Zachariah 18:Clean People

London, England

December 24, 1843

Hands shoved deeply into the pockets of the long-coat.

The top hat wobbling on his head.

Hopelessly attempting to think of ‘some’ excuse for the loss of the money. The loss of the equipment and the loss of his one long standing customer. Desperately wanting to think of ‘any’ excuse that would take the blame for the behavior of Hobbins from himself.

No longer confused about the direction, though, Zachariah began the long walk home.

Shortly...

Is it possible, do you think, to be so cold that one may no longer feel the cold?

Zachariah’s teeth had stopped chattering and he no longer felt the damp coldness that had penetrated his clothing and chilled his flesh just a few short minutes ago.

Also…

Is it possible, do you think, to be so frightened that one may no longer feel fear?

Also…

For the first time in remembrance the boy had an overwhelming sense of…?

What?

For the first time in memory, Zachariah felt a sense of safety.

The boy took a deep breath and suddenly an entirely new sensation loosened the tie that bound his heart and mind.

‘Peace’.

No longer cold, the boy felt safe and at peace!

Yet…

Yet there was something else.

What?

It was something the boy had never before felt.

Never! Never in Zachariah’s closer to nine than eight years of age had he felt...

‘Freedom’!

Warmth! Safety! Peace! And now freedom!

Zachariah felt as though an enormous weight had lifted from his shoulders, and from his heart.

Confused with these new sensations. Breathing deeply, the boy easily saw the smoky vapor that came from his mouth where, but moments ago there had only been darkness.

‘Calm’?

The wind had abated.

Stopping. Standing perfectly still and looking skyward the boy saw a widening chink in the dark gray clouds where— rather than this winter night’s bleak nothingness, the boy saw a brilliantly lit moon and thousands upon thousands of brightly shining stars.

Even as Zachariah looked skyward a lofty breeze spread the ragged edges of the rift outward, widening the fissure further fully revealing the skies’ heavenly beauty.

Head tilted back. Turning in a wide circle while holding the rim of the magician’s top hat with both hands to keep it atop his head.

“Lordy!” Zachariah whispered as — having a need to share this night’s unusual, new found beauty. “Mousy...” the boy said to his friend, the small creature in his pocket “…look at the sky; it’s beautiful!”

But the mouse, being content and warm, remained cuddled in the bottom of the boy’s pocket.

Drawing air deeply into his lungs, Zachariah sensed the wonders that were totally new to him: inner warmth, safety, peace, freedom… and now, beauty!

“Mousy, I ain’t never been out by me-self a’fore.”

Now…

A sixth marvel flooded his senses…

Adventure!

“An’ I got me money, too.” Jiggling his right pocket, the the large and small coins jingled merrily against each other. “I won’t be spendin’ the coin what the pretty lady in the ‘ouse give me, only the copper from the crazy lady from the carriage.”

“Mmmu!”

Licking his lips envisioning all the unobtainable sweets he’d always seen and scented while passing the bakery or confectioners’ shops.

‘Especially’ the confectioner’s shop.

“Gotta get cleaned off! Gotta get some’a this filth off!”

Looking about. Watching for something, the boy once again began to walk.

“Aye!”

Peering across a yard the boy saw what he’d been watching for: a rain barrel in the shadow of a house that appeared to be dark.

“Maybe ain’t no one ‘ome ‘ere.” Zachariah said aloud to the mouse in his breast pocket, and to whatever God there was that looked upon such an insignificant—but no longer wretched—creature as a climbing boy.

Cutting across the lawn, standing on tiptoes the boy looked through a window.

But for the flickering light cast by one lonely candle, the house was in total darkness.

“Good!”

Going around the backside there was a clothesline that nothing hung from… However, as though placed by the hand of God, was one towel possibly blown off the line and forgotten that now lay in a crumpled ball against the cellar stoop.

“Good!”

The coincidence of finding a towel in need not registering on the mind of a closer to nine than eight year old boy.

Returning to the rain barrel, Zachariah removed the top hat, the long-coat and took his shirt off. Bare-chested now, the boy tested the temperature by dipping an elbow into the near freezing water.

Oh, Lordy, it’s so cold!

Wanting to wash just his hands arms and face — Quickly, though, before changing his mind! Closing his eyes the boy plunged his arms to the armpits into the frigid water rubbing his hands his arms and face vigorously…

Deciding to go further…

Icy water streaming from his upper body, looking about— coincidentally— he saw a planters box. Quickly carrying the wooden box to the rain barrel, standing upon it on tiptoes, angling his waist over the rim of the barrel, taking a deep breath Zachariah thrust his body to his waist into the barrel and, while beneath the water again scrubbed his face, neck, ears and scalp with his hands.

Pulling from the the water, the boy looked into the barrel a moment as considering…

“Can’t get much colder.” Glancing about to be sure that none in passing could see him, goose-bumps rippling throughout his body, Zachariah quickly removed his shoes and trousers then, grasping the edge of the barrel, flipped over the top.

Standing chest high in the frigid water, the boy rubbed his groin, buttocks, and legs.

However…

‘Her mood changing, the frown lines on either side of her mouth went up to become a forced smile as the lady’s sadness changed to…?

The lady’s sadness changed to a maternal longing, a deep maternal longing, and she desperately wanted to take this boy… to put this boy into a hot tub and to scrub him clean’.

… Standing chest high in the frigid water, the boy rubbed his groin, buttocks, and legs.

However it would take ‘much’ more than a frigid water hand scrub to remove the years of soot that had permeated the pores of this closer to nine than eight year old boy.

Too cold to stay in the water much more than forty or fifty seconds, but those few seconds seemed a frozen eternity.

His lips blue. His body stippled with goose pimples. The boy’s chattering teeth were clacking together so hard the was afraid they’d break.

Finished—as finished as one ‘extremely’ dirty little boy could be using his hands only, washing himself without benefit of soap, to say nothing of warm water—Zachariah pulled himself out of the barrel and, standing naked, vigorously rubbed the towel over his entire body body leaving the once clean towel as though never washed.

Washing this way, without soap, without warm water, did little more than remove the loose soot and dust while equalizing the varying shades and streaks of blackness so—although still dirty—the dirt was fairly evenly dispersed.

What was ‘most’ important, though, was that Zachariah felt clean.

While off his body his clothing had become cold.

His teeth still clacking. Still shivering, the boy put the shirt on. Shaking the dust from the trousers, stepping into them he tied the rope belt.

Sitting on the box, Zachariah put his shoes on, retied the twine around the  one shoe without a buckle and— carefully, for the sake of Mousy, shaking the soot out first, slipping his arms into the coat, he pulled it about his chest.

Fully dressed, the boy was still cold. “Be feelin’ much better now, Mousy...” he said to his pocket as a shudder rippled through his body “...but it’s so cold!”

Cutting across the lawn, starting towards the road, “Opps!” remembering, the boy turned back.

Returning to the rain barrel Zachariah pup the top hat onto his still damp near shaven scalp...

Feeling warmer now…

The undertaker forgotten. Johnson forgotten. Coldness forgotten as once again a euphoric feeling coming to the boy, he began to run.

‘Happy’?

Zachariah had never felt this happy.

He ran.

He ran holding the brim of the bouncing hat with both hands, he ran till…

There…

Up ahead there were the lights of shops, and there were people.

“Mousy, it’s near Christmas an’ I don’t know if that bloke, that…” thinking “…that, uh…” thinking, trying to remember what the lady in the house had said “…that St. Nicholas is gonna be able to find me, an’ I’ve been good so I’m gonna get me-self me own present. I’m gonna get somethin’ for me, somethin’ for me-self!”

Holding the hat with one hand, opening his pocket with the other, looking inside. “An’ you can ‘ave some, too.”

Slowing...

Walking…

Now, within the crowd.

Savoring the sensations of warmth, of safety, of peace, of adventure…

Savoring his freedom the boy walked slowly, looking about, interested in everything he saw—and everything he saw looked so…?

Different.

He’d been here before! Dozens of times before, but somehow it all seemed…

New.

People were milling. People were strolling looking for a last minute gift or for food, or for for pastries, or for candy.

The people went into and came out of shops singularly, in pairs or groups; young and old.

And the people—most of the people—upon seeing the little climbing boy in the tattered long-coat and dented top hat, would smile and, “Merry Christmas to you, lad!” many said, and most would reach out to touch him.

And each time he was touched, Zachariah ‘was’ touched. He had never felt that he belonged among the ‘clean people’.

Forgetting who he was and what he was. For the first time in his nearer eight than nine years; from the time of becoming aware of his lowly station,

Zachariah felt that…?

That he belonged.

His eyes becoming shiny and wet, he became one of them, one of the happy people…

One of the clean people.

                   SCREENPLAY

Lewis places the hat on Zachariah’s head. He smiles up from beneath its rim resting on the bump on his forehead.

ZACHARIAH Fank ya sir. I dunno what t’ say. The hat slips down over Zachariah’s eyes, ears and nose. He pushes it up and smiles. Laughing, Lewis runs back to his friends while calling back.

LEWIS No n,n,need to say n,n,nothin lad. Just ave a g,g,good Christmas! Lewis and his friends no longer visible, Zachariah rubs the rim of the hat and resumes walking, his step more lively his expression more cheerful. He skips through the pools of light while holding the hat on his head. A few street lamps away the fur clad Stranger walks through a pool of light, following Zachariah.

53 EXT. HIGH STREET - NIGHT 53 Holding his hat on with one hand, his breast pocket with the other, Zachariah runs into view through diminishing groups of evening shoppers. He ducks and weaves, peering around the passers-by, clearly in search of something. He focuses on a shop in the distance. Moving in and out of the roadway.

Next: Zachariah 19: Mister Scrooge