The Gift of the Magi (Selected Short Stories by O. Henry)

Author: O. Henry (USA)
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-01-01
Features: Seventeen and a half cents. All of it is here. Six cents of it is in one-cent coins. These cents were squeezed out of the grocery store owner, the vegetable vendor, and the butcher, bit by bit, until she felt ashamed and deeply embarrassed by this weighing and measuring trade. Della counted it three times, and it was still seventeen and a half cents. And tomorrow was Christmas. Except for crying out on that worn-out little sofa, there was clearly no other way. Della did so, and a wave of spiritual reflection washed over her. Life is crying, sniffing, and smiling, with sniffing dominating. As the housewife gradually calmed down, let's take a look at this home. A furnished apartment, with a rent of eight dollars a week. Though difficult to describe in words, it was truly worthy of the term "beggars' quarter." There was a mailbox in the hallway downstairs, but it had never held a letter, and there was also a button, but the bell had never been pressed. Moreover, there was a nameplate there, reading "Mr. James Dillingham Young." The name "Dillingham" was added in a moment of pride when the master was on a high, earning thirty dollars a week. Now, his income had been reduced to twenty dollars, and the letters of "Dillingham" seemed blurred, as if they were seriously considering whether to abbreviate them to the modest and practical letter "D." However, whenever James Dillingham Young came home and entered the upstairs room, Mrs. James Dillingham Young, the one just introduced to you, Della, would always call him "Jim," and embrace him warmly. That was certainly the best of all. After crying, Della dabbed some powder on her cheeks and stood by the window, gazing at a grayish-white cat walking along a grayish-white fence in the grayish-white backyard. Tomorrow was Christmas, and she had only seventeen and a half cents to buy a gift for Jim. She had spent months, using all her effort, to save up just this amount. A weekly income of twenty dollars simply couldn't stand the expense, and expenses always exceeded the budget. Only seventeen and a half cents for Jim. Her Jim. She had spent so many happy days planning to give him a gift that would please him—a delicate, rare, and valuable gift—one that was at least worthy of everything Jim had. Between the two windows in the room was a mirror. Perhaps you have seen an apartment mirror with an eight-dollar-a-week rent. A very slim and nimble person, by observing their reflection in a series of vertical images, might get a fairly accurate idea of their appearance. Della was slim and had mastered this art. Suddenly, she spun around from the window and stood before the mirror. Her eyes were bright, but within twenty seconds, her face lost its color. She quickly let down her hair, letting it fall completely loose. Now, Mr. and Mrs. James Dillingham Young each had something special to be proud of. One was Jim's gold watch, an heirloom passed down from his grandfather to his father and then to him. The other was Della's beautiful hair. If the Queen of Sheba① lived in the apartment opposite the courtyard, Della would one day let her hair down and hang it out to dry, making the Queen's pearls pale in comparison; if the basement were filled with gold and silver treasures and King Solomon were the guard, every time Jim passed by, he would surely take out his gold watch, making King Solomon jealous to the point of blowing his. At this moment, Della's beautiful hair cascaded around her, rippling like waves, shining like a brown waterfall. Her hair reached her knees, as if it were a long robe. Then, she nervously combed her hair back. After hesitating for a minute and standing motionless, a few drops of tears fell onto the worn-out red carpet. She put on her brown old coat and brown old hat, tears still sparkling in her eyes, and with a sway of her skirt, she stepped out of the room and went downstairs to the street. She stopped in front of a sign that read: "Madam Sophronia—Specializing in All Kinds of Hair." Della ran up the stairs, catching her breath. The woman was stout, pale, and cold, completely unlike the elegant name "Sophronia." "Do you want to buy my hair?" Della asked. "I buy hair," the woman said. "Take off your hat and let me see the sample." The brown waterfall fell down. "Twenty dollars," the woman said, picking up the hair expertly. "Quick, give me the money," Della said. Ah, the next two hours flew by on wings, joyfully. Please ignore this whimsical metaphor. She was thoroughly searching the stores for a gift for Jim. Finally, she found it—something tailor-made for Jim, not for anyone else. She searched through all the stores, but there was nothing like it. A simple platinum watch chain, engraved with patterns. Like all fine things, it was judged by its quality, not its decoration. And it was perfectly suited to the gold watch. As soon as she saw the chain, she knew it must belong to Jim. It was like Jim himself—quiet and valuable—this description fit both of them perfectly. She spent twenty-one dollars to buy it and hurried home, leaving only seven and a half cents. The gold watch matched the chain, and Jim could look at the time without any shame, no matter the occasion. Though this watch was elegant and valuable, he sometimes only stole a glance at it because he had used an old strap instead of a chain. After Della returned home, her joy became somewhat cautious and sensible. She found the curling iron, lit the gas, and set about repairing the damage caused by love and generosity, which was always an extremely difficult task, dear friends—truly an extraordinary task. In less than forty minutes, her head was covered with tight curls that stuck close to her scalp, making her look like a truant schoolboy. She stared at herself in the mirror, examining herself carefully and critically. "If Jim looks at me and doesn't kill me," she muttered to herself, "he'll say I look like a singing girl from the island of Coney. But what can I do—oh, only seventeen and a half cents, what can I do?" At seven o'clock, she had brewed the coffee and placed the frying pan on the hot stove, ready to cook a steak. Jim always came home on time. Della held the watch chain folded in her hands and sat at the table corner closest to where he usually entered. Then, she heard the sound of his footsteps on the downstairs stairs, and her face lost some color for a moment. She was accustomed to silently praying for simple daily things, and now she whispered, "Oh, God, please let him think I'm still beautiful." The door opened, and Jim walked in, closing it behind him. He looked thin and very serious. Poor thing, he was only twenty-two years old and had already taken on the burden of the family! He needed to buy a new overcoat, and he didn't even have gloves. Jim stood at the doorway in the room, motionless, as if a hunter had smelled a quail. His eyes were fixed on Della, and his expression was one that she couldn't understand, one that made her shiver. It wasn't anger, nor surprise, nor dissatisfaction, nor even disdain. It was none of the emotions she had expected. He was simply staring at Della with that expression. Della twisted her waist and jumped off the table, walking toward him. "Jim, dear," she called out, "don't look at me like that. I cut my hair and sold it because I couldn't spend Christmas without giving you a gift. Hair will grow back—you won't mind, will you? I had to do it. My hair grows so fast. Say 'Merry Christmas'! Jim, let's be happy. You surely won't guess what a good—what a beautiful and delicate gift I bought for you!" "You've cut your hair?" Jim asked, as if he had strived to understand the obvious fact. "I cut it and sold it," Della said. "Anyway, don't you still love me just as much? Without my long hair, I'm still me, right?" Jim looked around the room in a strange way. "You say your hair is gone?" he asked, almost as if he were stupid. "Don't look for it," Della said. "Let me tell you, I've sold it—I've sold it all. It's gone. It's Christmas Eve, dear. Be good to me. It's for you. Maybe my hair can be counted," she added suddenly in a particularly gentle voice, "but who can count the love I have for you? Did I make steak for you, Jim?" Jim seemed to snap out of a daze and embraced Della tightly. Now, let's take ten seconds to consider some trivial matters from another angle. An apartment rent of eight dollars a week or a million dollars—what difference does it make? A mathematician or a genius might give you the wrong answer. The Magi② brought valuable gifts, but something was missing. This will be explained later. Jim took a small package from his coat pocket and threw it on the table. "Don't misunderstand me, Della," he said, "I don't think that cutting hair, shaving, or washing it will reduce my love for my wife by even a little. But as soon as you open that package, you'll understand why I was so stunned just now." With pale fingers, she deftly untied the string and opened the package. Then came a scream of joy, followed by tears of female nervousness and crying, urgently needing the master's tender comfort. And then, there was the comb—a complete set of combs, including those for the sides and the back—something she had seen in a Broadway window and envied terribly long ago. These beautiful combs, made of pure tortoiseshell, with jewels set around them—their color matched her lost hair perfectly. She knew that the set was far too expensive, and she had only envied and longed for it, never dreaming of owning it. Now, it belonged to her. Too bad her beautiful, long hair, which was worthy of wearing this long-desired decoration, was gone. Still, she hugged the combs to her chest and, after a long time, lifted her tear-filled eyes and smiled, saying, "My hair grows so fast, Jim!" Then, Della sprang up like a cat that had been scalded, crying, "Oh! Oh!" Jim had not yet seen his beautiful gift. She impatiently spread her palm and held it out to him. The insensitive metal seemed to shimmer with her joy and enthusiasm. "Is it beautiful, Jim? I searched the entire city for it. Now, you can look at the time a hundred times a day. Give me the watch, I want to see how it looks on it." Jim did not follow her instructions but instead lay down on the sofa, resting his hands under his head, smiling slightly. "Della," he said, "let's put the Christmas gifts aside for a while. They are too good to use right now. I sold my gold watch and got money to buy you the combs. Now, you make the steak." As you know, the Magi were wise people, the wisest of all, who brought gifts to the baby Jesus born in a manger. They invented the custom of giving Christmas gifts. Since they were wise, their gifts were undoubtedly wise gifts. If two gifts were exactly the same, they might even have the right to exchange them. Here, I have awkwardly introduced a plain story about two foolish children living in an apartment, who foolishly sacrificed their most valuable possessions for each other. But let us say the last word to the wise of today. Among all those who give gifts, those two were the wisest. Among all those who give and receive gifts, there were people like them who were also the wisest. Everywhere, they were the wisest. They were the Magi.