Through My Eyes. Again
Chapter 4

Copyright© 2019 by Iskander

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. I am worried you might be a nuisance.”

I could hear her side of the conversation and it was clear Frau Schmidt didn’t feel I was a nuisance.

I needed to swap my library books over as we had finished Secret Garden and I had finished King Solomon’s Mines at home. I grabbed my books and caught a bus down into the town. On the way, I had an interesting thought.

“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 are learning German?” Her voice was tinged with derision at the thought of anyone bothering to learn what she clearly thought was a tainted tongue. Somewhat shocked, 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 small selection of books in foreign languages but perhaps not for children.” Her voice echoed her doubt. “Come with me and we’ll see.” She led me through the library to where there were shelves labelled “French”, “Polish”, “Russian” – and one labelled “German”, with a mere handful of books between the bookends.

“There you go – see if you can find anything there.”

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 in my old life.

It was in the old German Gothic script, which would make reading it a bit difficult, but I decided to take it. Another book caught my eye – Die schöne Müllerin und Winterreise – the poems by Wilhelm Müller Schubert had used to construct his two great song cycles: beautiful music but both ending in sadness and death. I had heard them many times in my old life and again recently when Frau Schmidt had listened to them on the radio, 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 knew Col would love this, so I picked it up too, 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 she was startled by the font. “Can you read this?”

“Well, I can read German and I’ll get used to the old-style writing.”

She raised her eyebrows but pulled the index cards from the books, smiling at the Tolkien. “I think you’ll love this.”

After lunch I picked up the books and the wrapped presents and went round 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 had heard of Der schweizerische Robinson, so we started it, snuggled together under a blanket on the sofa. We both struggled with the font, but it became easier.

When Frau Schmidt came home, she picked up the Wilhelm Müller poems. “Why did you bring this book, Willi?” A note of disapproval tinged her voice.

I was surprised at her attitude. “I heard you listening to the songs on the radio and you enjoyed them. But the words were lost in the singing. I thought I would give it a try when I found it in the library.”

Frau Schmidt frowned. “There is some difficult material here, Willi. Let me think about this.” She put the book on the table.

“What about what we saw and heard two nights ago?” Col asked.

Frau Schmidt gazed at him thoughtfully. “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’ face showed surprise at the question and, giving me a nod of acknowledgement, put the book 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?”

We nodded.

Her eye caught the front cover of The Hobbit, with its red dragon curled over a golden hoard. Her face lightened and she smiled. “I have heard about this book.”

The following day was Christmas Eve and I could hardly wait to go round to Col’s house for a German Christmas. My mother and sister were preparing for our Christmas lunch, with my sister bustling around, full of self-importance as she prepared the bread and apple sauces under my mother’s direction. I was set to cleaning a bag of Brussel sprouts before polishing the small collection of silver.

The day was starting to drag when my mother glanced at the kitchen clock. “Okay Will, you can go and clean up. Put on your new long pants and a white shirt with the lovely red and blue tie. You must be well dressed for a special evening with Col and Frau Schmidt.”

When I returned to 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 do 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 into my hands a small cardboard box containing half a dozen freshly made mince pies dusted with icing sugar. “Now, off you go and wish Frau Schmidt ‘Frohe Weihnachten’ from me.”

I smiled at her words of German.

Frau Schmidt opened the door when I knocked. “Come in, Willi.”

I offered her the box of treats. “Happy Christmas from my mother, Frau Schmidt.” She stared questioningly at the mince pies.

“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 was sparkling with tinsel, guarding a small pile of presents beneath its green boughs in the corner of the lounge room. Amongst them, I spied my blue tissue paper.

Col gave me a welcoming hug, pointing to the single candle by the tree. “We should have candles on the tree, but we couldn’t find any candle clips in the shops. So there’s only the big one.”

“Perhaps it’s safer.” Frau Schmidt smiled. “Come and sit down, our Christmas feast is ready.”

Frau Schmidt, with Col’s help, had prepared a beautiful meal, centred around a roast duck. This was followed by Dresdner Stollen – a rich fruit and nut bread, almost a cake, thickly dusted with icing sugar.

 
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