The Christmas visitor

A short story by Malcolm Theunissen

It was a hot and humid afternoon in December 1965 when a balding stranger appeared at the door of the small mission station in the then Eastern Transvaal. It was an equally hot and humid Sr Mary Margaret who answered the door.

“So what is it you’re wanting?” said Sr Mary, the brogue of her native Ireland still evident in her accent.

“I was hoping you would-a have some work,” the stranger replied in broken English. “I am a jack of all trades. I can-a fix things and do carpentry and gardening.” He was what was known in local terms as “a gentleman of the road.”

The Irish nun looked him up and down. “You’re sure a sorry sight if ever I saw one. I would not have even considered you under normal circumstances. But the chapel roof has collapsed and our caretaker is off on his Christmas holiday.”

Sr Mary said that she could not offer him much money for the repair work, but that she would give him accommodation and food. She asked if the terms were acceptable.

“Si, suora, I mean sister,” he said meekly. His mouth seemed permanently upturned in a beatific smile and his eyes had a sparkle about them.

“So what’s your name then?” Sr Mary asked.
“Frankie,” he said. “Frankie Bernadone.”
“So what are you? Portuguese, Spanish?”
“I am from Italia,” Frankie told her. “I’m sorry I no speak-a English so good.”

As they walked through the chapel, Frankie stooped to pick up a piece of the fallen beam. He crushed it beneath his fingers to reveal a termite.

“Salute, fratello termite,” he smiled. “You and your brothers have been busy. But it is not right to eat-a the house of prayer. God is not pleased.” He placed the termite on the floor and followed Sr Mary to the caretaker’s small room.

The next morning Sr Mary was surprised to see Frankie up early. He joined them for morning prayers and then asked her for a note, explaining that he was working for the mission. He said that he would go into the nearby town and ask the local businesses if they could donate some material for the repairs.

“You’ll be lucky to get anything out of that hard-hearted bunch,” she said.

Frankie smiled and pointed a finger towards the heavens. “Let’s see what-a God will do.”

That afternoon a truck filled with wood and building material arrived at the mission. Sr Mary was still in a state of shock when she saw Frankie that evening.

“How did you do it, man. I’ve begged, cajoled and threatened them with hellfire and damnation and have never received a penny from that lot. What’s your secret? It is for free,” she said nervously.

“Si suora, it is gratis. I just say I need-a help and show them your note. I say I am a accattone—beggar—for God, and they help me.”

“The Lord love you, man. Can you start the repairs tomorrow?”

“Si suora, today has been a long day and now I go sleep. Tomorrow I will-a start.”

“Bless you Frankie Bernadone. The sisters and I will say a rosary for you tonight.”

Early the following morning Frankie put a ladder next to the chapel and climbed on to the roof. Before he was halfway to the hole, his foot went through the roof up to his knee. With some difficulty, he pulled his foot out and headed slowly back towards the ladder.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” came a voice from the ground. The voice belonged to Schalk Kruger, owner of the largest hardware store in the nearby town. Frankie leaned over the roof and shrugged his shoulders with a smile.

“I thought so,” said Kruger. “You may have the smile of a saint, but you’ve got the building skills of an idiot. Now get down from there. I don’t know why I’m doing this, maybe the sun has fried my brains, but I’m going to help. Now stay off that damn roof and I’ll go back to town to get some of my labourers.”

Frankie went and sat under a tree. A small bird landed not far from him and began to chirp. Frankie whistled softly back and began talking to it.

He was still talking to the bird when Sr Mary appeared.

“Here I thought you were fixing the roof and I find you sitting on your backside and talking to little birdies. I’m having second thoughts about you Mr Bernadone.” Before she could continue, Schalk Kruger and a truck full of labourers arrived.

“What in the Lord’s good name are you doing here sir?” she asked.

“Probably saving his life,” Kruger said, pointing at Frankie. “If you let him up on that roof again the next service you hold here will probably be a funeral service. For no other reason, I’m here to fix your roof. Now close your mouth sister, there’s lots of flies around.” Still stunned, Sr Mary went back into the chapel.

Before Kruger’s men could even start work, another truck filled with wood and labourers arrived and a tall, lanky man alighted.

“What do you think you’re doing here Murphy,” said Kruger.

“I wouldn’t be letting you, a heathen upstart, be helping a Catholic mission without me having something to say about it. Now stand aside and let the professionals get to work,” laughed Sean Murphy, owner of the other hardware store in town.

“You Irish hypocrite! You haven’t darkened a church in the 15 years I’ve known you. Since when did you get religion?”

“Since that man,” he pointed at Frankie, “came and asked for help to repair the chapel of the good and holy sisters of my religion, not yours. I’m planning on fixing this chapel and saving it from the shoddy mess your lot would make of it.”

At this point Sr Mary returned from the chapel. She saw Murphy and she turned pale.

“What are you doing here?” she said in a voice devoid of emotion.

“I’ve come to fix the roof, but this dumb Afrikaner is in my way. I’m not going to let some heathen fix my own sister’s chapel.”

“Your sister,” exclaimed Frankie and Kruger in unison.

“Yes, my sister,” shouted Murphy.

Sr Mary went white as she glared at Murphy. “I have never breathed a word that you, you fallen-from-grace hellion, are my older brother. I will not have you touching this chapel. I would rather sit in its ruins.” Tears streaming from her face, she ran back to the chapel.

Frankie followed her and found her sitting in the chapel. He squatted before her. After a few moments she looked at him, still sobbing.

“What is it with that smile of yours Frankie Bernadone? It is almost a sin for such a smile to be wasted on a tramp.”
“It is-a small gift from God,” he replied. “And now I think it is your turn to receive-a a gift from God.”
“And what gift is that,” she said.
“The gift of forgiveness.”
“I cannot forgive that man,“ she said emphatically. “The torment he put me and my sainted mother through with his wayward ways. His fighting, blaspheming and everything else—running away and leaving us to fend for ourselves. My mother died of a broken heart. He never came home to help. No, I cannot forgive him.”
“I wasn’t-a meaning that you forgive your brother,” explained Frankie. “I was-a meaning that you need to receive God’s forgiveness for yourself. You’ve been holding on to hatred and bitterness in your heart.”
“How can you possibly know that?” the nun said, anger in her voice.
“You show-a that today. Your brother is like the prodigal son in the Bible. He is-a coming home today. Be like the father in that story and welcome him home.”

Sr Mary went outside and knelt before her brother, asking him for his forgiveness. He said that it was him that needed forgiving, not her. In tears, they hugged, the pain of many years being washed away.

Later Sr Mary went back to the chapel to see Frankie with his bag, about to leave.

“I must-a go,” he said meekly.
“Indeed you must, to be sneaking off like this. I know who you are, you know.”
“I knew you would-a figure it out,” Frankie smiled.
“It took me a while to put the pieces together. Talking to the birds, the brother termite business, a beggar for God, the smile. Thank you for blessing our mission with your presence Francesco di Pietro di Bernadone, or should I say Francis of Assisi. I don’t just mean the building. You have healed me of my wounds, just as you did the lepers long ago. You have done wonders.”

“Go to Mass suora. You have quite a flock to attend to. I must-a be about our Father’s business, but I look forward to the day when we will-a meet again.”