The Other Side of Christmas

Frank Delgado
13600 SW. brightwood St
Beaverton
OR
97005-1115
503 8963022
tolpinsk@yahoo.com

1,400 words

THE OTHER 07-10-19
 by Frank Delgado

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The Other Side of Christmas By Frank Delgado

There is an experience in my life, a unique yet haunting moment, that is so vivid, that it's trapped in time and returns every Christmas. The reason for this fear began in 1959 as a child in Bavaria, Germany, in a farmhouse in the middle of a snowfield on the edge of the Black Forest. It was a time of lights, gifts, food, friends, and family; it was Christmas. I was seven years old.

My father was in the 7th Corps of the United State Army and stationed in Regensburg, Germany. He sent for us, my mother, two brothers, and a sister to stay with him in Bavaria during his tour of duty. We stayed off base in a small apartment on a farm of a former German officer and his wife, the Krause. I remember that he had two daughters, one blond, Erika and the younger one Rosita, with dark brown hair. The younger one was an adopted Russian girl. They invited us to celebrate Christmas with their family, deep in the Black Forest on a relative's farm.

If I close my eyes, I can see the journey; snow piled high along the road, tall trees, Firs, Junipers, Bavarian Spruce with branches laden with snow. I remember seeing large wooden wagons loaded down with straw or hay pulled by a pair of large muscular brown Oberlander draft horses, dragging, plowing through the snow on a two-lane country road. The horses' heaving, straining their head, nodding up and down as they swung their hooves clopping forward with white vapor rising from their breath. The driver with the horse reins in his hands hunched over, a thick dark coat with the collar up, a scarf wrapped around his neck, a fur cap to protect him from the frigid cold. He looked straight ahead peering in the distance, snowflakes on his beard and eyebrows. The smoke rising from a chimney in the distance from the farm was a novelty I had never noticed, having spent most of my life in southern Texas.

As we entered the warm house, we were greeted "Frohe Weihnachfer" by the German families. "Merry Christmas "In Broken English, they had unending questions for my parents about America. The succulent whiff, of Smoked German Sausage, of roasted wild boars, filled the kitchen. The sweet aroma, of Wiener Apfelstrudel (Apple Strudel), served warm with a Vanilla Sauce — the Black Forest chocolate cherry cake amora, filter from the kitchen into the living room. The men's hard belly laughs, as they drank beers in stein mugs, sitting

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around the dining table and the women animated body gestures, as he spoke in the kitchen, electrified both rooms. The living room walls were adorned with family pictures, heads of mounted game animals, Wild Boars, Elks and Mountain Rams. As I gazed at the photos of family members, I was struck by the long history these pictures showed of relatives in German Uniforms from two World Wars and prior conflicts.

I heard the sound of a chain and the opening of a door. I turned around and looked. I saw a beautifully carved birdhouse with figures of birds on its face and a carved figure of girl on a swing moving side to side on her swing below the house on a pendulum, her skirt blue, blouse white, vest blue , apron red, shoes black, and honey golden hair. Out came a bright-colored Cuckoo bird, green, gold and red. It sang out Cuckoo-Cuckoo-Cuckoo-Cuckoo four times; it was four o'clock.

Most of us, the children, were in the large living room. The girls dressed in simple long dresses, their blond hair braided down their backs bounce as they ran from place to place. The boys' suspenders held up their baggy pants that were cuff at the ankles. Some of the boys wore the traditional trousers of the region; leather pant called Lederhosen.

The clock "Cuckoo "six times and the adults hiss the children who were playing and laughing in German. I understood the general meaning of the words and read into the tone. Some of the phrases sounded like Spanish others like English. We were waved on to a large rug in front of this enormous rock fireplace with a roaring fire. Massive logs were burning, red iridescent glow. I staring at the kids talking in German.

One of the men from the kitchen walked over to the living room and stood in front of the children between them and the roaring fireplace.

"Unterhaltruhe, Horen Sie, "he said. "Quiet, listen— He's coming. "

From outside the door, the sounds of rattling sang out. I noticed kids shifting positions moving back away from the entrance door. I stared at the kids around me, some boys nearby started to cry, shaking their head saying "Nein, Nein, Kumpus , Nein,” tears streaming down their cheeks. A large bang, bang, bang on the door startles me, my heart raced. I was frozen, afraid to scream, unable to move. It was hard to breathe.

The front door exploded open; a howling arctic wind entered sending chills in the room. My head jerked back from the force outside the door, it was pitch

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black. Something large moved towards us from outside.

As it moved closer, I saw an immense hairy figure trying to keep its balance stagger. It came into the light, and I saw it, drop my mouth open and gasped for air. A barrel-chested mountain of a man dressed in red with a long blond beard; red cheeks burned by the cold; blue piercing eyes; a stern look on his face with a black sack over his shoulders. He entered the room. He scowled, his voice hoarse with an edge of indignation grinding out his words.

"Haben sie gewesen gut ?" he asked. "Have we been good?"

I swallowed. There was dead silence. The man laid down his large cloth bag, — opened it, — pulled out a scroll, then raised at eye level.

I felt his burning stare; he read, "Franz... "

That's my name? I said in a panic. He called my name — Frank! My mind went blank — I couldn't think, I froze, swallow hard, my throat dry. I held my breath.

"...Hoffman, "he said.

I took a breath and started breathing again.

"Franz Hoffman, hergekommen schnell !" he said. "Come here Quick! "

A boy, trembling , stood up and marched toward him, trying to hide his tears, head held high, stared in the distances. Krampus grab him by the shoulder and lifted him. The boy started kicking, screaming, crying out "Mutter, Mutter, Nein , nein, Hilfe, Hilfe." He put him in the sack.

He picks up the scroll, looked at the name, and pause looking out at us.

"Hilda Steinhaus, hergekommen schnell !" He said. "Come here, Quick! "

I was afraid to look behind me. I heard a gasp, a girls sobbing then steps striking the wooden floor moving forward. Hilda Steinhaus dress brushes my ear as she passes me. I saw her white stockings, brown sack dress, black shoes, and the back of her head. Her blond hair braided in twin ponytails. She was about my age seven. Krampus grab her by the shoulder, and she struggled crying , "Nein, nein Hilfe, hilfe, vater, vater,Hilfe” and put her in the sack, sobbing.

Franz and Hilda were screaming" Nien, ~nien, ~nien.“

I just stared, my mind blank. The other kids in the living room were crying.

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He lifts the sack, threw it over his shoulder and out he went into the black night. The door slammed behind him. I had to remember to breathe. There was a surreal silence. The silence was broken moments later by the sounds of the bells singing outside the door. In came a festive Saint Nicolas.

"Frohe Weihnachfer, Frohe Weihnachfer , "he said. "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas”

Saint Nicolas eyes danced with joy, a deep, hearty belly laugh with a large bag full of gifts for the kids. He called names, and the kids ran to get their gifts. My present was small, but it was better than going into the sack. To this day, I still wonder fifty-five years later what happened to those kids.

So this Christmas I have to asks ""Haben sie gewesen gut ?" "

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