenty of other nice girls in the world. In fact, Roland suddenly noticed that Lalibeena looked rather sweet and appealing. “Do you fancy some polenta and rabbit?” he asked – “I’d love to try some,” she replied. “Can I press your button?” she asked, and just as she was about to, they kissed.

Lalibeena had never kissed anyone before, and she did not know whether the forbidden act would extinguish her. But apart from a strange fluttering sensation she seemed unharmed. Yet it was clear to her that she was now trapped in this world and that her life as a Mystery Maiden had come to a close.

Unencumbered by hedge fund dissemination shackles and chastity laws respectively, Roland and Lalibeena embraced their newly found freedom. Within days, they opened their own restaurant called ‘Polenta and Rabbit Palace’, while never forgetting to consume their growing love on a regular daily basis. The restaurant was a roaring success. People from far and near were queuing outside, day and night. And all Roland had to do was put his feet up in the kitchen and repeatedly press the miraculous button. Likewise, the couple’s loving activities bore abundant fruit without much delay. As a result, Lalibeena gave birth to thirteen children over the years, but none of them, perhaps regrettably, carried polenta and rabbit buttons on their person.