Set in Hamburg, Germany
,Don’t break the Christmas tree,” Father shouts from the bottom of the ladder to his big brother, Reinhard. ‘She’s watching.’
,I’m just putting the star on the top,” Reinhard barks back. ,I’m following your house rules. There’re no footprints on the floor. Do you see any liquor bottles, either? You can give me a breath test if you don’t believe me.”
But Father is observing how Reinhard is swerving on top of the ladder. He isn’t sure if Reinhard had taken any alcohol. Reinhard has poor balance. If he falls, he will hurt their mother, too.
Sta-sta,” their mother is warbling. Her eyes move up and down the Christmas tree as she takes in the glittering lights. How they glint and reflect from the hardwood of the house and make the room appear so shiny and alight. They must be so distracting to her. The star is so covered with glitter that dashes of it have gotten all over Father’s fingers from when he handed it to Reinhard. Father wonders if they should lower the heating. Some of these ornaments are poorly made, imported from places like Bangladesh or Vietnam. Father wouldn’t be surprised if they melted in their toasty living room. The sticker on the Nativity scene ornaments set up underneath the tree has already fallen off.
Mother comes in. Their house is cramped full of relatives on this Heiliger Abend day. Father doesn’t like having so many people in their home, but Mother is used to lighting up her face for strangers. She has brought out a tray of cut-up slices of stollen, the powdered sugar misting around her and getting caught in her sweater as she hurries from the kitchen to the living room table. The stollen looks well warmed, with the candied fruits dotting it already melted. Father is tempted to move away from the tree to grab a piece, and as he hesitates, Reinhard and Father’s younger brother, Berthold, are already making their way to the table and stuffing their faces. These village habits never die out. The politeness culture in urban Germany has been perfected, such that whether in Munich or Köln, people always wait their turn, eat with plates and utensils, and give space to others. In rural Bavaria, however, people are less concerned with these kinds of pleasantries.
Father has been a man of the north for too long.
What is relevant is that Reinhard rushed off the ladder without remembering that he had just put something heavy and delicate on top of the tree. Father immediately catches the star with both of his hands and pushes it down so that it is aligned with the tip of the tree. The tree is tottering, and so Father keeps his hands where they are, around the star. He doesn’t want the star or the tree to fall. As he glances away, he notices his mother. She is looking so kindly at him, and so kindly at the tree and the Nativity scene under it and the wreath on its other side. It’s picture perfect, a memory one would want to keep safe for the rest of time. He doesn’t want his mother’s memory of this time to be disrupted by this tree suddenly tilting over, or the star falling down, or some of the ornaments crashing to the ground.
Reinhard comes back to his place on the ladder. He helps centre the tree while Father puts his hands back on the ladder. Reinhard is smiling widely, probably glad that he has reminded himself of his responsibilities, but he doesn’t turn to face Father or make eye contact with him. Father doesn’t mind it. They don’t have the habit of looking at each other or exchanging polite remarks. This is how it has always been with them.
,, Wow! Wow!” their mother exclaims. Father turns to her and returns her smile, full of warmth and wonder. In another iteration of herself, their mother would be clapping, coming up to give her compliments to each son. This was common when they were little boys growing up in Fischbachau. Their mother always liked to take the time to praise each one of their talents, to make it known that she was aware of how different and special they were in their own ways, and very much loved.
In this version of her, a ‘wow’ is all they can expect, and the beaming smile on her face. She will probably forget what she is excited about in the next few minutes and return to her usual stone-cold expression.
Nonetheless, Berthold looks happy to see their mother in this mood. He exclaims to his wife, ,, She is so happy.”
His wife replies, ,,I’m happy, too.”
Neither of them have helped much with the decoration. Keen to return to the other celebrations of the day, Father gestures to Reinhard and asks, ,,Do you think the tree is sturdy now?”
Reinhard retorts, ,,You’re the one who picked the decorations. Wouldn’t you know?”
Father swallows the air in his throat. It bulges a little inside of him, tickles the back of his mouth. He doesn’t like that answer, but he doesn’t want to fight with Reinhard, either. The last time the two of them fought, their mother was distraught for the rest of the day. She made anxious sounds and swatted the air. She slept poorly and Father did, too, feeling guilty for the pain he caused his mother.
Father is tired standing like this. He, too, is an older man. He can’t stand the way he used to. It hurts the nerves in his ankles, and his thighs are falling asleep against the metal steps. He isn’t going to get an answer from Reinhard, so he does his own inspection. Red and silver balls alternate their way up the tree. They are not heavy and have been well positioned. There are the silver and red garlands, as well as the silver light bulbs. They could cause a problem, but mostly if someone trips on one of the cords. The main point of concern are the angels. There are many of them on the tree, and they have been put in random places. Father personally did not want them on the tree, but he knows his mother loves them, and Berthold believed it would be good to have as many as possible.
,, Reinhard,” Father orders his brother. ,, Take off the angel on the right. It is too heavy. It will cause the tree to tilt.”
Father isn’t using a particularly demanding tone, but Reinhard loves to use any occasion as an attempt to challenge Father.
,,You take it off,” he demands instead.
Father sighs but keeps his words as polite as he can.
,, You are closer. You can pull it off with ease.”
But Reinhard has made his decision. He is not only getting down from the ladder but putting it back in the closet. This leaves Father as the only support for the tree, the only person who could do anything if the tree starts to topple. Except he is on one side of the tree and the angel is on the other.
Perhaps Father is overthinking it. It’s a tree, and they are just angels. Maybe he just imagined it tipping. Most likely Father can leave, and it won’t make a difference.
So, Father lets go of the tree. As expected, the pine tree does lurch rightward. Father anxiously throws out his hands, but he doesn’t grab it just yet. He sees that it is teetering but not falling down. It’s not just the angel, he suddenly notices, that is causing the excess weight. Someone has hung a picture frame of their family near the bottom of the tree.
Reinhard also spots it. ,, Who put that there?”
Mother returns having prepared Eierlikör and serves the mugs to everyone.
,, I did,” she says. ,, I found it in a photo album hidden in the closet. Isn’t it lovely?”
,, You’re so stupid,” Reinhard says. ,, Don’t you see how heavy it is? It’s affecting the tree.”
,, Don’t call me stupid!”
Mother’s eyes are suddenly burning. So are Father’s. It’s one thing to be crass with one’s brother, but Mother isn’t a blood relative. He can’t speak so rudely to her like that.
Reinhard continues, ,, But you should not be putting things there. Do you see how small the branches of the tree are? Go look at them. Then you’ll see.”
,, I’ll make it a point to look at it when I feel like it. This is my house. It’s not your place to tell me what to do here.”
,, Of course,” Reinhard gloats. ,, It’s always about that, isn’t it, brother?”
Reinhard smiles a twisted smile. It would make Father feel so good just to punch it, which is probably why Reinhard has plastered it on his face.
But Father sees the Nativity scene under the tree, Father sees how his mother’s face is still bright and beaming. It’s nothing compared to the dazzling star on top of the tree; it’s so much brighter.
Father sits and takes some stollen from the living room table. As he eats the microwave-softened fruitcake, he looks at the tree from a distance. The branches at the bottom are tilting downwards. But at least it’s still up and doesn’t look like it will collapse, unlike the composure in the room. His brother and wife are starting to bicker. His brother’s wife isn’t even in the house. She’s gone to smoke and hasn’t come back in the past half hour. His mother’s face has lost its smile.
Something is amiss. A little off.
And yet Father wants to take his fingers too frame the scene and take a picture with them.
The tree doesn’t need to stir for him to feel shaken.
He’s never going to have a memory like this ever again. It’s not perfect, but he appreciates it for what it is.