Christmas, But Then Different

The following story has been made up. I wrote it down because there is a world that is totally different from the one I am living in. Every day I hear about countries, maybe only five hours of flying away, where people are living in fear.

With the story, I have tried to imagine what the residents of these countries are going through, even though my ideas about it are limited. I would like to emphasize that I have had no other intentions than that. Furthermore, the characters in the story are in no way meant to resemble any existing persons. Having said that, the story is ready to begin.

It is Christmas 2015. Dinner is ready, the guests have arrived, and the lights in the christmas tree are shining. It’s after dark… and outside everything is quiet.

I wished it happened like that. But it all went quite differently. That night I invited some friends to dinner…

Kate, Boris, Gert, and Bianca are sitting in the living room en have started a conversation. Gert and Bianca’s baby, three months old, is sleeping in the carriage. After I have given everybody a drink, I have fled to the kitchen. ‘I am sorry, but I still have some things to do in the kitchen. Make yourself comfortable while I am putting the finishing touch to the christmas dinner’. The finishing touch? What a fool I am. I hardly have begun. When I am walking to the kitchen, I look into the carriage with a sideways glance. Having a baby must be quite a concern.

In the kitchen it is a big mess. All the ingredients are scattered over the counter and there is little space left for preparing the food. In general, I know what I’m going to serve, but I don’t have a plan. Just making a start, running around in circles, and I tackle the first thing that I can think of. Like trial and error, but then lagging behind the facts. First thing to do: the starter. Olives. Feta. Pine nuts into the frying pan. Lemon into pieces. Getting the glasses. O, dear, the pine nuts are going too far. In the meantime starting with the main course. Butter into the pan. With it, the lamb, cut into pieces. Putting on the oven. So far so good. O, and also some onions for the stew.

Time for the salad. Always asking a lot of time. Why didn’t I buy one of those ready-to-eat bags? Washing and spinning. The kitchen is getting even more crowded. O my God, the lamb is burning. It's a shame, the meat being blackened at one side. But I have to go on. The small pies are going into the oven. I quickly finish the starter, put everything into the glasses with a leaf of basilicum on top. The guests are enthousiastic. After I have eaten a little, I disappear into the kitchen, again. Proceeding with the salad. Cutting the tomatoes. What else? Do I have bread? There should be bread next to the dinner. O no, I forgot the pasta. I am out of control. Hurry up, water on the fire. Cutting the peppers. Ouch, into my thumb.

I am screaming out in pain. Blood is dripping on the counter and the floor. The oven is smoking. The baby begins to cry. Kate is running into the kitchen. ‘Everything allright? That doesn’t look very well! Do you have kitchen paper? And patches? Where? Here, in the drawer? O, in the bathroom. I’ll get it’. A feeling of disappointment comes over me. It’s always the same, why? I could be kicking myself. And my thumb is aching. How can I deal with all the work that still has to be done? The air is thick with smoke. The pies, the pieces of lamb and the pine nuts have been burned. Everything is ruined.

I have been banned from the kitchen and I’m sitting on the couch. Everybody is somewhat confused and staring into space. The atmosphere has changed completely. The baby is crying ceaselessly and Bianca is trying to comfort him. Boris asks me, how my thumb is going. ‘It’s okay’, I reply, with tears behind my eyes. ‘I have to calm down’. Sweet, but it doesn’t reduce my disappointment. I’m not fine at all. Dinner is a disaster, the guest are upset… could it be worse? I had wanted it so badly, doing everything well.

Suddenly I hear an increasing noise. It’s roaring and approaching very quickly. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not good. My ears are ringing and my heart rate is accelerating. An explosion, nearby. Everybody is diving to the floor. A very loud blast follows. It hurts to my ears. Glass is breaking. The sidewall partly collapses and I can look outside. I see Boris falling from the couch, screaming. Gert and Bianca are bending over the baby to protect it. I am crawling towards Boris. His arm has been hit and is bleeding. Gert is joining us, pulls off his shirt and wraps it around the wound. Thank God, Bianca and the baby are not wounded. The airplanes have gone. Everything is covered with dust.

Somebody’s moaning in the kitchen. It is Kate; there’s blood all over her face. She has to go to the hospital, for sure. Gert and I lift her up carefully. Boris is shocked when we he sees us coming into the living room with Kate. He stands up and walks to her, crying: ‘Sweetheart’. He says he wants to stay with Kate and bring her to the hospital. Gert asks if it is allright that he’s going home with Bianca and the baby. Of course, there is no doubt about that. They must leave as soon as possible. Boris says: ‘I will carry Kate’, but it is clear that he’s having a lot of pain.

It’s dark outside. Street lanterns are disabled. I can’t recognize anything. People are walking with torches, some are crying, others are searching. Sirens are howling constantly. There is rubble everywhere and an unpleasant burning smell. Throughout the clouds of dust I can distinct the ruins of some houses. Fortunately, a police car is driving nearby and has spotted us. Jumping out of the car, the two policemen say: ‘Step in, we will bring you’. On the backseat Boris and I take care of Kate. She’s groaning, and lying with her head on her friend’s shoulder. Boris is trying to encourage her, but he’s hardly capable of that. In the meantime the car is driving through the neighbourhood, carefully because of the many obstacles and holes in the road surface. Later on, we can drive normally. Here is no sign of the bombing anymore.

In the hospital. Surgeons and nurses are hurrying through the corridors. In spite of the many wounded people, there is no chaos. Kate is instantly being served and brought to the operating room. Boris and I will stay behind. I am asking Boris about his arm, but he is not answering, in shock. I am clinging to a nurse. She examines the wound, put a bandage around it and asks to wait for the doctor. Half an hour later, the wound is ready to be stitched. Happily no nerves or bones have been damaged.

I am waiting in the hospital for hours at a time. Now I have time to think about the things that have happened. What a disaster, especially for Kate. If I hadn’t cut into my thumb, it would have been totally different. I would be standing in the kitchen at the moment of the clash. I would have been hit and not Kate. And I would have to go to the hospital for surgeon. Everything ruined, my whole house. Where am I going to stay? I ask the woman next to me, if I may borrow her telephone. I call my parents; they have had some anxious moments. How nice it is to hear their voice! My eyes are filling with tears. I can stay with them, in any case.

Boris is coming out of the treatment room, his arm in a bandage. Finally, the surgeon is coming to tell that Kate is doing well after the operation. However, her face is heavily injured and the scars will always be visible. It will take quite some time to recover, because the muscles of her left cheek have been cut through. Eating and talking won’t be easy the coming period. We cannot visit her yet, until the narcosis has been worn off. Boris is a bit relieved. He is still tense, but at least he knows that Kate is in the right hands. His telephone is ringing, Gert is asking him about Kate. He is stammering that the situation is stable.

Each of us is going his way. I have called my parents again and they are picking me up. Boris will stay in the hospital until Kate has been awakened. I embrace him. With tears in my eyes I am walking towards the exit. My friends, my family. How glad I am, that they are still living. How would it be, if they didn’t? Would I go wandering around and ringing at people’s doors? I dismiss the thoughts, they frighten me too much. I am walking outside, through the revolving door. Dawn is coming; it must be about seven o’clock in the morning. After what happened last night, the world has become a different place to live in.

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