BY LEAH FISHER

Monday, 7 Tevet, 5694

Maximus Rieger arrived in Inglegrad to spend his winter holiday at the parsonage of Palmiere Memorial Chapel, where he opened the door of the second-floor flat to discover his hosts in the midst of a heated argument. To the untrained eye, it would have appeared to be the beginnings of the desolation of a friendship, but to Francis and Franz, it was merely another of their spirited debates. It was daily that they indulged themselves in this verbal jousting, back and forth, airing their convictions until the bitter fight had ended and one’s arguments had all sunk thoroughly down into the deaf ears of the other.

Francis sat in a wingback chair with his legs crossed and an open book in hand, the book resting comfortably on his thigh as he read.

Franz stood over him, presenting the final lines of his well-made argument. His manner was fervent and animated, and from the look on his flushed face, it was clear that he was satisfied his timeless opponent would be unable to withstand this final strike of logic. He stood, tall and bright with a confident smile, as he locked his wrists behind him.

There was a pause in the excitement as Francis lowered his book and raised his eyes back to his winded rival. He smirked. “What was that? I’m sorry I didn’t hear a word!”

Franz hung his head, his shoulders limp, and his arms fell to his side, defeated. He knew that he had lost. What an unfortunate turn of events it was for him, but one so easily predictable as to happen every time. A broad grin split his face, and he raised his head, laughing. “That isn’t fair, Francis! You know that even the best rejoinder falls a little flat when it is repeated a second time!”

Francis was beaming, and he dissolved into laughter, just as Franz did. “Well, that’s the point, then—isn’t it! It couldn’t have really been all that clever, if it isn’t worth repeating.”

Franz pointed an accusatory finger at him. “Francis, I will defeat you in this master art of argument, and one day you will bear witness to my masterful reprise.”

“Oh! Will I?” Francis feigned astonishment.

“Yes, and you shall shutter when at last you hear it. For you, Francis Kirchlich, will at last have tasted the unpleasantries of the defeat you have so often served to others!” Franz puffed his chest, pronouncing judgement with his hand on his hip in triumph.

“Ah, yes. Of course, there is just one small problem…”

Franz cast him a skeptical glance and waited.

“You can’t win, if you’re wrong, and if you were right, we wouldn’t be arguing!”

Franz shook his head, speechless, and the two fell again to laughter.

Max stepped into the room with his suitcase in hand and admired the beautifully decorated tree erected in the midst of the large living area. The house itself was cold, the old wood and windows warped and drafty, but the soft light of the tree and its glowing candles left him with a sense of wonder and warmth. He smiled. It reminded him of better days, and he was happy to be there.

The merry sound of his roommates’ laughter was a perfect match for the crackling of the fire in the furnace so small it was a miracle it could even heat the room, and the faint singing of carolers in the street merged with the ringing of church bells that filtered through the thin walls. Meanwhile, three presents sat wrapped in illustrious paper beneath the green fir tree, and Max could not help but wonder whether one might be for him. The thought alarmed him a little, as he realized that he hadn’t brought a thing for either of them, not even so much as a card or a letter from home. He took his suitcase in both hands, his body tensed, and he made an honest attempt to convince himself that the gift was for somebody else. In his heart, though, he knew that it wasn’t. It would have been just like Francis to have gotten him something.

That was when they, too, noticed him. Franz was the first. He turned his face away from Francis and found himself looking straight at Max, who stood in his winter clothes with his knees knocking and a fine dusting of snow atop his person.

Franz’s eyes lit with excitement. “Hey, Max! Merry Christmas! Welcome to Noldon Flats, our very own oasis!” He offered an exaggerated bow. “I just hope you like cold.”

“Max!” Francis twisted around in his chair and was quickly out of it, rushing over to dust the younger man off and handle his luggage.

Max smiled as he watched the white fluff fall down around him. He tittered, shivering. “Thanks.”

Franz followed Max’s eyes back to the tree. “You know, we had a lovely Weihnacht service yesterday. Francis did a fantastic job with it all. We had actual camels! Can you believe that? This guy hears that we’re celebrating the King’s birthday and makes a whole royal affair out of it.”

“I’m sorry I missed it. Did you get a good turnout?”

“Not really,” Franz lamented, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets. “Too many of the congregants work hard manual jobs. They couldn’t have possibly come.”

“Ah, too bad. I wish I had been there. You know how I love Francis’s sermons.”

Francis smiled at him warmly. “You’ll get plenty while you’re here. But I will confess that I never thought what a challenge it would be to have to write one every week.”

Max nodded. “A treat for me! But an understandable inconvenience for yourself.” He didn’t mean to be, but he was still looking past Francis to the presents.

“Well, maybe not so bad. I have had Franz here to lighten the load, but that will be ending soon. Then I’ll really be in trouble.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “Shall we present the gifts, then? Franz and I have not exchanged, and I have one for you, also.”

“But I haven’t brought anything for you! I’m sorry… I should have known you would—”

Francis shook his head and raised a hand to stop him. He walked over to the tree in silence and picked up a slender gift wrapped in silver paper with a string tied in a perfect bow to hold it all together.

“What in the world is your idea of property?” Francis hit the package against his hand, making a contemplative smacking sound while walking it back to his pupil. “I only said I have a gift for you. Whether you have one for me is immaterial.” He smiled. “Actually, I want very much to give this to you.”

Max gave a nod and took the package in his hands. It was uncommonly weighty.

“Well, go on. Open it.”

Max pulled the sting, and the paper parted, revealing a book which he had borrowed from Francis some months prior. He had loved it, but returned it without finishing, because he felt badly that he had kept it so long as he did. Max was speechless. The gift itself hardly seemed to matter. It was the fact that Francis had presented him with something of his very own that struck him.

His eyes shot up at his teacher. “But this is your book, Francis! I couldn’t possibly take it! What if you need it?”

Francis shrugged. “I am sure that I could find another one. That one isn’t mine, though — it’s yours. See the inside? I presented it to you.”

Max lifted the cover. Sure enough, there was a friendly inscription, almost impossible to read and most definitely in Francis’s handwriting.

“Wow,” he breathed, awestruck. “Thank you so much.”

Francis waved his hand. “Not at all.”

Francis and Franz took possession of the two remaining gifts and presented them each man to the other. Their eyes locked as they exchanged, and Franz had the most impish look on his face.

Francis raised an eyebrow. “What are you up to?”

Franz grinned. “You’ll see.”

Franz was the first to pull on his ribbon. Inside was a book, leather bound, and his hand hit his forehead with a smack when he saw it. “Good gracious, Francis! A copy of the Holy Scriptures? In Inglegrish, I assume.” He lifted the cover. “Are you trying to torture me?”

A sad smile crossed the other man’s face. “You’ll make good use of it, I’m sure. You really had ought to practice, even if you are going back to Garma.”

“Well, thanks.” Franz caressed the pages printed with words so precious mortals were blessed by their utterance. “You should open your present, too, you know?” His voice cracked, and Max thought he might have caught the glimmer of a tear in his eye.

Francis pulled on his ribbon, unwrapping his gift, and discovered inside of the hasty wrapping a book identical to the one which he had presented to Max. He laughed as he freed it from its paper, and examined it in awe. “Franz, how in the world did you get ahold of this? It’s out of print! I got my copy from Harnack when I took his class.”

Franz sported a sly smile, beaming. “Ah! But Francis, you forget that you were not the only one in Harnack’s class.”

“This is yours?”

Franz shrugged. “I never read it.”

Francis laughed, flipping through the unworn pages. “I can tell. It’s hardly been cracked.” He turned his attention back to Max. “Sorry there, Max. It seems I have presented an inferior gift.”

Max shook his head in an emphatic protest. “No, sir! You haven’t.” He stared at the inscription scribbled down by his old teacher. “I love this one. It’s perfect.”

This story is an excerpt from the novel Good Fellows: Debt & Dishonor.