A Song At Twilight (17 page)

Afterwards, she walked up the steep hill with the Prettyjohns. They parted at the corner with a kiss and good wishes, and then Alison and Hughie walked on alone towards the cottage.

‘Uncle Stefan!’ Hughie said suddenly, and she looked up to see the tall, fair-haired Polish pilot strolling towards them. She quickened her pace and they stopped, facing each other.

‘Happy Christmas,’ Alison said, and he nodded and bowed his head slightly.

‘And I wish you a happy Christmas too, Alison.’ He glanced down at Hughie. ‘And did Saint Nicholas come to visit you last night?’

Hughie looked doubtful. ‘Is that the same as Santa Claus?’ His face cleared when Stefan nodded, and he said eagerly, ‘Yes, he did. He brought me lots of presents. I’ve got a Typhoon, look.’ He took the wooden toy from his pocket and swooped it through the air. ‘I’m going to have a real one when I grow up, like my daddy.’

Stefan looked down at him gravely and Alison caught the thought behind his eyes. ‘I know,’ she said quietly. ‘I hope not, too.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘Weren’t you flying last night? I’d have thought you’d be in bed now, making up for lost sleep.’

‘I slept for a few hours. Then I woke up and thought, It’s Christmas Day. I began to think about home …’ He paused. ‘When that happens, I find it’s best to go for a walk.’

‘Oh.’ Alison looked at him. The pale face was drawn and the fine grey eyes shadowed. ‘You’re thinking about Christmas with your family.’

He inclined his head again. ‘I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help remembering happier times, when we all spent Christmas together. The decorations, the music. It all seems so far away – so long ago.’

Alison rested her hand on the top of the gate. It was a cold morning. The ground was hard and frozen, and a bleak wind blew across from the Sound. She looked at the pilot and said, ‘Why don’t you come in? I’ll make some coffee. We’ll have to be quiet, because Andrew’s asleep, at least, he was when we went out, but we can talk in the living room.’

He hesitated. ‘I don’t want to intrude on your Christmas.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she said warmly. ‘You’ve been invited to come this afternoon anyway, and I expect some of the others will drop in too. We’re hoping for a party tonight. It will be nice to hear more about your Christmases at home – that’s if you don’t mind talking about them.’

His eyes met hers. They were the colour of ice on the sea – a pale grey with tiny flecks of green and blue somewhere in their depths. He looked away from her, out towards the broad, cold horizon, and then said simply, ‘No. I don’t mind talking about Christmas at home. Perhaps it will bring my family closer for a while.’

They went through the door and Hughie immediately tugged Stefan by the hand, taking him into the living room where Alison had set up their tiny Christmas tree. There were no lights, but there were a few bright glass baubles kept from former Christmases, and she had made ginger-bread biscuits and hung them amongst the branches, together with a few scraps of coloured paper cut into the shapes of stars. The room was strung with paperchains that she and Hughie had spent hours glueing together during the past two or three weeks, and there was a row of Christmas cards propped along the oak beam over the fireplace.

When she came back from the kitchen, bearing a tray with coffee and warm milk, Hughie was still showing Stefan his presents. She set the tray down.

‘Do you have Christmas trees as well?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘We have very tall ones in all the public squares and smaller ones in our homes. All of them are lit and decorated – we use biscuits, like these, and wrapped chocolates and fruits and nuts. And on the top we put a shining star. The star is a very important part of Christmas, because it was a star that led the Three Kings to the stable where Jesus was born.’

‘And do you have presents on your tree?’ Hughie asked. He cast a longing look towards the tree standing on the deep windowsill. ‘There are some presents on ours, but Daddy says we’re not to have those until tomorrow.’

‘That’s just because he thinks it will be nice to have something else to look forward to,’ Alison told him and he pushed out his lips but said nothing.

Stefan said, a little apologetically: ‘We have presents from our tree on Christmas Eve. Saint Nicholas comes to us then – he’s dressed in the same way as your Father Christmas, but we call him the Starman. We have our main celebration then, you see –
Wigilia
, we call it. The whole family comes together to eat good food at supper. We begin as soon as the first star appears in the sky. Remember that the winter is very cold in Poland, with deep snow on the ground by Christmas, so many of the guests will arrive by sleigh.’

‘With real reindeer?’ Hughie asked, his eyes enormous as he listened, and Stefan laughed.

‘No, we use horses, with little bells fastened to their heads.’

‘Jingle bells!’ Hughie cried, hopping up and down with excitement. ‘I know that song!’

‘I do too,’ Stefan said. ‘The others have been singing it in the mess.’

‘Do you have carols? We’ve been singing carols in church. I like “Once In Royal David’s City” best, because it’s about a boy,’ Hughie said, and when they both looked at him he added impatiently, ‘The boy
David
. He killed a giant.’

‘Well, not at Christmas,’ Alison began, but Stefan laughed and she decided to shelve Hughie’s religious instruction for the time being.

‘Yes, we have carols. We call them
Koledy
.’

‘Tell us some more about – what was it you said Christmas Eve was called?’ Alison asked.

‘
Wigilia
,’ he said. ‘Well, there’s a lot of preparation for it, just as there is here. We start during Advent, with special church services every morning at six. And the women bake the
peirnik
– a honey cake which they make in all kinds of shapes, like stars and animals and hearts, and little models of Saint Nicholas himself. We hang mistletoe over the door to ward off evil, and place wheat in the corners of the room to drive away unhappiness and to remember that our Saviour was born in a stable. And the
Gwiadorze
– the star-scarriers – wander from village to village, singing carols or putting on puppet shows and nativity scenes.’

‘We used to go carol-singing round the village at home,’ Alison said. ‘And there used to be Christmas mummers’ plays as well. What else happens on Christmas Eve?’

‘We start our supper with a specially baked bread, with a holy picture on the top. It’s passed around the family, and as each person breaks a piece off, they forgive any hurts or grievances that have happened over the past year and wish each other happiness.
Wigilia
is a time for forgiveness and fresh starts.’

‘Christmas is here, as well,’ Alison said. ‘At least, it’s supposed to be. I’m not sure that it always works out that way.’

He laughed. ‘It can be a difficult time, I know. There are some members of the family who will never get on! But most of them try to, at least for this short time, and if there’s a quarrel that hasn’t been healed, it often helps to mend the breach. Well, after we have shared our
optalek
, and sung some carols, we begin our meal. There are eleven courses—’

‘
Eleven
?’ Alison repeated in astonishment. ‘How can you possibly eat all that?’

‘Well, we have fasted all day,’ he said. ‘But most of them don’t contain meat. We will have almond soup, and perhaps beetroot soup, and then fish and vegetables – sauerkraut in pastry and fried millet in cabbage leaves – very different from your vegetables. And many sweets, of course – children everywhere love sweets.’ He smiled at Hughie. ‘But again, they’re not much like yours. Poppyseed cakes, perhaps, and ginger cakes and sweet pastries. And fruits – dried fruits and oranges and apples. And plenty of wine and mead to drink.’

‘It sounds lovely,’ Alison said, thinking of pre-war English Christmases, with sherry before the turkey and a good burgundy or claret to drink with it. Then Christmas pudding with brandy butter, crackers to pull and maybe a piece of Stilton and a glass of port for her father afterwards. Pastry filled with sauerkraut didn’t have the same attraction somehow, but if it was what you were used to …

‘But what about the presents?’ Hughie asked impatiently. ‘You said Father Christmas comes and gives you presents.’

‘Ah yes, Father Christmas – the Starman. The children are all taken to another room to meet him. Perhaps their father has dressed up or perhaps it is the parish priest himself, who examines them on their catechism and asks about their behaviour over the past year. Some of the children may feel very uneasy about this!’ He grinned, and Alison surmised that he had had his own moments of discomfort. ‘But once this is over, he takes them back to the dining room and there they find the lanterns lit and the Christmas tree filled with presents and, good or bad, you may be sure that they are all well satisfied.’

‘I wish the Starman would come here,’ Hughie said wistfully.

‘Well, he did, didn’t he?’ Alison told him. ‘He came last night, while you were asleep, and filled your stocking.’

‘I’d like to
see
him, though. I’d like him to come to supper like he does at Uncle Stefan’s house.’

‘What happens then?’ Alison asked. ‘Do you have a party, with games and songs and stories?’

‘Oh yes. We gather round the fire and sing, and sometimes we visit each other with more presents, and at last we go to midnight mass. That’s the church service,’ he added to Hughie. ‘We go in our sleighs, all wrapped up warmly, and give thanks for all the good things we have.’

There was a moment’s silence. Alison saw his face settle into more sombre lines and knew that he must be thinking of those happy times, and wondering if his family were still able to celebrate Christmas – if they were even still alive to celebrate at all. She reached across and touched his hand, and he gave her a quick glance and a small smile.

‘Sing us some carols now,’ Hughie commanded, oblivious of the moment of sadness.

‘Hughie!’ Alison protested. ‘Uncle Stefan may not want to sing carols.’

Stefan got up and went to the piano. ‘I will play you some, very quietly so as not to wake your father.’ He sat down and began to pick out a tune, very softly, one note at a time.

‘Why, we know that tune!’ Alison exclaimed in surprise and, at the same moment, Hughie said, ‘It’s “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star”!’

‘It’s a nursery rhyme,’ Alison explained to the Pole, and Hughie chanted it. ‘It never occurred to me that it might mean the Star over Bethlehem. And you have it too!’ It seemed to bring them even closer together.

‘Play another one,’ Hughie said, and this time the Pole began to sing as well, very softly.

‘Wsrod nocnej ciszy, Glos sie rozchodzi,
Wstancie pasterze, Bog sie wam rodzi.
Czym predzej sie wybierajcie,
Do Betlejem pospieszajcie,
Przywitac Pana!’

‘Do you know it in English?’ Alison asked, and he began the tune again.

‘Angels from heaven sang a thrilling psalm,
Waking the shepherds from their drowsy calm.
Rise, ye shepherds, hurry onwards,
Greet the newborn Son of David,
King Emmanuel!’

The song drifted into silence as his fingers caressed the last few notes from the keys, and he sat motionless for a moment. Alison glanced at his face and saw there the pain of all that he had lost and might never find again, and wished she had not asked him to talk about his memories. Then Hughie said, ‘I
knew
it was about the boy David!’ and they both laughed.

‘All the Christmas stories are about a boy,’ Stefan said, closing the piano lid, and as he turned Alison caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye and saw Andrew standing in the doorway.

‘Oh, darling! Did we wake you?’ She got up and went over to him, needing suddenly to make a link with her husband, to feel the warmth of his skin. ‘We meant to be quiet.’

‘No, I was waking anyway. It was rather nice, hearing the piano.’ He glanced at Stefan. ‘Good to see you. Are you staying for lunch?’

‘Not at all.’ The Polish pilot got up hastily. ‘We met by chance and your wife invited me in for coffee. But I won’t intrude any longer – you want your family to yourself now. And I’m poor company, especially at Christmas. I think too much, so the others tell me.’

‘It’s easy for them to say that,’ Andrew said. ‘Most of them can get home now and then, and even the Canadians can keep in touch with their families. You can’t.’ He came further into the room and dropped into an armchair, reaching out his arms for Hughie to scramble on to his lap. ‘You may as well stay. Some of the others will be coming in later – no point in you going all that way, only to turn round and come back again. And I’m sure Alison is providing us with a feast.’

‘A feast!’ she said with a rueful laugh. ‘Rabbit – that’s what we’re having. Again. But better than lots of people will be having, I’m sure.’

‘Yes,’ Stefan said. ‘Better than many, many people will be having.’

Behind his clouded eyes, Alison seemed to catch a glimpse of hungry people, driven from their homes, living in squalor and desperation, and she shivered.

As Andrew went out to the little garden shed to fetch vegetables from the store Alison kept there, she turned to him and said, ‘Thank you for telling us about your Christmases, Stefan.’ She hesitated for a moment, then went on, ‘At the party we had a couple of months ago, you said you’d like to come and talk to me. To tell me about your home and your family. You never did.’

‘I’ve come to your house many times since then,’ he said.

‘But not to talk. Not like that.’

‘It’s too much. I can’t burden others with my troubles.’

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ she said, meeting his grey eyes. ‘I really wouldn’t mind. If it would help.’

There was a short pause. Then he said slowly, ‘It has helped, talking to you this morning. Yes. Perhaps I will do it again, one day.’

The back door opened and slammed again as Andrew and Hughie came in, bringing a gust of cold air with them. Stefan turned away, and Alison went to start the preparations for their Christmas dinner. Later, the other pilots would come and the day would grow merry, but she knew that she would not forget this hour of quiet, nor this glimpse she had been given of another kind of Christmas.