I don’t like Christmas.
On the evening of December 5th, Mikulas knocks on the doors of Czech households with the devil alongside him, handing out treats to good kids. The devil's work, on the other hand, is to spook and symbolically punish those children who were not kind and good. That’s grown-up’s version.
Mine is different:
Every year, it fills me with paralyzing fear. When two grown-ups dress up as the white holy man, Mikulas, and his evil grown-up friend, devil - Their masks are scary – Then I know, after they enter the big room, we all be running for our lives around the tables again. To hide. To breathe. To survive mentally and emotionally - And somehow, hoping to use a magic wizard wand to disappear forever. I don't understand why grown-ups find it funny when we as children are scared and screaming in agony. Having an empty stomach doesn’t feel good, but I’d be rather hungry than seeing those two ever again. Grown-ups don’t make any sense; I often think to myself.
It's no secret that Christmas has arrived. The streets have been adorned with the inviting color of white, as Winter has come to town and blanketed the hills like a bride's veil. Candles have been lit up by grownups in their cozy homes, and even my favorite window has been decorated with a snowy blanket. All grown-ups seem to move at a slower pace, perhaps due to the mittens and warm jackets they have to wear in the cold. Even Sharik, the orphanage hyperactive dog who runs around the orphanage like crazy, stays longer in his little shed to keep warm. I’ve used the red tap in the sink in the big bathroom a few times already to let my hands get warm. So yes, Winter is here.
The orphanage has three floors. The older you get, the higher your floor is.
"Once you enter the orphanage, there's no need to use any stairs. Just take a right after the main hallway and wait for someone to let you in." The principal instructed me on my first day. As he spoke, he mimicked flipping through paperwork, representing my entrance into the orphanage as a three-year-old.
My bed is still on the main floor, where my favorite window is, where I like to sit by and watch the passing black chubby locomotives in their sleek black design. The black locomotive descends with the gracefulness of a swan, making a gentle landing, like the one who lives in the black and white TV box. So many grown-ups and animals live in that box. How on earth they all fit in there, I wonder. I am glad that the train station’s noise doesn’t wake me up in the middle of the night anymore.
“Come along, children,” the grown-up woman, in the white coat with indescribable smile on her face, instructs us to follow her to the big room, where all pre-Christmas activities usually happen.
Once we all get in the room, all of us stay still, waiting for Mikulas and the devil to come in. Little kids are quiet. Grown-ups keep chatting. I look towards the windows. It’s snowing peacefully. I wonder, what do snowflakes sound like? They melt so gently when they landed on my palm…
“Ouch!” A sharp pain shoots through my finger, causing me to cry out in terror. Suddenly, a little girl my age is standing next to me, her face frozen in fear. Before I can fully comprehend what's happening, she has snapped my point finger in her mouth and wouldn’t let go. The chaos around us fades into the background as we stand frozen in our own pain and fear. The other children are running around and screaming, afraid of the devil’s mask actions. But all I can feel is the intense pain in my finger as the little girl stares at me like a pole in a corn field. We remain motionless amidst the commotion surrounding us, trapped in our own agony.
“Please, don’t tell on me!” she screams, “I’m so scared”, tears are streaming down her face. Despite her pleas, my finger remains trapped between her clenched teeth. Her short black hair, wearing long weary pants and green warm sweater don’t match her identity somehow, as a fast thought buzzes through my mind, like using a bow to shoot annoying birds. Why do I have those thoughts?
“Let it go!” I scream in pain.
“Please, don’t tell anyone”, She pleads again, hiding behind me from all the scream and commotion those two in the masks have caused.
She releases my finger, and I quickly move towards the four sinks in this room. We are supposed to wash our hands here before heading to the main kitchen for our meal. I try to scrub away the blood from my injured finger, holding it tightly. Suddenly, we both are brought to reality. We turn around and quickly dart around the tables, like everybody else in the room. The little girl sticks close to me, using me as a shield from the looming threat. I grab her hand, and we run together. No words are spoken between us. Nobody noticed. The fear of the devil's mask is way bigger than anything else.
At the end of the Mikulas and Devil’s tradition, we all start cleaning the room. We do our chores and go about our routine as we are told. Take a shower, get to your pajamas, and when the lights go off with the grown-up saying good night, we all get quiet. I am thankful for a handkerchief I found in the girls’ bathroom. I used it for my bleeding finger.
I try to close my eyes and imagine the world where all kids wouldn’t need to see Mikulas and the devil. And as I try to imagine my snowflake, landing on my palm elegantly dancing in the air, gently melting away, I realize that it’s not only me who doesn’t belong in here, in this orphanage. We all carry a gray sadness, but differently.
And I know I won’t tell anyone. Not even my snowflake.
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