Chapter 410: Chapter 190: Christmas
The door to the Steel Worker Community Center was pushed open.
A blast of heat, thick with the mingled scents of turkey fat and mulled wine, assaulted Leo’s senses.
The warmth instantly banished the biting chill of the Pittsburgh winter night, firmly shutting out all thoughts of budgets, bills, betrayal, and political schemes.
The room was dimly lit and warm, the heat turned up high.
Margaret was in her wheelchair, her legs covered by the familiar plaid blanket.
She was waving a soup ladle, directing two young volunteers as they hung a string of colorful lights on the ceiling beams.
Frank Kovalsky was wearing a comical red and white Santa hat.
The hat was too small for his huge head, perched crookedly on top.
He clutched a large handful of candy, under siege by a group of children.
No one seemed stiff or formal at the Mayor’s arrival. They simply turned, glanced at the young man at the door dusted with snowflakes, and smiled.
"Hey, Leo!"
Old Qiao shouted, raising his wine glass.
"Don’t just stand there like an idiot, get over here! That old bastard Frank tried to sneak a drumstick, but Margaret smacked his hand with a spoon. We saved it for you!"
Leo closed the door behind him.
The sound of the wind and snow vanished.
He took off his heavy black overcoat and hung it on the coat rack by the door.
In that moment, he felt he was shedding more than just a coat. He was shedding a suit of armor so heavy it threatened to suffocate him.
He was no longer the Mayor who gave orders in City Hall.
He was Leo.
He was the history student who had walked in here two years ago, vowing to save the community center.
He walked to the long table and sat in the empty seat next to Frank.
Frank shoved a cup of mulled wine into his hand.
"Drink up," Frank said. "Warm yourself up."
Leo took a big gulp.
"Thanks," Leo said.
"Thanks, my ass." Frank grabbed a handful of peanuts and shoved them in his mouth. "No talk about work tonight, and none of that Washington bullshit. Tonight, we eat."
Leo smiled.
He looked around.
The children were shrieking as they unwrapped presents under the Christmas tree. Although the gifts were cheap—mostly handmade by community residents or bought from a supermarket’s discount section—the children’s joy was real.
The workers gathered together, loudly bragging about how much work they’d done on the construction site, or whose kid had gotten good grades.
The women were gathered around the long table, carving the turkey and serving mashed potatoes and gravy.
Here, there was only the stuff of everyday life, the tangible reality of living.
Roosevelt’s voice became unusually gentle then. It was as if he were sitting beside Leo at the greasy long table, watching these ordinary people.
"This is what you must protect," Roosevelt said.
"Whether it’s the five-hundred-million-dollar bond, or the Inland Port, or even your title of Mayor."
"Those are all means, tools, weapons."
"But this... this is the purpose."
"This is your kingdom of God."
"The deals you made, the infamy you’ve shouldered, turning yourself into a monster..."
"It was all for this moment."
"To keep this light burning."
"So that the people in this room could have a hot meal, a shelter from the storm, and a reason to truly smile this winter."
Leo clutched his wine glass, taking it all in.
Yes, all of this was what he had fought for.
But he didn’t feel a sense of relief.
Another image surfaced in his mind, impossible to suppress.
The pile of old furniture thrown on the roadside, the man named Jose, and his daughter clutching a rag doll, her eyes vacant.
They were celebrating Christmas, too.
But they didn’t even have a roof over their heads.
The sharp contrast sent a pang of pain through him.
’But, Mr. President,’ Leo thought, his voice a whisper in his own mind, ’I saved some people, but I hurt others. I’ve made this city better, but at the cost of some people’s homes.’
’I can’t make everything perfect.’
"A leader isn’t a god; a leader is a man who bears a Cross. You cannot save everyone. You will inevitably hurt some people along the way. That is the pain you must bear."
"The only thing you can do is ensure your direction is correct, and ensure you save more people than you hurt. Then, bearing those scars and that guilt, you must keep walking."
At that moment, the lights in the room dimmed.
Frank went to the Christmas tree and lit the star at the very top.
Someone began to hum.
At first, it was just a few low male voices. Then, female voices joined in, and then the voices of children.
The singing wasn’t professional, even a little off-key.
Rough voices mixed with the tender sound of children, echoing in the hall.
Leo closed his eyes, letting the familiar melody envelop him.
In the music, he saw Frank’s wrinkled face, Margaret’s peaceful smile in her wheelchair, and the clear eyes of the children.
He also saw Jose’s family, driven out onto the streets on that snowy night, and the numb-faced dishwashers in the back kitchen.
Light and shadow, warmth and cold, hope and despair, all intertwined in this simple song.
This was the world he had to protect—an imperfect, yet incredibly real world.
In that instant, he felt an unprecedented peace, and from that peace, a resolve so absolute it could burn everything to the ground.
As long as he could keep this light burning, as long as he could keep this song alive...
He was willing to pay any price.
The singing ended.
"Merry Christmas!" Margaret shouted.
"Merry Christmas, everyone," Leo said, raising his glass.
Outside the window, snow fell heavily.
White snowflakes fell silently, covering the muddy construction sites of the South District, covering the unfinished roads, concealing all the scars and filth of the city.
The world turned pure white.
The Word was made flesh and nailed to the Cross.
He who loves you must suffer for your sins.
That is what it truly means for God to love the world.
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