The Christmas Tree and the Better Life

My short story takes place after “The Christmas Tree and the Wedding,” a short story by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Mr. Dostoevsky’s classic story can be read at https://web.archive.org/web/20161206030457/http://www.classicreader.com/book/2169/1

I stood outside a gorgeous mansion awaiting my host. Julian Mastakovich was a man of money, whom became even richer by marrying a sixteen year old girl with a dowry of five hundred thousand rubles. Fifteen years had passed and the couple was quite well to do, being residents of the giant home I was about to visit. Despite this, Julian Mastakovich’s wife was seen as merely a servant and property to her husband. Believing I could give this woman a better life, I had issued a challenge to Julian Mastakovich for a solo game of Blackjack. I held a bag of gold in my hand which was easily worth at least one million rubles. If Julian Mastakovich won our game, the bag of gold was all his. But if I were to win, he would turn his wife over to me.

After waiting a brief moment, Mrs. Mastakovich answered the door. She was as breathtaking as I had heard. Despite her natural beauty, an emotionless composure stood before me. As she gestured me towards the living room of their home, I thought about how certain I was that I could bring happiness to this lovely woman. All I had to do was defeat Julian Mastakovich.

Once in the living room I took a seat in a chair by a small table, apparently set up for our duel. There were plenty of nice things to observe in the room, but a Christmas tree decorated with the finest gold, silver and bronze ornaments and garland was the standout. As I found myself mesmerized by the tree, Julian Mastakovich himself entered the room. He was a man whom looked well fed and cared for, no doubt by his loyal spouse per her wifely duties. Julian Mastakovich was dressed in a festive suit, and appeared unimpressed by my Tomura Shigaraki T-Shirt and ripped jeans. Nonetheless, Julian Mastakovich grudgingly extended out his hand, and I reciprocated by extending my own hand to shake his.

“Your hand has a stickiness to it.” Julian Mastakovich spoke in a sickened tone, his first words to me since my arrival.

“Oh, my apologies good sir, I ate a chocolate chip cookie on my way here and must not have properly cleaned the surface of my hands.” I responded.

Julian Mastakovich gave me a disgusted glare, and like clockwork Mrs. Mastakovich entered the room with a small basin of water and a towel. She cleaned his hands thoroughly and headed my way. I politely declined her kind gesture, then turned back to Julian Mastakovich, whom was now seated at the other side of the small table.

“Present the gold for your wager.” Julian Mastakovich said. I understood that this man only had me in his presence for my money, and once the game was over I would be quickly dismissed. I didn’t mind, the feeling was mutual. I was going to put Julian Mastakovich in his place and give his wife a real life. I placed the large bag of gold on the middle of the table, then confirmed the terms.

“If you win, the gold is all yours and you never have to see me again.” I stated. “And if I win, your wife is no longer obligated to you, but to me instead.”

Julian Mastakovich nodded his head approvingly, greedily eyeing the bag of gold. I presented my deck of cards to him, then shuffled the deck and dealt us each two cards, per our arrangement one card face up and one face down. He had one ace out and another card that was a mystery to me, and he asked for a hit. He asked for one more after the first hit, then ended his turn with three cards and a triumphant grin. I passed him the deck and observed my visible ten of spades. My hidden card was a ten of clubs. I asked for a hit, and as Julian Mastakovich handed me a card I prepared to compliment the Christmas tree as a distraction. Before I could do this an ace of hearts fell out of my sleeve.

“YOU WORTHLESS PEASANT!” Julian Mastakovich hollered at me. Before he could continue to tear at me with verbal jeers, his eyes went from pure fury to blank emotion.

“I must confess to something else besides my intention to cheat in our game Julian Mastakovich.” I said with relaxed confidence in my voice. “I never ate a cookie on my way here. My hands were coated with a special drug that absorbed into your skin once we shook hands. It is a mind control drug that was developed in my time. You were so focused on my gold and on looking down on me that you didn’t think about how different I look. I am from the future, and I came here to give your wife a better future than the one you had in mind.”

Julian Mastakovich stared at me with his emotionless eyes and expression, nodding his head against his will to acknowledge what I was saying before I continued. “I have some papers here for you to sign. You are going to give Mrs. Mastakovich everything you own. You are free to keep the clothes on your back. I will even let you take my gold. A peasant like myself could make it last a lifetime, someone like yourself I give about a month. How you use it is your call of course. Once the drug wears off, you will remember nothing about me or this transaction. You will only remember that you agreed to these terms, and you will leave your soon to be ex-wife in peace.”

Julian Mastakovich nodded his head again, and signed the papers. He then stood up, preparing to walk out of his now former residence for the last time.

“One more thing Julian Mastakovich.” I said. “Feel free to pack up the Christmas tree and take it with you. It is after all, a lovely tree.”

Julian Mastakovich nodded, then left the room to get the boxes for the tree and its decorations. The now former Mrs. Mastakovich walked in the room, watching her husband pack up the Christmas tree and its beautiful dressings before staggering out the door with the boxes. She looked at me in shock, wondering what had just happened.

I presented the now signed papers to her. “Congratulations Mrs. Mastakovich, your husband has left almost everything to you, and you are now free to live your life however you want to.” I told her as gently and kindly as I could. “There is one more thing I want to tell you. There is a young man whom would love to see you again. You may remember him as a red headed, freckled little boy whom tried to defend you from Julian Mastakovich. He never stopped thinking about you since that day.”

I looked at the young women after telling her this, and tears streamed down her face. They were not sad tears though, as a beautiful beaming smile shone on her face as well. This was likely the first time she had smiled in years. I smiled as well, knowing that I had wagered right. I was indeed able to give this woman a better life than Julian Mastakovich ever did.