"A Christmas Tale" (fantasy)

Remove all ads!

December 24, 1917

The snow started last night and has continued through the day. As I sit here, the scene before me is almost surreal in its silent beauty; the gentle slope of the hillside is blanketed in snow and if I strain I can just make out the lights of a small village nestled in the valley below me. The landscape reminded me of home, and with that thought I felt a sharp yearning that made my heart ache. All I can think of is how much longer will I be until I can go home.

I am alone in a trench, well, not quite alone. The bodies of three fellow soldiers lay at the end of the trench, covered with a tarpaulin, freezing solid. Thank God for the cold, at least the rats will not gnaw on frozen flesh. It seems the cessation of hostilities has taken hold; the gunfire has all but stopped.

It is Christmas Eve and here I am in a country far from Pennsylvania. I miss my Mom and Pop so much it hurts, and I am scared witless. I was drafted after I graduated from high school (during the waning days of summer) first sent to basic training, and then shipped to France. It all happened so quickly, it seemed like I was dreaming. I am awake now.

The snow is comforting in a way, muffling all sounds and covering the dirt and mud, and worse, with white. I will try to hike to the next encampment tomorrow, but for right now I am going to heat some coffee. Hot coffee is a precious thing on the front, precious and rare. Hot being the operative word since we are forbidden to light fires, especially after dark. But not tonight, tonight I can light a small fire and heat my coffee.

Pause…

Well, that took a while, damn matches were damp. Coffee is heating. I will drink a mug after I eat my rations. What was that…?

December 25, 1917

I have to get this all down before I forget a moment of a very amazing meeting. I had just retrieved a ration pack from my gear when I heard the crunch of footsteps on the snow. Highly trained, my instinct took over and I grabbed my rifle at once and aimed the muzzle toward where I heard the footfalls. I tried to hold the gun steady but between the cold and fear it was shaking in my hands. A dark figure was approaching. He was too far away for me to make out his uniform, but I could certainly see his helmet. A German!

My thoughts raced, should I shoot and ask questions later or wait until he made himself known? Something stayed my finger, perhaps because there was a temporary truce for the next twenty four hours or maybe it was just plain curiosity. When he was within ten feet of the trench I called out, “Halt!” He stopped. I slowly moved closer, the rifle still pointed up at him.

“Was wünschen Sie?” He did not answer. As I neared him I could see his uniform was ragged and torn and he was shaking from head to foot from the cold, and he had no coat or boots on. I asked again what he wanted, but his teeth were chattering so badly he could not mouth an answer. He was young, only a few years older than me. He had no weapon that I could see and was using both hands to clutch his jacket tightly around him.

“Unten gekommen und wärmen Sie sich.” What possessed me to ask him to come into the trench I will never know, then again maybe I do know. He was trembling so much he could not get a handhold and fell into the trench with me. I put down my rifle and helped him to his feet. He managed to chatter a danke out more than a few times. When I met his gaze I was shocked to see the raw fear in his pale blue eyes. Only later did I realize he saw the same fear in my eyes. Patting the blanket near the small fire I gestured him to sit. Nodding gratefully he sat and reached out to warm his hands. His hands were blue from the cold and it looked as though his fingertips were frostbitten, just like my toes.

I pointed to the small coffee pot and said, “kaffee?” He nodded his head eagerly. After filling one of the tin mugs with hot coffee I handed to him. Our eyes met and for a moment I was taken aback with the gratitude I saw in his gaze. From that moment on, something had changed, and to this day I am not sure what it was; only it was a palpable feeling, mutual understanding in a world gone mad.

We drank our coffee in silence, and then I opened two packs of rations and offered him one. When we finished he reached in his pocket and pulled out a small tin of chocolates. I savored mine as long as I could.

I noticed the snow had stopped and the moon was shining brightly over the valley. Standing, I looked down on the village. It looked like a postcard in its perfection. I could almost swear I heard the sound of muffled bells ringing in Christmas. My German guest joined me and after looking at the town for a moment he turned and said, “Happy Christmas.” His English was broken but understandable.

We talked far into the night, broken English and bad German, but it did not matter, we understood one another very well. His name was Hans and he was from a small town called Mulhiem am Main. He was married to Elizabeth and had two small sons, Eric and Peter. I showed him a worn photograph of my Kathryn, the prettiest girl in my high school. We planned on marrying when I got home. He promptly pulled out a much worn picture of his sons. He actually beamed as he showed me the photograph. We smiled proudly at one another.

Huddled together, close to a small fire, we talked. We talked of important things and not so important things and for a short period of time the war was forgotten by both of us. It was Christmas and there was peace on earth, at least on our piece of earth. Since it was Christmas, I wanted to give Hans a present, but I had nothing. Only a worn and tattered picture of a pretty girl named Kathryn. I gave him the photograph. His gaze when he met mine was pleased and touched. He handed his picture to me and I took it, smiling down at his sons. It was almost dawn when sleep finally overtook me.

I woke a few minutes ago and Hans was gone. There was nothing to show that he had even been there other than a second coffee tin beside mine. Did I dream the entire encounter, half insane with the cold and loneliness? No, there was the second coffee cup, it was not a dream.

I felt an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness. My friend was gone and I was alone again. Checking the bodies of my companions I made sure they were well covered and then gathered up my gear and set off to find another camp. When I was out of the trench I saw Hans’ footprints. It was no dream.

December 27, 1917

I met Hans for the last time today. I met up with another squad yesterday and told them of the dead soldiers I had left in the trench. The commanding officer ordered a few men to retrieve the bodies and told me to get some medical attention for my feet. Today, after my feet were tended to, I was able to join another group of soldiers looking for any dead, either German or Allies. We trudged through the snow, poking the icy blanket with our bayonets, stopping when we felt something resist our prodding. I came upon a body close to a large evergreen. I quickly wiped the snow away and then turned the corpse over, and I knew before I saw his face, it was Hans. He had been shot in the chest and had been dead for quite a while, perhaps since Christmas. Clutched in his hand was a picture of a pretty young woman. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes while I blew the whistle around my neck. I knelt down and took the photograph from his dead grip and then I put my hand over his still heart and said a quick prayer. I also made a promise to my friend Hans.

December 24, 2003

It is Christmas Eve. I sit in my old cozy recliner surrounded by my family. I did marry that pretty girl named Kathryn and we had children and they had children and so on and so on. We have a large family full of grandchildren and great grandchildren. I have been blessed in many ways; I have had many good years full of happiness and contentment. But, now my time is waning in this world and I am ready. In my hand is an old worn photograph, it shows two young boys, Eric and Peter. I made a promise many years ago to an old friend that I would pray every Christmas Eve for his sons. Each Christmas Eve since that night I have kept faithful my promise.

I am a very old man that has seen some very remarkable things in my lifetime, but nothing was as remarkable as that Christmas Eve night so many years ago when two young men met and for a brief moment in time were friends, despite the fact their countries were at war.

I wonder sometimes if the world will ever be at peace; there have been many wars and conflicts since the Great War. But then I remember with full clarity, an evening before Christmas when two young friends huddled on a clear starry night around a fire, laughing and talking and then I know the answer to my question. Peace on Earth.

[ December 20, 2003, 17:13: Message edited by: Kasandra ]

 

A lovely story...and an ending that could've been ironic but instead finished gently.

What was your inspiration for this?

 

Thank you for your kind words, and as for my inspiration...I was told that my great grandfather had killed a German in World War I and while going through his pockets (for identification) he found a picture of the German's two young sons...my great grandfather carried that picture in his wallet until the day he died. It would be safe to say that little anecdote made an impression on me.

 

Nice story. I quite liked it. I especially liked the diary format and, consequently, the first person story-telling.

 

Well written story. Good pacing and description with a respectable pay-off in the end. I actually read it after Christmas, so sorry it took so long to make comment. I enjoyed reading it.

PS. There is a really well made movie called "A Midnight Clear" that deals with a similar subject matter. If this story appeals to you, you might likewise enjoy the film.

 

A wonderful story indeed, but then again your stories never anything less.

 

My Great Grandfather was dead before I was born, he too fought in the Great War.

I am told he spoke of the Christmas Truce. He said, it was one of the most beautiful things that could have happened.

He could never undersatnd why they started firing again the next day.

 

I liked this story. It kinda gives meaning to what Christmas is all be about since, alot of people have forgoten or seem not to care why we celebrate Christmas. It also has the right amount of sentimentality that should inspire a fuzzy fealing within oneself instead of making it into a soppy drama which is trying to inspire a emotion that is non-existent.

 

I too liked the story. It moved me and that's got to count for something (even though this sort of story has been done many times before). I would say this though, and indeed, there may be a topic in it: it is very difficult to give negative feedback in this forum. Perhaps it's because we cannot see one another, and are also largely unknown to one another. Nevertheless, I would like to make my 'negative' comment, in the name of promoting artistic growth (and not necessarily just your own i.e. others may read it and learn something or at least see my point). It is this: I would have left off the final sentence. With it, I feel the ending is ever so slightly trite, since it isn't very profound. If his answer *had* been profound, it would, to my mind, have given a sense of purpose to his (and any) long life, beyond mere self-fulfillment. Without the final line, I wouldn't know that the man *hadn't* come to any profound wisdom. I know thinking up a profound ending is really difficult, which is why I feel it would be best left open to question.
Care to respond i.e. did you think of this yourself and toy with the idea? If so, what was your reasoning behind going with the 'Peace on Earth' ending?

 

Keldor...

I appreciate all comments...lets me know my tales are read. Orginally I had written a very dark ending for the story, but because it was Christmas when I wrote it, I ended it on a positive note. No profound messages, just a hopeful little tale for Christmas time.

[ January 24, 2004, 03:40: Message edited by: Kasandra ]

 

Quote: I appreciate all comments...lets me know my tales are read. Orginally I had written a very dark ending for the story, but because it was Christmas when I wrote it, I ended it on a positive note. No profound messages, just a hopeful little tale for Christmas time.

I am confounded! To appreciate comments on those grounds and to alter the ending of a story 'because it's Christmas'. Also, when one thinks about it, that ending isn't positive (as I read it) - it just seems positive superficially. Oh well.

 

Keldor,

It seems you are making too much out of a short Christmas tale that was written for others to enjoy. That is why I write, for myself and others to read and hopefully appreciate. Again, I do not analyze every word I write, and sadly, not every ending is profound...it was only a very short story for the season.