Chapter 15
It was Christmas Eve, Eva’s favorite night—favorite moment of all the year. Elena was having her over. It would be just the two of them. Her brother had invited them to Austria, but neither wanted to spend the money. Some year they would go. But she was too prideful to ask for him to pay for her tickets, and he never offered to, of course. Eva had asked her daughter to come to her house, but she said, “Warum, Mutti? Deine Zimmer sind so trostlos. Lass uns Weihnachten bei mir feiern.”
“But you must get a tree and wrap a present. It can’t be just us drinking beer with no . . . I don’t know . . . with no atmosphere.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll get a tree.”
“I can bring candles. And other decorations.”
“Toll. And bring some brandy. I’ll have food, too. Not just beer. I promise.”
The only disappointment was that Eva couldn’t wear her robe. Hans had bought her a new dress during his last visit, which she wore, but it didn’t make her feel quite as special as her robe did. It was a tight red dress with big, puffy sleeves. She felt a bit garish in it, but she knew, too, that it was a nice dress. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful; she just, if she had a choice, would always be wearing her blue robe. Maybe she could find a blue dress somewhere.
Berlin was beautiful during Christmas. The entire city was lit up, music poured from people’s houses, from the shops. Red bows and silver icicle decorations hung everywhere, even from the humblest apartment buildings. “Fröhliche Weihnachten” was heard from every corner, from nearly every person, even those who normally were sour. Eva could feel Christ’s spirit. Feel God’s spirit. She drank a very strong coffee mixed with brandy before heading out to the U-Bahn to go to Elena’s. Her cheeks flushed and she put the two gifts she had for her daughter in a bag. One gift she left behind, the one for Hans. A shirt that she agonized over—was it too bright? He liked bright colors. It was orange, a rusty orange. She imagined him in it, imagined him kissing her full on the mouth, saying “Danke, Schatzi. Dankeschön.” She left the shirt behind, carefully wrapped in shiny gold paper. She left it on her neatly made bed. In another bag, she had a bottle of brandy and a big sausage. And in another still, her Christmas ornaments—the heavy candleholders, the silver glass balls, the gold angel that rested on top of the tree instead of a star. She knew it was a bit different, but she loved it. She had used it all her married life, all her adult life. And in the ornament bag were new boxes of candles. It all felt a bit heavy, but she was full of life. It was the day Christ was born! Her savior! She knew it wasn’t as important as Easter, but it was her favorite holiday. It was.
Kreuzberg was alive and full of joy. Everyone—the punk rock kids, the hipster families, the artists and even the Turks, who didn’t believe in Christ—everyone was friendly and smiling.
Elena, too, was joyful.
“Hallo, Mutti! Fröhliche Weinachten, liebe Mutti!”
“Oh, fröhliche Weinachten, meine Tochter, meine Elena!”
Her apartment looked so nice. Eva was touched that her daughter had done this. There was a nice white tablecloth, one Eva had given her, on the table. Some new chairs were placed around the table. They were used, Eva could see, but her daughter had done this for her, found some chairs so she didn’t have to sit on pillows on the floor. And a tree! A Tannenbaum! It wasn’t as small and scraggly as she’d expected. Not that she thought badly of Elena; it was just that trees were expensive and hard to haul about. But the tree was beautiful—full, green, fragrant of pine. Tears came to Eva’s eyes. God was good, God was love. There were a handful of ornaments already on the tree. Including a beer can turned upside down. Well, Elena always had a sense of humor. And a very funny idea of art.
“I brought brandy, mein Liebchen. Hier! Für dich. Für uns!”
“Danke, Mutti.”
“Und eine Wurst!”
“Danke, danke! Warte, Mutti. Lass uns darauf mit Brandy anstossen.”
She sat near the tree, the room aglow with lamps. Elena brought her a drink and she began unpacking the goods carefully. Her fingers moved with ease, despite her excitement. She carefully placed the two gifts under the tree and then began putting on the ornaments. She attached the candle holders to the branches, carefully placing a new candle in each one. There were the silver balls, the glittery red balls, the gold ones, too. She could hear Elena singing in the kitchen as she prepared food for the two of them: “Stille Nacht, Heilige Nacht, Alles schläft, einsam wacht, Nur das traute, hochheilige Paar, Holder Knabe in lockigem Haar, Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh! Schlaf in himmlischer Ruh!”
Eva stood and joined her daughter, walking into the kitchen, abandoning the tree for a moment, singing: “Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht, Hirten erst kundgemacht, Durch der Engel Halleluja, Tönt es laut von fern und nah, Christ, der Retter, ist da! Christ, der Retter, ist da!”
Later, full and drunk, they opened presents. She had bought Elena a set of warm wool gloves and a hat, and three expensive pads of drawing paper. Elena had given her a lovely, bright purple silk scarf, which she put on immediately, and a book on a photographer, an artist named Nan Goldin. The book unsettled her, but she knew her daughter meant well, that
