Because someone actually requested it
Three or four years ago I wrote this story of Christmas. I had my reasons, so I took time out from other writing to craft this little bit of seasonal re-living. It originally had some musical links included, but I think they're not as important as I once believed.
Although I didn't say so at the time, I want people to know that this story is dedicated to Sandra, who helped me through tough times and provided both inspiration and assistance as I wrote sections of Berlin. When completed they will be better books because of her insights. So...for Sandra, and anyone else, I'm sharing this once again.
A Story of Christmas Eve
It was December of 1944, and in a little town called Leverkusen, Frau Keller tried to provide her children with something to celebrate after more than five years of war and destruction. The town was a few miles from Köln (Cologne), far enough away to be more rural, yet close enough to share the destruction attracted by the larger city. The nearby factories had been attacked by the British night bombers, and some of their bombs had strayed into town itself.
Just down the street from her home was a flak gun emplacement that her three boys found fascinating. Like little boys everywhere, they found the mix of soldiers, machinery, and guns all very exciting, and they visited whenever they could. Helmut, nearly 12 and the oldest of the three, spent many hours at the guns, turning his interest into a nearly full-time assignment from his Hitler Youth leader. While the gun’s commander had said he was very helpful, Frau Keller shuddered, knowing that as the front lines came closer, the children of Germany would be forced to become soldiers, expected to fight and die for a cause clearly lost.
With rationing, and the constant attacks from the air, life in Leverkusen had become a matter of simple survival, and even the Advent season and the imminent arrival of Christmas couldn’t change that. For the fourth year in a row, Frau Keller would celebrate alone, but this year was worse. Her husband Heinrich had been sent to the Eastern Front nearly a year before, and in early August his letters stopped coming. She knew nothing for certain, and the military authorities offered no information. Given the news from the East, it was easy, and logical, to assume the worst.
Like most of the women in town, Frau Keller did the best that she could, trying to find ways to make some sort of holiday despite the shortages and despair. In early December, the guns had shot down a British night bomber, and while the soldiers were exultantly claiming their third confirmed kill, the damaged plane crashed not far away, destroying a full block and killing three entire families.
Frau Keller had gone to see the carnage, and found a few small toys that once belonged to one of the boys who had perished. In a moment of impulse, she picked them up, thinking they would provide something for her two youngest. She rationalized that their former owner would have no use for them, so it wasn’t really stealing. She wasn’t alone in those feelings, though in hindsight she felt somewhat guilty for looting the lives of the dead.
The day before Christmas was her worst. Not only was she struggling to prepare some sort of special meal, she also knew that the family’s most cherished tradition would be broken. Every year, beginning even before they were married, she and her husband had attended the Christmas Eve mass, and while they were not particularly religious people, that service meant something very special to them. It was at their first such mass that Heinrich had proposed.
Tonight, however, she would be unable to go. In the past three years she had taken the boys to the service, praying for her husband as the miracle of Christ’s birth was remembered. She had planned to attend again this year although quite certain that her prayers could not be answered. However, the week before a stray bomb struck the church, and the building was declared unsafe. There was no alternative available, and early in the afternoon Pfarrer Beck had been forced to cancel the service. It seemed as if Christmas itself had been cancelled, and Frau Keller watched her entire world darken to black.
As the sun fell beyond the horizon she reluctantly summoned the boys to dinner. Dinner? No, a meal composed of a few stale crusts of bread, no butter, and a thin, watery soup could hardly be called a dinner. She had killed and dressed the last of their rabbits, adding the scraps of meat from the pitiful animal to a few vegetables that would have been but fodder in normal times. In truth she had burned four precious lumps of coal to warm the broth, trying, in vain, to make the night seem somehow special. The heat of the stove barely touched the chill in the air, and everyone wore an extra sweater to the meal.
As the boys gathered at the table, she looked at the sad offering and wondered what the next year would bring. Germany was lost, and those Germans who remained were cut adrift, floating at the whim of currents that they could neither control nor predict. For yet another time, Frau Keller steeled herself, trying to be the strong parent that she felt the boys needed in times like this.
“Mother, why is this day so special,” Michael, the youngest, asked.
For a long moment she considered how to reply. “Michael, this is the eve when the baby Jesus was born,” she finally said, wondering again if it was true. Was there really a savior? Could anyone, human or God, save them from the approaching end? Slowly she took her seat at the foot of the table, looking up yet again at the chair sitting empty at the other end. She could, if she tried, imagine Heinrich sitting there, the father in his proper place, easily dispensing joy, and occasionally discipline when needed. Thankfully, despite their ages, the boys needed little of that. But she could only imagine him, and even that image was fading.
They joined hands, and she prepared to offer a prayer, intending to bless the meal and acknowledge the gifts that God had provided, but before she could speak there was a knock on the door.
Frau Keller knew a knock on the door was a bad thing. No one would be out at night without reason, not in this weather and not on this night. She looked at Helmut, her eyes betraying the fear that immediately overwhelmed her. For a long time none of them moved, perhaps hoping the knock would go away, taking the feared news with it. Surely there were others who deserved…no, no one deserved the news that the knock would be portend. There had been enough deaths, but there were never enough.
Again there was the knock, neither arrogant nor authoritarian, just a simple summons. Helmut started to rise, thinking it was somehow his job as the oldest, but Frau Keller reached out and placed her hand on his arm.
“No. I’ll go,” she said quietly, trying to restrain the emotions fighting to escape control. As she stood, her legs seemed almost unable to provide support, and it was only with a maximum effort that she walked into the entry and faced the worn, weathered wood of the door. She thought about asking who was there, but decided that would be inappropriate. With one last deep breath, she grasped the cold knob and opened the door.
The three boys froze as they heard their mother shriek. Only Helmut understood what most likely had happened, and he started at the sound of his mother’s anguish, unsure what he should do. He could stay, attempting to comfort and protect his younger brothers from the news that surely stood at the door, or…he could rush to his mother’s side, hoping to somehow relieve some of her suffering. Although he was but 12, he understood the dilemma only too well, for it was only a few weeks ago that his best friend Bruno had learned of his father’s death.
For what seemed like hours he sat, staring at his brothers, his expression commanding them to remain seated, saying nothing. Then he knew he must act, and quietly rose, asking his siblings to remain at the table. As he reached the hallway, he saw his mother standing like a statue, her gaze locked onto what she could see through the partially opened door.
“Mother,” he said softly, wanting both to comfort her and warn her of his approach. Frau Keller did not move. “Mother,” he offered, a little louder this time. Again there was no response, no hint of that she’d heard him speak. Helmut feared that she was so overtaken with her grief that she might collapse, and decided to advance regardless. When he reached her side, for the first time he turned his face to see what had drawn her response.
Standing just outside, bundled against the winter cold and loaded with several bundles, was a man Helmut did not immediately recognize. He was gaunt, his weathered face belying his true age. Helmut stared impolitely, trying to place the man and associate his presence with his mother’s reaction. Then, although his eyes had never left the man, he looked again. Despite the complete lack of light, in the corners of the man’s mouth he could sense a slight smile. Surely there was nothing to smile about on this night.
“Helmut,” the man said softly, his voice sounding every bit as worn as the face that uttered it. Helmut looked yet again, trying to meld the image he saw with a memory of someone he should know. Despite his confusion, he nodded, acknowledging his name.
“Helmut, I’m home,” the man said, and Frau Keller shrieked again, a small shrill little squeak that escaped her statue-like form.
“Father?” Helmut said involuntarily, completely unsure that this person could possibly be the man he should remember easily. The man standing in doorway nodded, and then began to shuffle, using a cane and taking very small steps, into the house. Helmut turned to look at his mother, her face still frozen in utter disbelief.
It’s very hard to describe exactly what happened next. While the younger boys were happy to see their father return, his worn appearance and the cane he used to support himself made him seem somehow foreign. Helmut understood much of that, and knew that at some point he would learn the story of his father’s survival and return, so the boys mostly accepted the change relatively easily. Frau Keller had more trouble.
For more than a year she had accepted the likelihood that her husband would never return. She had carefully packed away the emotions and feelings that went with being a wife, and digging them out and organizing them would take some time. While she knew all of that, and suspected he did too, that didn’t make the process any easier.
She was also confused by the differences she could see. This was not the man who had left for war. He was not even the man who had left the last time just a year before. He was older. Much older. He seemed to have aged 30 years in the intervening 12 months. He was gaunt and worn out, although she suspected she appeared much the same to him. He walked with a pronounced limp, using a cane for assistance. In total, he was not, or at least didn’t appear to be, the man she had married and known.
Heinrich understood much of her distress. He had given his return great thought, both during his recuperation from his wounds and the long trip back home. He knew he should have written, but until very recently he simply was not up to it. Moreover, it had been unclear if he would be expected to return to combat, so it seemed almost easier to remain silent, to avoid creating expectations that would later be crushed. He had been wrong - he knew that - and at some point he would need to apologize. That time was not now.
Frau Keller began to recover, directing the boys to eat as she tried to restore order within her life. She wanted to…well, she wanted to simply sit with her husband and re-discover the man she had loved for all her life. She wanted to know that that man was still hiding inside this stranger, but that would have to wait.
“Here,” he said, picking up one of bags he had been carrying. “I brought this for tonight,” he said, beginning to pull out packages loosely wrapped in paper. They were not gifts, at least not in the normal way. He slowly unwrapped a whole loaf of bread and then added a large cube of butter…real butter! Frau Keller had not seen such things in months.
“How did you…?” she asked, but he merely smiled.
“I have some friends who wanted to help,” he offered, revealing little of the whole story. “Here, I brought some wurst also,” he added, unwrapping a long tube of seasoned sausage. Frau Keller collected the bowls of her soup, pouring them back into the pot for another day. She supplied a knife and Heinrich began slicing the bread, giving each of them two thick slices smeared with butter. The boys ate slowly, extracting the maximum pleasure possible from every bite.
When they were done, he opened a small tin from another package and gave each of the boys three pieces of wrapped candy. “It’s not much,” he said, trying to put a smile on his frown, “but maybe it’s better than nothing.”
“Thank you, father,” Michael said, sounding far too polite given the circumstances. Unfortunately he was so young that he’d learned little about how to approach his father, and just assumed that being polite was better than being disciplined for impertinence. Heinrich smiled, knowing he would have to spend much time trying to get to know his boys again. Helmut was a man now, having matured far too early. Markus was probably the enigma, still a child yet forced into near adulthood when he should be out playing with his friends.
Michael had never known a time without war, though that was nearly true for all the boys, and Heinrich knew the coming months would be difficult. What might come afterwards was unknown, so there was no way to prepare for it. Heinrich did know that being in the West was better than being in the East, and for that simple accident of geography he was thankful beyond words.
Almost without talking the family ate. Heinrich sat quietly, drinking in the view of his family for the first time in a year, noting the changes he could see and wondering about those which were hidden. Frau Keller finally began to believe he really had returned, though there were still many un-asked and unanswered questions. Heinrich was back, and she would have to start there and work onward.
Almost abruptly Heinrich stood up slowly, rising with an assist from the table until he was able to grasp his cane. “We are going to church,” he announced, obviously sharing a decision he had made sometime earlier.
“The church has been hit, father,” Helmut said plainly. “There will be no service tonight.”
Heinrich smiled. “The church we are going to has also been hit, but there is a service there tonight, and we are going. We are going as a family. A whole family once again.” The words were neither strident nor overly harsh, but carried the message of a decision that was not open to further discussion…along with the joy that came from saying the words.
Frau Keller’s tears began again, though in truth they had never really stopped. Although she wouldn’t actually do it for many days, she could begin to accept the more traditional role of the mother, and put the leadership of the family back in the place where it belonged: the husband and father. It was a role she would be more than happy to relinquish.
The house became a flurry of activity as the boys were sent off to dress. The term “Sunday Best” no longer had much meaning, but they did what they could, selecting clothes both for appearance and warmth. Even though they knew nothing of where they were going, they did know that the winter chill would be ever-present. In due course, they presented themselves.
Frau Keller knew exactly what she would wear. It was the one dress she had carefully hoarded, refusing to wear it until this very day. It was more stylish than utilitarian, but for her, tonight had more meaning that any other day in her life, and she was not to be denied. She had similarly saved the last dabs of her pre-war makeup, and in the dim light of the one working bulb in the bedroom she applied what she could. Her husband had returned, and he deserved to see his wife at her best.
Heinrich took out his suit, brushing the dust from the shoulders of the jacket and shaking his head as he considered the earlier days he had worn the garment. Like his wife, he would prefer to be at his best, but the years of combat had changed him in ways that nothing could overcome. He had shaved at his last stop, but maybe the coarse beard would have been better. At least it would have disguised the years that combat and harsh winters had added to his lined and leathered face.
The suit hung loosely on his emaciated frame, but there was nothing to be done for it, and he returned to the table, smiling at his three fine boys while Frau Keller finished her preparations.
They headed out, walking a short distance down the street, through a pedestrian tunnel that ran under the train tracks, and then a couple of blocks to the train station itself.
“There are no trains running,” Frau Keller told him, but Heinrich just smiled.
“There are a few, and this one is running tonight. I checked,” he said softly, suggesting he had planned this adventure earlier.
“I have no money for the fares,” she responded, not necessarily trying to fault his planning, just letting him know the facts as she saw them. He smiled again, and nodded, silently suggesting that he could take care of that. They stood for a few minutes, waiting for a train that no longer ran on any published schedule. When it came, it came. If it didn’t you waited until it did. In that respect, life was much simpler.
After a few minutes a train from the north arrived. It was nearly empty, and the cars showed the effects of the war, with dents, scratches, and many broken windows. The doors wheezed open, and Heinrich led them inside, selecting seats that were the furthest from the broken panes. The carriage was unheated, and lights were forbidden, so they sat in the darkness, waiting. An official of some sort arrived and asked for their tickets. Heinrich got up, removed his scarf, opened his greatcoat, and removed an envelope from the breast pocket of his suit.
The ticket man scrunched up his face, upset that he would have to deal with yet another passenger who seemed to feel he didn’t have to pay for the service. He pulled out a small torch and began to read, his expression abruptly changing as he written words penetrated. He handed the paper back, apologizing profusely and thanking Heinrich several times over. Frau Keller longed to know what it said, but now was not the time to ask. Although she had been the head of the family for far too long, she still remembered her proper place.
The train moved slowly, often nearly stopping to negotiate a damaged section of track. Once it stopped completely for several minutes and Heinrich assumed there might be an air-raid warning in effect. In reality, he had no idea how that worked since he had been away from civilian life for so long, but it seemed to make sense. As they passed the Bayer factories he could see the burned-out shells that had once throbbed with the lifeblood of the local economy. Now all of that had changed.
The tracks no longer ran across the river, so the train stopped at the last station and everyone got off, left to complete their night’s journey on foot or by other means. Heinrich looked around, remembering the place from earlier days before heading out, following the tracks that led to the bridge.
“Where are we going, father?” Markus asked.
Heinrich took a deep breath, maybe just a little bit hesitant to reveal his still-secret plan. “We are going to the Dom,” he said softly, barely louder than the gentle rush of the light evening breeze. He paused for a moment, trying to access old memories before giving up. He would have to ask, and that pained him. “Have you ever been there Markus?”
The boy nodded, wondering silently why his father didn’t remember that. He was too young to understand that the man who had returned was not the same man who left a year ago. Not only did this man look different, he…was different, but those were subtleties that young children didn’t recognize.
I think I should take a minute to explain something. With the daily attacks from the air, the Dom had been largely silent. Very simply, it was far too big to have any heat, and the electricity to the area was virtually destroyed. Large meetings in a central place also meant that people would be exposed, away from the safety of the air-raid shelters that dotted the city. However, a few weeks before Christmas, the Pfarrer had decided that Christmas was something different, and he confronted the Gauleiter (mayor, or head party official) of Köln, demanding that the services be allowed.
It wasn’t a friendly meeting as the Gauleiter was pressed by the demands of a city on the verge of collapse. With food, water, and all other basics under siege, he had little time for men of faith. The Pfarrer, however, wasn’t about to take no for an answer. They continued to argue, the Gauleiter continually pleading that what was needed was not available while the Pfarrer said it was, and he had the knowledge to back up his demands.
“If you can place a little generator outside your palatial office, you can put it outside the house of God for a few hours,” he said, striking where he knew the man was most vulnerable. “What I’m asking for is simple: that you place the needs of the people you supposedly serve above your own party dogma for a short time.” When the Gauleiter bristled, the Pfarrer bored in. “We all know what is happening. We all know how this will end. You may continue to play your game, but everyone knows you hold the losing hand.”
When the Gauleiter attempted to interrupt, the Pfarrer continued, stopping only long enough to take a breath. “In less than a year, you will be gone, and those poor souls that you have led to destruction…those few who will survive…will need my help more than ever. This is Christmas. It is time you remembered the lessons you learned as a child, taught to you by those unswayed by marches and festivals. It is time you look to your soul, and remember the teachings of our Lord.” In the face of this verbal assault, the Gauleiter gave in.
In the next few days the Pfarrer had labored hard and long hours, doing what he could to clean the massive building, boarding up the broken windows, and replacing the blackout curtains where they had fallen. He was able to locate an organ tuner, an old man who still lived in the area, and with the generator operating he was able to put the organ back in playable condition. Not everything was tuned, and the cold had clearly taken its toll, but it would be enough. It would have to be enough.
So…like in years gone by, the Dom would again host a service on Christmas Eve. It would, however, be much different than the traditional mass. No one but the Pfarrer and a few others knew that.
Heinrich and his family had left the train at the last stop - Messe/Deutz - and were walking along the track bed. It was a short walk, but Heinrich found it tough going, still learning to use his cane while walking through the rough surface of potholes, railroad ties, and other debris. Nonetheless, they made good time, and found themselves walking slowly across the bridge that spanned the mighty river Rhine. Heinrich stopped in the middle, taking a moment to gaze upon the surface of his river, filled with floating ice and nary a single vessel.
On many nights in the East, he had assumed he would never return to see the water again, so tonight that was yet another memory to be taken from storage and revisited. He looked at Micheal, wondering if the boy could possible understand how something so small, so insignificant, could become so important. Silently he prayed that it might be a lesson the boy would never need to learn.
Overhead the clouds began to break apart, allowing the mighty black field filled with stars to appear. The planet Venus, belying its name as the morning star, glowed brightly just above the horizon, and soon the moon, nearly full, would be joining it.
“We need to continue,” he said quietly, without acknowledging that it was he who chose to stop. At the end of the bridge they picked their way down the embankment and then across what was left of the platz that surrounded the Dom. There were bomb craters everywhere, and the debris from what had once been the Hauptbahnhof - train station. Fires had repeatedly scorched the area, so there was a coating of ash and soot on every surface. Only a layer of snow, which was noticeably absent this night, could make the destruction look peaceful. Despite the season, this was a place of anger, a place of hostility.
The great stone building appeared silent and abandoned, but inside a small congregation had gathered. They had made choices to be there, balancing their fear of the bombers against their need for spiritual renewal, their desire to congregate against the demands of the cold winter weather. They came, knowing the building would be cold and harsh. They came, believing that the message would warm their hearts and souls.
Heinrich had been carrying a small box in the pocket of his greatcoat. As his family took their place amongst the worshipers, he limped forward, standing at the altar rail until one of the Pfarrern came to meet him. “These are for tonight,” he said simply, handing the box across the rail. The Pfarrer opened it, finding 12 candles, new and still wrapped.
“How did you come by these,” he asked, wondering if they represented some theft or transgression.
“My commanding officer gave them to me,” Heinrich said simply. “When he told me I was returning home, he gave me instructions to bring them here. He said you would know what to do with them. He said you probably wouldn’t have any, and these would help.”
The Pfarrer was dumbstruck. Candles were nearly non-existent, and proper church candles did not exist. After thanking Heinrich, he turned and carefully placed six in the holders on either side of the altar, still unable to believe that some unknown man, fighting in some forsaken foreign land, would provide such a gift. After taking a moment to light them all, he stood back to admire the scene, his own faith renewed by the simple act of an unknown.
With the lighting of the candles, the congregation grew silent, turning their thoughts inward and away from casual conversation. As they sat waiting, their foggy breaths joined together above them, creating a small cloud that pulsed with the light breezes that sometimes snuck through the boards the covered the windows. In the front row sat the Gauleiter and his staff, determined to make an appropriate gesture regardless of his opposition to the whole idea. In these days, image was all he had left to offer.
Nearly everyone jumped as the mighty St Peter’s bell, unheard for months, began to toll. When it stilled, the organist began to play, selecting a Bach chorale and using only the ranks that had been tuned. Even with his limited resources, the proud sound of the great composer filled the building with both sound and inspiration. There was no need for bombast or shear volume on this night, and the clear melody spoke of more fundamental needs.
After the procession, the Pfarrer began, speaking parts of the traditional mass in Latin, a language that in truth few of the congregation knew. It wasn’t important, for that wasn’t the reason they had braved the elements to come.
After a minute or two, the choir shuffled forward, a rather motley assortment of old men, young boys and women. It wasn’t the grand choir that the Dom had supported over the years, but it represented no less dedication than the best of the past. Tonight, like every day and night in the last year, was a time of making do, of doing what could be done without regard to wishes and desires.
In more normal days, Frau Keller would have been seated to the right of her husband, with their children sitting between them, but this night was anything but normal. This night she chose, for rather obvious reasons, to sit next to him, allowing Helmut to anchor the other end of the family. Although it probably didn’t matter, Helmut understood and knew his own time with his father would come soon enough. He had much to share, and much more to ask, for he also knew the war was lost and the future was uncertain.
From high above in the pulpit the Pfarrer began to speak, reciting the story of this night nearly 2000 year before.
“In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world
should be counted. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to their own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.”
“And while they were there, the time came for her to be delivered. And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.”
“And in that region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shown around them, and they were filled with fear. And the angel said to them, ‘be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.’”
“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom he is pleased!’”
At the end of the story, the Pfarrer looked out from his perch, deciding that this gathering of tortured souls needed more. For only a passing moment he thought back to his confrontation with the Gauleiter, and decided he no longer cared about official approval.
“In much the same way we find ourselves confronting a troubled world tonight,” he began, choosing his words carefully, but not to avoid possible censor. “In the coming days our faith will be tested again and again, just as our Lord Jesus was tested. We must have faith that our Father’s Will will prevail, and that we will survive to help with the task of rebuilding of our community and our nation.”
“The coming times will not be easy,” he said, almost admitting that the war was lost, “but with the strength of our Lord, we can endure. We will be forced to make choices that challenge not only our will but our souls. Just as this building, this…sanctuary, has withstood the attempts to challenge our faith, we must each resist the temptation to join those who would destroy the world, because they…because they believe they must.” He had carefully caught himself, narrowly avoiding saying something far more direct.
“And if the end should come, let each of us prepare our souls, choosing the path of salvation and making the decisions that God has taught us to make. Remember the great commandments. ‘Thou shall not kill.’” Sitting in the front row, the Gauleiter and the other party officials were squirming, for the words of the Pfarrer had clearly made them very uncomfortable.
In truth it had always been hard to reconcile the traditional teachings of the church with the dogma of the party, but that dilemma had been easier to overlook when they had been winning. Now, when everyone except the most ardent party members had recognized the truth, it was far more personal.
After the benediction, the small crowd slowly began to leave, some taking the time to walk past the reliquary that held the remains of those three wise men…the three kings that Luke’s story spoke of. Many were unsure of their spiritual powers, but this was a time when every little thing might help. Frau Keller herded the boys into the aisle, waiting as Heinrich slowly rose, working the kinks from his legs after sitting.
Walking beside him, she took his left hand, leaving his right free to handle the cane he was still adjusting to using. The boys seemed subdued, but both parents suspected it was a combination of the service and the shock of seeing their father return. Christmas Eve was often a time for introspection, and maybe that was true of children also, especially children used to daily warfare.
Outside the sky had broken, and a vast field of stars now shown above the darkened ruins of the great city. Only the spires of the Dom blocked the view, and the nearly-full moon provided more than enough light for travel. Carefully they picked their way through the debris, ascending the embankment and starting off across the bridge once again. In small groups and clusters, those who had come from the East walked back together, alone in their thoughts and relatively silent in their solitude.
Frau Keller began to think back to her day, remembering that but a few hours before she concluded that this would be her worst Christmas ever. Clearly that assumption was no longer true, and as they walked past the round station house and up onto the platform at Messe/Deutz she considered her situation once again. As they stood quietly, waiting for the next unscheduled train, they could hear the choir of a small church not far away. In the still night air, the young voices of the children, for there were few adults left to sing, carried well. Frau Keller looked once more at her husband, grasping his hand and smiling for the first time that night.
“This has been my best Christmas ever,” she said quietly.
Although I didn't say so at the time, I want people to know that this story is dedicated to Sandra, who helped me through tough times and provided both inspiration and assistance as I wrote sections of Berlin. When completed they will be better books because of her insights. So...for Sandra, and anyone else, I'm sharing this once again.
A Story of Christmas Eve
It was December of 1944, and in a little town called Leverkusen, Frau Keller tried to provide her children with something to celebrate after more than five years of war and destruction. The town was a few miles from Köln (Cologne), far enough away to be more rural, yet close enough to share the destruction attracted by the larger city. The nearby factories had been attacked by the British night bombers, and some of their bombs had strayed into town itself.
Just down the street from her home was a flak gun emplacement that her three boys found fascinating. Like little boys everywhere, they found the mix of soldiers, machinery, and guns all very exciting, and they visited whenever they could. Helmut, nearly 12 and the oldest of the three, spent many hours at the guns, turning his interest into a nearly full-time assignment from his Hitler Youth leader. While the gun’s commander had said he was very helpful, Frau Keller shuddered, knowing that as the front lines came closer, the children of Germany would be forced to become soldiers, expected to fight and die for a cause clearly lost.
With rationing, and the constant attacks from the air, life in Leverkusen had become a matter of simple survival, and even the Advent season and the imminent arrival of Christmas couldn’t change that. For the fourth year in a row, Frau Keller would celebrate alone, but this year was worse. Her husband Heinrich had been sent to the Eastern Front nearly a year before, and in early August his letters stopped coming. She knew nothing for certain, and the military authorities offered no information. Given the news from the East, it was easy, and logical, to assume the worst.
Like most of the women in town, Frau Keller did the best that she could, trying to find ways to make some sort of holiday despite the shortages and despair. In early December, the guns had shot down a British night bomber, and while the soldiers were exultantly claiming their third confirmed kill, the damaged plane crashed not far away, destroying a full block and killing three entire families.
Frau Keller had gone to see the carnage, and found a few small toys that once belonged to one of the boys who had perished. In a moment of impulse, she picked them up, thinking they would provide something for her two youngest. She rationalized that their former owner would have no use for them, so it wasn’t really stealing. She wasn’t alone in those feelings, though in hindsight she felt somewhat guilty for looting the lives of the dead.
The day before Christmas was her worst. Not only was she struggling to prepare some sort of special meal, she also knew that the family’s most cherished tradition would be broken. Every year, beginning even before they were married, she and her husband had attended the Christmas Eve mass, and while they were not particularly religious people, that service meant something very special to them. It was at their first such mass that Heinrich had proposed.
Tonight, however, she would be unable to go. In the past three years she had taken the boys to the service, praying for her husband as the miracle of Christ’s birth was remembered. She had planned to attend again this year although quite certain that her prayers could not be answered. However, the week before a stray bomb struck the church, and the building was declared unsafe. There was no alternative available, and early in the afternoon Pfarrer Beck had been forced to cancel the service. It seemed as if Christmas itself had been cancelled, and Frau Keller watched her entire world darken to black.
As the sun fell beyond the horizon she reluctantly summoned the boys to dinner. Dinner? No, a meal composed of a few stale crusts of bread, no butter, and a thin, watery soup could hardly be called a dinner. She had killed and dressed the last of their rabbits, adding the scraps of meat from the pitiful animal to a few vegetables that would have been but fodder in normal times. In truth she had burned four precious lumps of coal to warm the broth, trying, in vain, to make the night seem somehow special. The heat of the stove barely touched the chill in the air, and everyone wore an extra sweater to the meal.
As the boys gathered at the table, she looked at the sad offering and wondered what the next year would bring. Germany was lost, and those Germans who remained were cut adrift, floating at the whim of currents that they could neither control nor predict. For yet another time, Frau Keller steeled herself, trying to be the strong parent that she felt the boys needed in times like this.
“Mother, why is this day so special,” Michael, the youngest, asked.
For a long moment she considered how to reply. “Michael, this is the eve when the baby Jesus was born,” she finally said, wondering again if it was true. Was there really a savior? Could anyone, human or God, save them from the approaching end? Slowly she took her seat at the foot of the table, looking up yet again at the chair sitting empty at the other end. She could, if she tried, imagine Heinrich sitting there, the father in his proper place, easily dispensing joy, and occasionally discipline when needed. Thankfully, despite their ages, the boys needed little of that. But she could only imagine him, and even that image was fading.
They joined hands, and she prepared to offer a prayer, intending to bless the meal and acknowledge the gifts that God had provided, but before she could speak there was a knock on the door.
Frau Keller knew a knock on the door was a bad thing. No one would be out at night without reason, not in this weather and not on this night. She looked at Helmut, her eyes betraying the fear that immediately overwhelmed her. For a long time none of them moved, perhaps hoping the knock would go away, taking the feared news with it. Surely there were others who deserved…no, no one deserved the news that the knock would be portend. There had been enough deaths, but there were never enough.
Again there was the knock, neither arrogant nor authoritarian, just a simple summons. Helmut started to rise, thinking it was somehow his job as the oldest, but Frau Keller reached out and placed her hand on his arm.
“No. I’ll go,” she said quietly, trying to restrain the emotions fighting to escape control. As she stood, her legs seemed almost unable to provide support, and it was only with a maximum effort that she walked into the entry and faced the worn, weathered wood of the door. She thought about asking who was there, but decided that would be inappropriate. With one last deep breath, she grasped the cold knob and opened the door.
The three boys froze as they heard their mother shriek. Only Helmut understood what most likely had happened, and he started at the sound of his mother’s anguish, unsure what he should do. He could stay, attempting to comfort and protect his younger brothers from the news that surely stood at the door, or…he could rush to his mother’s side, hoping to somehow relieve some of her suffering. Although he was but 12, he understood the dilemma only too well, for it was only a few weeks ago that his best friend Bruno had learned of his father’s death.
For what seemed like hours he sat, staring at his brothers, his expression commanding them to remain seated, saying nothing. Then he knew he must act, and quietly rose, asking his siblings to remain at the table. As he reached the hallway, he saw his mother standing like a statue, her gaze locked onto what she could see through the partially opened door.
“Mother,” he said softly, wanting both to comfort her and warn her of his approach. Frau Keller did not move. “Mother,” he offered, a little louder this time. Again there was no response, no hint of that she’d heard him speak. Helmut feared that she was so overtaken with her grief that she might collapse, and decided to advance regardless. When he reached her side, for the first time he turned his face to see what had drawn her response.
Standing just outside, bundled against the winter cold and loaded with several bundles, was a man Helmut did not immediately recognize. He was gaunt, his weathered face belying his true age. Helmut stared impolitely, trying to place the man and associate his presence with his mother’s reaction. Then, although his eyes had never left the man, he looked again. Despite the complete lack of light, in the corners of the man’s mouth he could sense a slight smile. Surely there was nothing to smile about on this night.
“Helmut,” the man said softly, his voice sounding every bit as worn as the face that uttered it. Helmut looked yet again, trying to meld the image he saw with a memory of someone he should know. Despite his confusion, he nodded, acknowledging his name.
“Helmut, I’m home,” the man said, and Frau Keller shrieked again, a small shrill little squeak that escaped her statue-like form.
“Father?” Helmut said involuntarily, completely unsure that this person could possibly be the man he should remember easily. The man standing in doorway nodded, and then began to shuffle, using a cane and taking very small steps, into the house. Helmut turned to look at his mother, her face still frozen in utter disbelief.
It’s very hard to describe exactly what happened next. While the younger boys were happy to see their father return, his worn appearance and the cane he used to support himself made him seem somehow foreign. Helmut understood much of that, and knew that at some point he would learn the story of his father’s survival and return, so the boys mostly accepted the change relatively easily. Frau Keller had more trouble.
For more than a year she had accepted the likelihood that her husband would never return. She had carefully packed away the emotions and feelings that went with being a wife, and digging them out and organizing them would take some time. While she knew all of that, and suspected he did too, that didn’t make the process any easier.
She was also confused by the differences she could see. This was not the man who had left for war. He was not even the man who had left the last time just a year before. He was older. Much older. He seemed to have aged 30 years in the intervening 12 months. He was gaunt and worn out, although she suspected she appeared much the same to him. He walked with a pronounced limp, using a cane for assistance. In total, he was not, or at least didn’t appear to be, the man she had married and known.
Heinrich understood much of her distress. He had given his return great thought, both during his recuperation from his wounds and the long trip back home. He knew he should have written, but until very recently he simply was not up to it. Moreover, it had been unclear if he would be expected to return to combat, so it seemed almost easier to remain silent, to avoid creating expectations that would later be crushed. He had been wrong - he knew that - and at some point he would need to apologize. That time was not now.
Frau Keller began to recover, directing the boys to eat as she tried to restore order within her life. She wanted to…well, she wanted to simply sit with her husband and re-discover the man she had loved for all her life. She wanted to know that that man was still hiding inside this stranger, but that would have to wait.
“Here,” he said, picking up one of bags he had been carrying. “I brought this for tonight,” he said, beginning to pull out packages loosely wrapped in paper. They were not gifts, at least not in the normal way. He slowly unwrapped a whole loaf of bread and then added a large cube of butter…real butter! Frau Keller had not seen such things in months.
“How did you…?” she asked, but he merely smiled.
“I have some friends who wanted to help,” he offered, revealing little of the whole story. “Here, I brought some wurst also,” he added, unwrapping a long tube of seasoned sausage. Frau Keller collected the bowls of her soup, pouring them back into the pot for another day. She supplied a knife and Heinrich began slicing the bread, giving each of them two thick slices smeared with butter. The boys ate slowly, extracting the maximum pleasure possible from every bite.
When they were done, he opened a small tin from another package and gave each of the boys three pieces of wrapped candy. “It’s not much,” he said, trying to put a smile on his frown, “but maybe it’s better than nothing.”
“Thank you, father,” Michael said, sounding far too polite given the circumstances. Unfortunately he was so young that he’d learned little about how to approach his father, and just assumed that being polite was better than being disciplined for impertinence. Heinrich smiled, knowing he would have to spend much time trying to get to know his boys again. Helmut was a man now, having matured far too early. Markus was probably the enigma, still a child yet forced into near adulthood when he should be out playing with his friends.
Michael had never known a time without war, though that was nearly true for all the boys, and Heinrich knew the coming months would be difficult. What might come afterwards was unknown, so there was no way to prepare for it. Heinrich did know that being in the West was better than being in the East, and for that simple accident of geography he was thankful beyond words.
Almost without talking the family ate. Heinrich sat quietly, drinking in the view of his family for the first time in a year, noting the changes he could see and wondering about those which were hidden. Frau Keller finally began to believe he really had returned, though there were still many un-asked and unanswered questions. Heinrich was back, and she would have to start there and work onward.
Almost abruptly Heinrich stood up slowly, rising with an assist from the table until he was able to grasp his cane. “We are going to church,” he announced, obviously sharing a decision he had made sometime earlier.
“The church has been hit, father,” Helmut said plainly. “There will be no service tonight.”
Heinrich smiled. “The church we are going to has also been hit, but there is a service there tonight, and we are going. We are going as a family. A whole family once again.” The words were neither strident nor overly harsh, but carried the message of a decision that was not open to further discussion…along with the joy that came from saying the words.
Frau Keller’s tears began again, though in truth they had never really stopped. Although she wouldn’t actually do it for many days, she could begin to accept the more traditional role of the mother, and put the leadership of the family back in the place where it belonged: the husband and father. It was a role she would be more than happy to relinquish.
The house became a flurry of activity as the boys were sent off to dress. The term “Sunday Best” no longer had much meaning, but they did what they could, selecting clothes both for appearance and warmth. Even though they knew nothing of where they were going, they did know that the winter chill would be ever-present. In due course, they presented themselves.
Frau Keller knew exactly what she would wear. It was the one dress she had carefully hoarded, refusing to wear it until this very day. It was more stylish than utilitarian, but for her, tonight had more meaning that any other day in her life, and she was not to be denied. She had similarly saved the last dabs of her pre-war makeup, and in the dim light of the one working bulb in the bedroom she applied what she could. Her husband had returned, and he deserved to see his wife at her best.
Heinrich took out his suit, brushing the dust from the shoulders of the jacket and shaking his head as he considered the earlier days he had worn the garment. Like his wife, he would prefer to be at his best, but the years of combat had changed him in ways that nothing could overcome. He had shaved at his last stop, but maybe the coarse beard would have been better. At least it would have disguised the years that combat and harsh winters had added to his lined and leathered face.
The suit hung loosely on his emaciated frame, but there was nothing to be done for it, and he returned to the table, smiling at his three fine boys while Frau Keller finished her preparations.
They headed out, walking a short distance down the street, through a pedestrian tunnel that ran under the train tracks, and then a couple of blocks to the train station itself.
“There are no trains running,” Frau Keller told him, but Heinrich just smiled.
“There are a few, and this one is running tonight. I checked,” he said softly, suggesting he had planned this adventure earlier.
“I have no money for the fares,” she responded, not necessarily trying to fault his planning, just letting him know the facts as she saw them. He smiled again, and nodded, silently suggesting that he could take care of that. They stood for a few minutes, waiting for a train that no longer ran on any published schedule. When it came, it came. If it didn’t you waited until it did. In that respect, life was much simpler.
After a few minutes a train from the north arrived. It was nearly empty, and the cars showed the effects of the war, with dents, scratches, and many broken windows. The doors wheezed open, and Heinrich led them inside, selecting seats that were the furthest from the broken panes. The carriage was unheated, and lights were forbidden, so they sat in the darkness, waiting. An official of some sort arrived and asked for their tickets. Heinrich got up, removed his scarf, opened his greatcoat, and removed an envelope from the breast pocket of his suit.
The ticket man scrunched up his face, upset that he would have to deal with yet another passenger who seemed to feel he didn’t have to pay for the service. He pulled out a small torch and began to read, his expression abruptly changing as he written words penetrated. He handed the paper back, apologizing profusely and thanking Heinrich several times over. Frau Keller longed to know what it said, but now was not the time to ask. Although she had been the head of the family for far too long, she still remembered her proper place.
The train moved slowly, often nearly stopping to negotiate a damaged section of track. Once it stopped completely for several minutes and Heinrich assumed there might be an air-raid warning in effect. In reality, he had no idea how that worked since he had been away from civilian life for so long, but it seemed to make sense. As they passed the Bayer factories he could see the burned-out shells that had once throbbed with the lifeblood of the local economy. Now all of that had changed.
The tracks no longer ran across the river, so the train stopped at the last station and everyone got off, left to complete their night’s journey on foot or by other means. Heinrich looked around, remembering the place from earlier days before heading out, following the tracks that led to the bridge.
“Where are we going, father?” Markus asked.
Heinrich took a deep breath, maybe just a little bit hesitant to reveal his still-secret plan. “We are going to the Dom,” he said softly, barely louder than the gentle rush of the light evening breeze. He paused for a moment, trying to access old memories before giving up. He would have to ask, and that pained him. “Have you ever been there Markus?”
The boy nodded, wondering silently why his father didn’t remember that. He was too young to understand that the man who had returned was not the same man who left a year ago. Not only did this man look different, he…was different, but those were subtleties that young children didn’t recognize.
I think I should take a minute to explain something. With the daily attacks from the air, the Dom had been largely silent. Very simply, it was far too big to have any heat, and the electricity to the area was virtually destroyed. Large meetings in a central place also meant that people would be exposed, away from the safety of the air-raid shelters that dotted the city. However, a few weeks before Christmas, the Pfarrer had decided that Christmas was something different, and he confronted the Gauleiter (mayor, or head party official) of Köln, demanding that the services be allowed.
It wasn’t a friendly meeting as the Gauleiter was pressed by the demands of a city on the verge of collapse. With food, water, and all other basics under siege, he had little time for men of faith. The Pfarrer, however, wasn’t about to take no for an answer. They continued to argue, the Gauleiter continually pleading that what was needed was not available while the Pfarrer said it was, and he had the knowledge to back up his demands.
“If you can place a little generator outside your palatial office, you can put it outside the house of God for a few hours,” he said, striking where he knew the man was most vulnerable. “What I’m asking for is simple: that you place the needs of the people you supposedly serve above your own party dogma for a short time.” When the Gauleiter bristled, the Pfarrer bored in. “We all know what is happening. We all know how this will end. You may continue to play your game, but everyone knows you hold the losing hand.”
When the Gauleiter attempted to interrupt, the Pfarrer continued, stopping only long enough to take a breath. “In less than a year, you will be gone, and those poor souls that you have led to destruction…those few who will survive…will need my help more than ever. This is Christmas. It is time you remembered the lessons you learned as a child, taught to you by those unswayed by marches and festivals. It is time you look to your soul, and remember the teachings of our Lord.” In the face of this verbal assault, the Gauleiter gave in.
In the next few days the Pfarrer had labored hard and long hours, doing what he could to clean the massive building, boarding up the broken windows, and replacing the blackout curtains where they had fallen. He was able to locate an organ tuner, an old man who still lived in the area, and with the generator operating he was able to put the organ back in playable condition. Not everything was tuned, and the cold had clearly taken its toll, but it would be enough. It would have to be enough.
So…like in years gone by, the Dom would again host a service on Christmas Eve. It would, however, be much different than the traditional mass. No one but the Pfarrer and a few others knew that.
Heinrich and his family had left the train at the last stop - Messe/Deutz - and were walking along the track bed. It was a short walk, but Heinrich found it tough going, still learning to use his cane while walking through the rough surface of potholes, railroad ties, and other debris. Nonetheless, they made good time, and found themselves walking slowly across the bridge that spanned the mighty river Rhine. Heinrich stopped in the middle, taking a moment to gaze upon the surface of his river, filled with floating ice and nary a single vessel.
On many nights in the East, he had assumed he would never return to see the water again, so tonight that was yet another memory to be taken from storage and revisited. He looked at Micheal, wondering if the boy could possible understand how something so small, so insignificant, could become so important. Silently he prayed that it might be a lesson the boy would never need to learn.
Overhead the clouds began to break apart, allowing the mighty black field filled with stars to appear. The planet Venus, belying its name as the morning star, glowed brightly just above the horizon, and soon the moon, nearly full, would be joining it.
“We need to continue,” he said quietly, without acknowledging that it was he who chose to stop. At the end of the bridge they picked their way down the embankment and then across what was left of the platz that surrounded the Dom. There were bomb craters everywhere, and the debris from what had once been the Hauptbahnhof - train station. Fires had repeatedly scorched the area, so there was a coating of ash and soot on every surface. Only a layer of snow, which was noticeably absent this night, could make the destruction look peaceful. Despite the season, this was a place of anger, a place of hostility.
The great stone building appeared silent and abandoned, but inside a small congregation had gathered. They had made choices to be there, balancing their fear of the bombers against their need for spiritual renewal, their desire to congregate against the demands of the cold winter weather. They came, knowing the building would be cold and harsh. They came, believing that the message would warm their hearts and souls.
Heinrich had been carrying a small box in the pocket of his greatcoat. As his family took their place amongst the worshipers, he limped forward, standing at the altar rail until one of the Pfarrern came to meet him. “These are for tonight,” he said simply, handing the box across the rail. The Pfarrer opened it, finding 12 candles, new and still wrapped.
“How did you come by these,” he asked, wondering if they represented some theft or transgression.
“My commanding officer gave them to me,” Heinrich said simply. “When he told me I was returning home, he gave me instructions to bring them here. He said you would know what to do with them. He said you probably wouldn’t have any, and these would help.”
The Pfarrer was dumbstruck. Candles were nearly non-existent, and proper church candles did not exist. After thanking Heinrich, he turned and carefully placed six in the holders on either side of the altar, still unable to believe that some unknown man, fighting in some forsaken foreign land, would provide such a gift. After taking a moment to light them all, he stood back to admire the scene, his own faith renewed by the simple act of an unknown.
With the lighting of the candles, the congregation grew silent, turning their thoughts inward and away from casual conversation. As they sat waiting, their foggy breaths joined together above them, creating a small cloud that pulsed with the light breezes that sometimes snuck through the boards the covered the windows. In the front row sat the Gauleiter and his staff, determined to make an appropriate gesture regardless of his opposition to the whole idea. In these days, image was all he had left to offer.
Nearly everyone jumped as the mighty St Peter’s bell, unheard for months, began to toll. When it stilled, the organist began to play, selecting a Bach chorale and using only the ranks that had been tuned. Even with his limited resources, the proud sound of the great composer filled the building with both sound and inspiration. There was no need for bombast or shear volume on this night, and the clear melody spoke of more fundamental needs.
After the procession, the Pfarrer began, speaking parts of the traditional mass in Latin, a language that in truth few of the congregation knew. It wasn’t important, for that wasn’t the reason they had braved the elements to come.
After a minute or two, the choir shuffled forward, a rather motley assortment of old men, young boys and women. It wasn’t the grand choir that the Dom had supported over the years, but it represented no less dedication than the best of the past. Tonight, like every day and night in the last year, was a time of making do, of doing what could be done without regard to wishes and desires.
In more normal days, Frau Keller would have been seated to the right of her husband, with their children sitting between them, but this night was anything but normal. This night she chose, for rather obvious reasons, to sit next to him, allowing Helmut to anchor the other end of the family. Although it probably didn’t matter, Helmut understood and knew his own time with his father would come soon enough. He had much to share, and much more to ask, for he also knew the war was lost and the future was uncertain.
From high above in the pulpit the Pfarrer began to speak, reciting the story of this night nearly 2000 year before.
“In those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world
should be counted. This was the first enrollment, when Quirinius was governor of Syria. And all went to be enrolled, each to their own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, to be enrolled with Mary, his betrothed, who was with child.”
“And while they were there, the time came for her to be delivered. And she gave birth to her first-born son and wrapped him in swaddling cloths, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.”
“And in that region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shown around them, and they were filled with fear. And the angel said to them, ‘be not afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy that will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a babe wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.’”
“And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom he is pleased!’”
At the end of the story, the Pfarrer looked out from his perch, deciding that this gathering of tortured souls needed more. For only a passing moment he thought back to his confrontation with the Gauleiter, and decided he no longer cared about official approval.
“In much the same way we find ourselves confronting a troubled world tonight,” he began, choosing his words carefully, but not to avoid possible censor. “In the coming days our faith will be tested again and again, just as our Lord Jesus was tested. We must have faith that our Father’s Will will prevail, and that we will survive to help with the task of rebuilding of our community and our nation.”
“The coming times will not be easy,” he said, almost admitting that the war was lost, “but with the strength of our Lord, we can endure. We will be forced to make choices that challenge not only our will but our souls. Just as this building, this…sanctuary, has withstood the attempts to challenge our faith, we must each resist the temptation to join those who would destroy the world, because they…because they believe they must.” He had carefully caught himself, narrowly avoiding saying something far more direct.
“And if the end should come, let each of us prepare our souls, choosing the path of salvation and making the decisions that God has taught us to make. Remember the great commandments. ‘Thou shall not kill.’” Sitting in the front row, the Gauleiter and the other party officials were squirming, for the words of the Pfarrer had clearly made them very uncomfortable.
In truth it had always been hard to reconcile the traditional teachings of the church with the dogma of the party, but that dilemma had been easier to overlook when they had been winning. Now, when everyone except the most ardent party members had recognized the truth, it was far more personal.
After the benediction, the small crowd slowly began to leave, some taking the time to walk past the reliquary that held the remains of those three wise men…the three kings that Luke’s story spoke of. Many were unsure of their spiritual powers, but this was a time when every little thing might help. Frau Keller herded the boys into the aisle, waiting as Heinrich slowly rose, working the kinks from his legs after sitting.
Walking beside him, she took his left hand, leaving his right free to handle the cane he was still adjusting to using. The boys seemed subdued, but both parents suspected it was a combination of the service and the shock of seeing their father return. Christmas Eve was often a time for introspection, and maybe that was true of children also, especially children used to daily warfare.
Outside the sky had broken, and a vast field of stars now shown above the darkened ruins of the great city. Only the spires of the Dom blocked the view, and the nearly-full moon provided more than enough light for travel. Carefully they picked their way through the debris, ascending the embankment and starting off across the bridge once again. In small groups and clusters, those who had come from the East walked back together, alone in their thoughts and relatively silent in their solitude.
Frau Keller began to think back to her day, remembering that but a few hours before she concluded that this would be her worst Christmas ever. Clearly that assumption was no longer true, and as they walked past the round station house and up onto the platform at Messe/Deutz she considered her situation once again. As they stood quietly, waiting for the next unscheduled train, they could hear the choir of a small church not far away. In the still night air, the young voices of the children, for there were few adults left to sing, carried well. Frau Keller looked once more at her husband, grasping his hand and smiling for the first time that night.
“This has been my best Christmas ever,” she said quietly.