The Gift

by Levi S. Peterson
Originally published in Summer 1982
On a snowy evening, Gerard de Valois stepped from a tram near Quai Marcellis in the Belgian city of Liege. He positioned his hat more firmly, tucked his scarf tightly into the collar of his coat, and went briskly off along the row of apartment buildings opposite the quay. He relished the soft pad of snow under his feet and the spiral of snowflakes in the aura of the streetlamps. Then he saw two young men meandering next to the balustrade of the quay. One of the young men was in a whimsical mood. He talked a little too loudly—in English, Gerard thought, though Gerard did not know English well enough to be sure. The fellow made snowballs and threw them over the balustrade into the river. He elevated his arms and pirouetted like a dancer. He leaped upon the railing of the balustrade and walked, balancing himself as in a tightrope act. He turned suddenly toward the dark river, stretched out his arms, and orated in a loud voice. When he had jumped down, he bellowed a line or two from a song. The other young man, noticing that Gerard had come abreast of them on the opposite walk, struck his companion a blow on the shoulder and scolded him in a muted voice.
The whimsical fellow seemed undaunted. He strode across the street and accosted Gerard. “I thought the street was empty,” he said. “I have lived where it rarely snows; this storm has sent me wild.”
“Apologies aren’t necessary,” Gerard said congenially. “It is a fine night for carousing. However, if you are searching for a bar, you have a way to go. You must go past the new bridge to Rue Pitours. There you will find an excellent little bistro.”
“Carousing isn’t exactly our line,” the young man said. “We’ve been knocking on doors hoping to talk to people. We’d like to talk with you. We have a gift we would like to leave with you.”
“You are peddlers,” Gerard said. “I was sure you were American soldiers on leave from Germany.”
“We are missionaries,” the young man said. He introduced himself as Frere Beckwith and his companion, who spoke no French, as Frere Haglund. They were Mormons from Utah.

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