Through My Eyes. Again
Copyright© 2019 by Iskander
Chapter 4
23rd December - 25th December 1962
In the morning, I asked about spending Christmas Eve at Col’s house. My mother pursed her lips in concern. “I think I’d better ring Frau Schmidt. You are spending so much time over at her house I am worried you might be a nuisance.”
From what I could hear, Frau Schmidt didn’t feel that about me.
I needed to exchange my library books. We had finished Secret Garden and I had finished King Solomon’s Mines. I grabbed my books and caught a bus down into the town.
“Excuse me.” I asked the young librarian when I reached the desk. “I am learning German and was wondering if you had any books to help me learn the language?”
Her face showed surprise ... and something else. “You want to speak German?”
Her voice dripped with derision at the thought of anyone bothering to learn what she thought was a tainted tongue. Somewhat taken aback, I nodded. She sniffed, her eyes full of ice and fire.
“Well, do you have any?”
The older librarian had been listening. She gave her younger colleague a disapproving glance. “I think we have a tiny selection of books in foreign languages, but I’m not sure if they are for children.” Her voice echoed her doubt. “Come with me and we’ll see.” She led me towards the rear of the library. We found shelves labelled “French”, “Polish”, “Russian” – and one labelled “German”, with only a handful of books between the bookends.
“There you go – see if you can find anything.”
One title stood out: “Der schweizerische Robinson”. On the cover was an illustration of a group of people standing bedraggled on a beach surrounded by wreckage: Swiss Family Robinson. I had loved the movie when I saw it in my old life.
It was in the old German Gothic script, which would make reading it difficult, but I took it. Another book caught my eye – Die schöne Müllerin und Winterreise. These are the poems by Wilhelm Müller that Schubert had used to construct his two famous song cycles: beautiful music, but both ending in sadness and death. I had listened to them many times in my old life and again with Frau Schmidt, but I had never read the poems. In the children’s library, I came across a book with a picture of a dragon sprawled on a hoard of gold: The Hobbit. I was sure Col would love this, so I picked it up, making my three books.
The younger librarian walked away as she watched me approaching. The older librarian pulled my selections towards her. Opening Der schweizerische Robinson, the font startled her. “Can you read this?”
“Well, I can read German and I am sure I’ll get used to the old-style writing.”
She raised her eyebrows in disbelief and pulled the index cards from the books, smiling at the Tolkien. “I think you’ll love this; it’s been very popular.”
I took my selections home. After lunch, I picked up the books and wrapped presents and set off to Col’s house. Once I had my coat off, I added the presents to the small pile under the little tree in the corner of the lounge room. Col recognised Der schweizerische Robinson, so we started on that, snuggled together under a blanket on the sofa. We both struggled with the font, but it became easier as we persevered.
When Frau Schmidt came home, she picked up the Wilhelm Müller poems. “Why did you bring this book, Willi?” There was a note of disapproval in her voice.
I was a bit surprised by her attitude. “You listened to the songs on the radio and I could see you enjoyed them. But I could not follow the words, so when I saw this, I thought I would try it.”
Frau Schmidt frowned. “There is some quite grown-up material in the poems, Willi. Let me think about this.” She put the book on the table.
“More grown-up than what we experienced two nights ago?” Col asked.
Frau Schmidt gazed at him. “Perhaps not, but I will still think about it.”
As she turned away, an idea came to me. “Frau Schmidt, would you turn off the radio if the songs came on again?”
Mutti Schmidt’s face showed surprise at the question and, giving me a nod of acknowledgement, picked up the book and put it down beside me. “Col, Willi, there are adult ideas here and difficult imagery. Please talk to me about things you are uneasy or unsure about. Okay?”
Her eye caught the front cover of The Hobbit, with its red dragon curled over a golden horde. Her face lightened and she smiled. “I know about this book and hear it’s excellent.”
The following day was Christmas Eve and I was eager for a German Christmas with Col. My mother and sister were preparing our Christmas lunch. My sister bustled around, full of self-importance as she prepared the bread and apple sauces under my mother’s direction. I cleaned and readied a bag of Brussel sprouts before polishing my mother’s small collection of silver.
The day was dragging when my mother glanced at the kitchen clock. “Okay Will, go and clean up. Put on your new long pants and that white shirt with the lovely red and blue tie. You must dress well for a special evening.”
Back into the kitchen, my mother and sister were making batches of mince pies. The rich smell of fruit mince filled the kitchen from a tray of cooling pies.
“My, you look smart, Will,” my mother said. My sister gave me a dismissive glance. I rugged up, ready for the cold outside. “Here, take these to Frau Schmidt.” My mother pressed a small cardboard box into my hands. It held half a dozen fresh-baked mince pies dusted with icing sugar. “Now, off you go and wish Frau Schmidt Frohe Weihnachten from me.”
I smiled at my mother’s few words of German.
Frau Schmidt opened the door. “Come in, Willi.”
I offered her the box of treats. “Happy Christmas from my mother, Frau Schmidt.”
She gave the mince pies a quizzical look.
“They’re fruit mince pies. They’re delicious.”
Frau Schmidt smiled. “Please thank your mother for me, Willi. Now, come in and take off your coat.”
In the lounge, the Christmas tree sparkled with tinsel and guarded a small pile of presents beneath its green boughs. Amongst them was the blue tissue paper wrapping I had used.
Col hugged me, pointing to the single candle burning in front of the tree. “We should have candles on the tree, but we couldn’t find any candle clips in the shops. That’s why there’s only the big one.”
Frau Schmidt smiled. “Perhaps it’s safer that way. Come and sit down. Our Christmas meal is ready.”
Frau Schmidt, with Col’s help, had prepared a beautiful dinner, centred around a roast duck with Dresdner Stollen – a rich fruit and nut bread – to follow.
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