Memories Of Christmas
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It was a fine day and we went up to the top of the mountain. We had some lunch, but I didn’t want much; I had eaten too much at breakfast and felt sick. I just drank some soda, as they called it then; there was no Coke in those days.
It was early afternoon when we started home. It would be dark before long, so I was hurrying to get back, not being one for the open air. My mother kept me at a slow pace though; she was a very good mother.
There was one place where you could get out on the ledge and look over the edge down into the valley. That’s what we did. I remember how beautiful it was to see the trees below us looking like they were on fire with the sun shining on them.
Then my mother said something I shall never forget, for I don’t think there is anything that has stayed with me all my life quite as much as those few words. She said, “Don’t forget this.”
I think that’s what she said. But of course, it might have been, “Look at this,” or maybe, “Remember this.” Either way, she was right; the sight was something that always stayed with me and made me feel happy and contented when I thought back to that day. For me, it was the perfect Christmas.
We had dinner, but I hardly ate any. I wasn’t used to eating a great deal, and I certainly wasn’t hungry after being on such an excursion. I must have eaten something, though, because my mother brought up a present from Santa Claus.
I still remember it now: a set of blocks to play with and some little books. I remember my father had told me about Santa, for he had lived in Germany when he was a child. He said the Christkindel-Masse was more important than Christmas.
Well, he was right about the Christkindel-Masse, but I didn’t understand what it was when my mother told me. I looked at her a little queerly and asked, “How does Santa come? Do you have to go down some chimney?”
“No, he comes in through the door,” my mother answered.
That puzzled me, so I asked again, “How does he get in without anybody seeing him?”
“He knows where you live, so he doesn’t need to come to your house. He only needs to see which one you’re going to.”
Well, that was a revelation to me! My mother explained how the Christkindel-Masse was going to come to our house, and I was just as pleased as could be. I was too young to understand that they weren’t the same thing at all, and my mother didn’t know she was talking nonsense.
After dinner, there was nothing much else to do. The men were going to put up the Christmas tree later in the evening, and then we would have the Christkindel-Masse. When my mother said the Christkindel-Masse was coming, it meant the Christkindel-Masse, and that’s what I expected to see; I had no other conception of Santa Claus.
I remember my mother saying something about a white beard and I thought she was referring to Santa Claus, because of course I hadn’t seen any other sort of man in the months leading up to Christmas. I mean, there had been Santa Claus in the newspapers, and he was certainly white, but I hadn’t thought of him being a real man.
But the Christkindel-Masse, that was something different.
I don’t know what happened next, but my parents suddenly vanished into another room and for some reason, I wasn’t allowed to go with them. They said it was all right, but I began to feel left out.
Then after a while, they came back with two strange people—my grandparents!—and my father announced that my brother and I had to show them where we slept. Well, that was just too much. I couldn’t help myself, I began to cry and kept on crying till my mother took me upstairs and said, “He won’t know who you are, and if he sees how unhappy you are, he will go away.”
My grandfather was called Wilhelm. He was short and stocky, very kind, but rather deaf, as they say in Germany, so he always had to shout to make himself heard. His wife was my grandmother, and although she was much smaller, she was also very kind.
My mother and I didn’t get along too well though; she was younger than my father by twelve or fifteen years and felt as though she were a big girl, and I was a child, no matter what age I might have been.
In fact, she thought I was much younger than I really was, and I used to say to her, “Mother, how old do you think I am?” She always replied, “Five or six, I suppose,” and then we would both laugh. But the funny thing is, I always thought I must be about five, and even when I was nearly seven, I still thought of myself as being that same age.
When I came out of school and everybody told me how old I looked, it took some time before I realized that I was wrong.
But this Christmas was special, because there was a man called the Christkindel-Masse, and that made it very important. So, without further ado, my grandfather came up and said, “Lemming, let’s go and see where the children sleep.” I remember thinking he wasn’t really calling me Lemming; that was just a name that he called me sometimes.
I was quite excited as we climbed the stairs to our bedroom, which was down a long corridor with six bedrooms on one side and four on the other. It was the biggest bedroom in the house, and it was my and my brother’s room.
My parents had given each of us a new bed, so there were two beds against one wall, and four against another, so altogether there was enough space for about ten people to sleep there, but my brother and I were the only ones who had any privacy at all.
The windows and the door led out to a balcony, overlooking the street below. In summer the balcony was full of sunshine, and even when it rained, it didn’t feel cold. We had a small wooden table and chairs on it, and my brother and I used to play there.
Sometimes the grown-ups would come up, and they sat in the little wicker chairs too. There was no electricity in those days, and there was an oil lamp that hung from a hook on the ceiling. You lit it by dipping the wick in the oil, and you could see the flame flicker every time somebody breathed.
It gave off a wonderful smell, and whenever we lit it in wintertime, it seemed as though the room was filled with beeswax candles. I often think back to the Christkindel-Masse, but I have never thought about our bedroom until now.
My brother was asleep at once because it was already late, but I lay awake on my bed for a long time, looking at the walls and listening to my parents and grandparents talking in the other room. But nobody was paying any attention to me, and I was too afraid to go down and ask them to take me back downstairs again.
I remember that the curtains were open, and I could see the stars shining through them, and even though it was so cold outside, the stars were bright and beautiful. And I remember thinking how lovely it must be for the Christkindel-Masse to be able to look out into the night like that.
He seemed such a different person to everybody else. I fell asleep at last, and it was just before dawn that I suddenly woke up. Something had woken me—a noise or a movement. I couldn’t make out what it was, and I felt very cold all over.
My brother was snoring, and the sound of his breath went straight through my body. I rolled over on my side, trying to get back to sleep, and I felt as though there was something pulling me back under the blankets, but I pushed it away and climbed out of my bed.
I didn’t feel afraid. I wasn’t sure what I was feeling at all. I got dressed as quickly as I could, but then I remembered that my boots weren’t there, because I’d left them in the kitchen when we came upstairs, and I looked everywhere for them, but I couldn’t find them anywhere.
Then I thought that maybe the Christkindel-Masse had come into the room while I was asleep and taken them away, and I started crying. It was an awful, lonely feeling to know that nobody cared if I lived or died.
But then I saw that there was something written in pencil on the wall where my boots had been, and I picked up the piece of chalk and began to read it: “My little Lemming is still awake.”
I ran downstairs into the kitchen, but my grandfather and grandmother had already gone to bed, and there was no one there except a man in black who was sitting by himself in the dark. He smiled when I came in, and said, “There you are! The Christkindel-Masse has been here. Have you seen him?”
“What man?” I asked.
He stood up and put his hand out to me. “Come with me,” he said, “and I’ll show you!”
So I followed him outside, where the moon was rising above the rooftops. The night was full of snow, but we went right underneath it, and we didn’t even feel any cold. There was no one else anywhere, and not a single sound.
We went down an alleyway that led under the houses, and then I saw the Christmas tree, which was taller than I’d ever imagined, and the light of its candles shone out from every branch and twig. There were decorations on it that glistened and sparkled, and on some of the branches, there were gifts hanging from red ribbons.
But they weren’t just any old presents; they were beautifully wrapped and decorated like real presents. The Christkindel-Masse sat down on one of the branches and opened up a package—a book with pictures all over it. He read a few pages aloud to me, and then he looked at me, smiling.
“Would you like a present too?” he asked. “I’m sure there’s something inside your package that will make you happy.”
“But what about my boots?” I asked.
He laughed. “What about them? You can have them if you like—and I’ll give you a pair of beautiful new ones to go with them. Or shall I bring the boots back with me so that you can open them here and now?”
“No,” I said. “My father is going to find out where I’ve got them from.”
The Christkindel-Masse sighed. “You’d better come with me,” he said. “That way I’ll be able to keep an eye on them while you’re sleeping. And if he really wants to know who I am, then I won’t mind telling him, but it might cause some problems for you in the morning.”
We went back into the alleyway, and he took me by the hand. I looked around, but I couldn’t see anyone else. When we reached the other side of the house, I could hear music coming from the windows: the most wonderful music that I’ve ever heard.
It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before or since, and I can’t begin to describe it to you. We came to a little bridge that crossed a stream, and when we crossed the bridge I saw that everything had changed.
The houses were gone, and the trees too; and there was no snow at all anywhere. All I could see around me was a landscape of flowers and green fields, which stretched right out as far as I could see in every direction.
There was a castle, bigger than the others, that stood on top of a hill, with its battlements pointing out over the countryside like spear tips. We walked up through the woods towards the castle, and I noticed that it was the same castle that my grandfather had told me about once—the castle that the witches had lived in.
As we came nearer to the castle, there was more and more music playing, and then I could hear voices, and finally, we came out into a courtyard in front of a door, and everyone came running towards us with their arms open wide.
“The Lemming! The Lemming!” they cried. “He’s come back again!”
And the Christkindel-Masse took me by the hand and led me to a little room in one of the towers, where a fire was burning and a little table with a white cloth laid out for two. There was a beautiful silver chalice full of milk and honey on the table, and he took me by the hand and poured some into his cup.
Then we both drank, and we sat down by the fire. He looked at me with such love and compassion in his eyes, and he said, “I have something to ask you, my little one.”
“Yes,” I replied. “Whatever it is, I’ll do anything if you just help me to get my boots back. It would mean everything to me.”
“That’s a very brave offer,” he said. “And I’m sure it will please my father, but I don’t think you’re quite old enough yet to be able to make any promises that you might later regret. Now, listen carefully to what I am going to tell you.
You know how your father hates being kept waiting—how he always expects things to go his way. So do you think you can manage to keep this to yourself until we see him again tomorrow?”
“Of course, I will!” I replied. “What are you telling me?”
He smiled and said, “This year we are celebrating Christmas in the castle of the witches.” And then he added, “So please don’t tell anyone else what you’ve heard tonight, because everyone will try to find out where they live, and they’ll end up dead.”
“No!” I cried. “Not them!”
He sighed. “If we wait here quietly until the morning, he’ll never know that you know. You’re only a little boy and you’ll probably forget all about it as soon as you wake up in your own bed again tomorrow. But if you tell anyone, then I’ll have to put an end to the Christkindel-Masse before he’s finished with it, and that won’t do at all.”
“Oh!” I replied, “But they can’t help themselves—and they didn’t mean to kill my father. I wouldn’t let them.”
“It’s not their fault,” he said. “I know that well enough. But they’re a danger to us all, and there’s no helping them. So I’m going to keep an eye on them tonight. And don’t worry—there is no way you could ever do anything to make me angry. After all, you’re only a child, and I love you very much.”
“Well, thank you!” I replied.
When he had gone I lay down by the fire and I fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. The next thing I remember was that I woke up in my bed at home. There were stars shining through the window and the room was full of light.
It seemed to me that my mother had put more wood on the fire because I could feel it burning my cheeks as I opened my eyes. I felt so warm and comfortable that I couldn’t resist the temptation to stay in bed for just a little while longer. Just then the door flew open, and Father came storming into the room.
He stopped and stared at me, and when I saw the look on his face I knew something terrible must have happened. I climbed out of bed and ran over to him and threw my arms around him and cried, “Father! Father! Why are you crying?”
“Oh, my son!” he cried. “I thought you were dead. It’s all my fault—I’ve brought you back to the same place where you nearly died the last time, and now I’m afraid we’re going to lose you again—if not this time, then next time or the time after that.”
“But what’s wrong?” I asked. “Is it me? Have I done something I’m ashamed of?”
“No,” he said, “it isn’t you.” He took hold of my shoulders and pulled me close to him. I looked at the door, but Mother and the Christkindel-Masse hadn’t come in yet. “Listen carefully, and don’t interrupt me,” he went on.
“This year there is an evil force that has taken possession of our family home. It seems to have appeared only recently, but in the past few days it has grown stronger than ever before, and the people who live here now seem to be its slaves. They are in chains, and they obey the evil forces without any resistance.”
“So we’ve been tricked, then?” I asked. “After all, no one would go to the trouble of giving us the keys if the doors really did lead to other places, so everyone knows where they belong—and the only ones who could have taken them away are the Christkindel-Masse themselves.”
“Yes, you’re quite right!” he replied. “That’s exactly what I think too—but if that were true, why didn’t anyone warn us that they were going to do something like this?”
“Then how can we stop them?” I asked. “If there’s a wicked force that’s taking over the house, and we know where it came from, it shouldn’t be hard to find it.”
“You’re probably right, my boy, you’re probably right,” he replied. “And when we finally discover the truth, then we will have the strength to fight back again. But until then, we must be careful, and try not to let ourselves or anyone else get hurt. And remember, my son, never ever tell anyone about what I am telling you tonight.”
“I won’t,” I said.
“Good,” he replied, and he smiled at me. “Because you know, as well as I do, that if you did, there wouldn’t be a soul anywhere who would believe you, and you would end up in a cell for the rest of your life.”
I nodded. “Yes,” I replied. “You’re probably right.”
“And so that is why you must never ever speak about this again—even if your mother and I decided that it might be best for you to live with someone else. So promise me you’ll keep this to yourself. And now go back to bed, and sleep quietly.”
“Of course, I will,” I replied. I was still thinking about how worried Father had looked when he came into my room and found me asleep. He’d seemed almost frightened to look at me, as though he were afraid of what he was going to see.
That was why I wasn’t surprised when he told me the following morning that I could move back home. And although I still didn’t know what had happened during those few moments of darkness, I knew one thing for certain. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been me. Because that’s not how it always happened when I fell asleep.
Father left early in the evening and came back only late the following morning, so Mother and I decided that we should go on a little walk together in the hope of cheering ourselves up. We took our dogs, but I was careful not to talk to them about the things that had happened.
Instead, we talked about happier subjects, such as Christmas and Father’s impending visit, and we laughed a lot. After walking for some time, we came to a clearing and sat down on a stone wall to watch the sun set behind the forest. Then we saw two people standing a short distance away. They were dressed in long white robes.
“What on earth are they doing?” asked Mother.
“I think they’re angels,” I replied, “but there are too many of them to be the Christkindel-Masse.”
“They seem to be coming this way,” she said. “Who could they be? Do you know them?”
“No,” I replied. “But whoever they are, I think we ought to get out of here.”
We stood up, and then one of the figures stopped in front of us. “Hello,” he said. He sounded young and excited.
“Hello,” I replied.
The man smiled and gestured towards the clearing. “Would you like to see something beautiful?” he asked.
We followed him through the trees. As we walked, Mother asked, “How did you know we wanted to see something beautiful?”
“Everyone always wants to see something beautiful,” he replied. “You wouldn’t want to come if you didn’t.”
He looked at me as though I was stupid.
When we reached the clearing, the angel turned and pointed toward the center. “This is the most beautiful place in the whole world,” he said.
We looked around at all the different trees—they had leaves shaped like stars—and it felt as though the whole sky was shining down upon us. Then the angel stood in front of me, and he put his hands on my shoulders.
“Do you see that?” he asked. I looked up, but I couldn’t see anything except the endless green canopy of leaves, and then I remembered the story about the two who were lost in the forest. The one who fell asleep and then woke up, and the other who didn’t wake up at all.
“Yes, I see them,” I replied.
He smiled. “Well done,” he said. “I told you you’d be able to see them.” He walked over to the angel standing next to Mother.
“Can you see them yet?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “No. But I can feel them. They’re there.”
The angel nodded, and then he turned to look at me again.
“Are you sure you can see them?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes,” I replied. “They’re right in front of us.”
The angel smiled and touched Mother’s cheek with his fingers.
“My darling,” he said, “you are very special indeed. And this is why you must never ever tell anyone else about what you’ve seen. Ever.”
He bent down to kiss her and then turned back to me. “And now you must go back to where you came from. Promise you’ll do that, because I don’t want any harm to come to you or your family. Now go!”
I nodded and hurried off through the trees. When I got back to our clearing, Mother was already waiting for me. She smiled and held out her arms, and I climbed into them so that she could hold me against her chest.
I lay there looking up at her, feeling safe and protected. Then I saw the angel standing behind her, watching me with a sad expression on his face. I put my finger up to my lips to remind him not to whisper and then whispered to Mother, “I saw the Christkindel-Masse.”
***
Father returned the next morning, and I asked him whether he had found anything during his trip. He said no, that he hadn’t been able to find anybody.
Mother asked him how it went with Mother, which made him smile. Then he told me the story.
When he woke up that morning, Father noticed that his coat was hanging on a hook on the wall, but it was empty. “I took off my jacket last night,” he said.
He searched all around the cottage, but there was no sign of either the woman or the child. The bed was empty, too, as were all the drawers in the bedroom. Even the things in the kitchen cupboard looked different: there was less food than there had been before.
“Where could they have gone?” he asked. “There’s nowhere to hide here.”
He called out to them, and there was no response. Then he decided to go and see if there was anybody else living in the valley. But when he arrived at the first house, the door was shut, and he couldn’t get in.
“Maybe she was going to call for help,” he thought. So he went to the next house. There, the door was also closed, and the people inside didn’t answer his calls.
By now, he was really worried. He went back to our cottage, and then he tried again. This time he knocked, and it opened.
Inside, the cottage was empty, too. “They must have gone,” he thought, “to find someone who will help them.”
“That’s what I’ll do, too,” he said to himself, and he started to walk towards the end of the valley where there were still a couple of other houses. When he reached the next one, he saw the front door open, so he went in.
“Hello!” he called out. “I’m looking for the mother and child who live here. Have you seen them?”
No one answered, but the woman’s bed was empty. He called out again, and then he heard footsteps from behind a curtain.
“Come here, whoever you are!” Father called out. “The woman and child live here! They’ve gone away, and I’m trying to find them.”
A man came out of the bedroom. “Yes, we know all about them,” he said. “We’re sorry, but they had to leave.”
“What? Why?” Father asked.
“They wanted to,” the man replied, “and there wasn’t much that anyone could do about it.”
Father didn’t understand. “Why?” he repeated. “You can tell me what happened, but please don’t keep secrets from me.”
“Of course not,” the man said. “We will always tell you anything you want to know.”
He turned around, and Father noticed that there were three more people sitting at the table. They looked at him with sad eyes, as if they already knew everything, and Father understood why. He took a deep breath, and then he sat down on the chair.
“What have you done?” Father asked.
“Nothing,” the man said.
“Didn’t you realize how unhappy Mother was when she found out you weren’t her husband?” Father asked. “That’s why she got so angry with us, and then you lied to us.”
“Yes, that’s true,” the man admitted, “but I did it because it was the best thing for her and the child. Otherwise, she would have been even more miserable than she is now. And the child wouldn’t have known any other father. It would have hated him all his life.”
The man looked very sad. Father had never seen him like this before, and he looked at the other people in the room, who nodded their heads in agreement.
The End