He saw that all around him stood a ring of little silver-winged angels, and each held a stringed instrument, and all sang in loud tones that tonight the Savior was born who should redeem the world from its sins.
Then he understood how all things were so happy this night that they didn’t want to do anything wrong.
And it was not only around the shepherd that there were angels, but he saw them everywhere. They sat inside the grotto, they sat outside on the mountain, and they flew under the heavens. They came marching in great companies, and, as they passed, they paused and cast a glance at the child.
There was such jubilation and such gladness and songs and play! And all this he saw in the dark night whereas before he could not have made out anything. He was so happy because his eyes had been opened that he fell upon his knees and thanked God.
What that shepherd saw, we might also see, for the angels fly down from heaven every Christmas Eve, if we could only see them.
You must remember this, for it is as true, as true as that I see you and you see me. It is not revealed by the light of lamps or candles, and it does not depend upon sun and moon, but that which is needful is that we have such eyes as can see God’s glory.
1908
CHRISTMAS EVE
Vigdis Hjorth
THERE IS A NERVOUSNESS ACCOMPANYING THE CHILDREN’S EXPECTATIONS that increases the thirst. I would like to drink from early morning. But that won’t do. I mustn’t get drunk. If I get drunk, it’ll ruin everything; they’ll be terrible, the days they are staying with me, cleaning up, tears, impossible. I mustn’t get drunk. There’s nothing that increases your thirst as much as knowing you mustn’t get drunk. I won’t be able to make it without drinking, but I mustn’t get drunk. I mustn’t have a beer after skiing, as I usually do, which is the reason I go skiing; perhaps I’ll drop skiing when I can’t have a beer afterward. I mustn’t get drunk. I mustn’t become unsteady. I mustn’t laugh, I mustn’t sing. I mustn’t tell jokes. I mustn’t show signs of intoxication. I mustn’t make the children feel uncertain about that. I can have a glass of wine for dinner, but I mustn’t become drunk. I mustn’t talk too loudly. My voice mustn’t quiver. I mustn’t be in high spirits, then they become suspicious and insecure. I mustn’t stay in the cellar too long if I have to go down to the cellar to get fruit for the fruit salad, then they could think that I’m drinking down there, on the sly. I mustn’t drink on the sly. I mustn’t stagger. I must speak clearly, I must be steady on my feet. They’re cooking, they’re standing in the kitchen cooking and have opened a beer, my son and my son-in-law. My oldest daughter has taken the car to the gas station convenience store to buy salt. I’m cutting the fruit, I mustn’t open a beer. They’re watching me, I’m cutting the fruit. They’re looking for signs. I have to bear it until the gifts have been handed out. Then I’ll go to bed, then I’ll light the fire in my own part of the house, and drink red wine and feel safe, alone and unsupervised. I can have one glass of wine for dinner. No more. They keep track. I can’t effortlessly reach out for the bottle. The one who’s filling the glasses usually forgets my glass. It just happens, or it’s agreed upon. I’m allowed two glasses. If I speak clearly, if I don’t laugh, if I walk steadily, if I don’t drink the first glass too greedily, if I pretend that I have forgotten that there’s wine on the table. I’m allowed two glasses if I sip the first one. Then I’m allowed one more toward the end of the meal. The house smells of pork ribs. My son’s wearing an apron and is having a beer while he’s making sauerkraut from scratch. My son-in-law’s making spicy meatballs and is having a beer. I’m the only one who notices. They have no fear of becoming drunk. My son can become quite drunk, but he is son, not mother, he doesn’t live with the fear. I hope he becomes drunk. I hope he drinks so much that he becomes drunk and forgets about me. But my youngest daughter doesn’t forget. I put a cider in the freezer when I go down to get the pineapple. My youngest daughter calls to say she’s on her way. She usually doesn’t drink. She has a strained relationship to alcohol. She saves drinking until she’s at a party with friends. When she’s with us, her family, she doesn’t drink. She’s damaged. I’m the one who has damaged her. I wish she would drink and become happy and forget me. She comes and studies me, but I haven’t been drinking, I haven’t had a beer after skiing, because I haven’t been skiing. My son asks if she wants a beer. My ears prick up, I hope she says yes, that she drinks many beers and lots of wine and gets drunk and forgets me so I can get drunk. I wish everyone would get drunk and lose themselves in gifts and forget about me. She shakes her head, she doesn’t want a beer, that’s the damage.
I go to get pomegranates in the cellar and take the cider out of the freezer. I drink it as fast as I can, I’m so thirsty. I listen for steps, but there aren’t any. I mustn’t stay for too long, have to go up soon, I drink and drink. Then it’s empty, it helped and gets worse. Now I feel guilty. But I’m not going to get drunk. I can take a lot of cider before I get drunk. I’m not going to get drunk, I’m just going to calm my nerves. They don’t understand that. If they knew that I opened a cider and drank it, they’d feel insecure and worry about how the evening would end. It has to be done in secret. I’m going to keep my promise. I’m not going to get drunk. I go up again with the pomegranates and behave as naturally as I can possibly can. Cider doesn’t smell. I ask my youngest daughter if she had enjoyed the day with her father yesterday. My voice doesn’t tremble, I don’t think anyway. I’m listening to myself, am so focused on myself that I have problems talking, moving. I talk and move as little as possible. The cider is warming my blood. I feel the warmth spreading, try to lower my shoulders, but they carry my shame. We had a nice time, she said. They’d eaten catfish. They’d accompanied their meal with a good white wine, I know that, but I don’t ask about the wine. Alcohol is not a subject here. She doesn’t seem to notice the cider. I hope she’ll relax and understand that I won’t get drunk, so I can relax. The fruit salad is ready. The pork ribs are ready. My son-in-law is uncorking the red wine he has brought. It goes well with the pork. My oldest daughter calls and asks if she should buy some ice cream as well. The others want that; she’ll soon arrive with the ice cream and put it in the freezer where there’s a cider. I have to remove it before she comes. I said I’ll carry the fruit salad down to the cellar where it’ll stay cool. That sounds quite natural. No one asks, no one seems to suspect anything. I cover the salad with plastic wrap, elaborately and slowly as if there’s no rush. Carry it down to the cellar, take the cider from the freezer and drink it fast, even if it’s not cold. I feel completely clearheaded, even more clear-headed, completely calm, calmer, like a hardened criminal during the misdeed. I talk calmly to myself. Calm, now. I go up and set the table, utterly focused. My daughter looks at me, I concentrate on the steps to the drawer and the steps back, the cutlery in the right place, glasses and plates. I don’t drop anything, I don’t break anything. I don’t slur my words, because I don’t say anything, I don’t stagger. My oldest daughter comes back from the gas station with ice cream and puts it in the freezer. We sit down, finally. My son-in-law fills our glasses. He asks if I’ll have a drink. Just one, I say, loudly, to reassure. He fills my glass. Less in mine than in the other glasses, it seems to me, I study him while he’s pouring the lovely red wine, how it rises in the glasses, how high in those of the others, how high in mine. My youngest daughter says she doesn’t want wine, loudly, to make sure I hear it. She wants soda water. She gets the soda water and puts it down hard on the table. We wish one another Merry Christmas and lift our glasses, finally. I keep the wine in my mouth as long as possible. I take small, small sips. They eat, we eat, they eat more than they drink. The bottle is empty, but they have more left in their glasses, so they don’t open another one. I look over at the kitchen bench, at the other bottle. Now my son, finally, goes to get it. Opens it and fills his glass and asks if anyone else wants some. I say, as collected as I can, as effortlessly as I can, that I wouldn’t mind another glass. The last one,
I add, loudly, so everyone can hear it. My son looks at his sister, the youngest one, my son looks at his sister, the oldest one, they don’t say anything, they keep their opinions to themselves. My son fills my glass half-full and puts the bottle back on the bench. We’re silent. We eat, they eat, I try to let the wine last. Then I get the fruit salad from the cellar without drinking cider, don’t dare to. Ice cream and fruit salad, I still have wine in my glass, don’t dare to empty it and be without. Lift the glass to my mouth and dip my tongue in the wine. The dessert consumed, shortly there’ll be gifts, shortly it’ll be over. I get a garbage bag from the cellar for the wrapping paper, drop into my bedroom and spray red wine from a carton into my mouth, it helps, it’ll soon be over, it’ll be alright, I can endure another hour. I go up and I get gifts. I say thank you, I’m not going to get drunk. My youngest daughter is calmer now. Sees that I don’t drink, that I don’t stagger, that I don’t hold a glass in my hand that I keep lifting to my mouth like other Christmas Eves, when I slowly faded away. Now I’m present, it seems. My whole body, my whole head, everything in me is longing for my room, the fireplace, the bed, the wine. It’s soon midnight, it’s soon time, I’ll give them another half hour. They’re relaxed, they laugh, talk, the danger has passed. Mum isn’t drunk, she has kept her promise. I’ll soon say good night, I say and yawn. It’s been a long day, I say and sigh. Pick up some pieces of wrapping paper and put them in the garbage bag, as if I’m thinking of things like that to do, as if there’s no rush. I go to the kitchen and put the plates in the dishwasher, empty the glasses and put them in. They’re not coming in to check, they’re not afraid, everything has gone well. Put the leftovers in the fridge, stick my head into the living room and say it again, time for bed, it’s been a long day. Go down to my room and close the door. Sit down on the bed, open the bottle of 200 kroner good wine, which is my reward. Take out my finest glass, fill it, gulp the wine. I didn’t get drunk, now I can get drunk. Light the fire, put on clean pajamas, settle down in bed, they’re not going to come down, I’ve gone to bed, I’ve said good night, they’re not going to know what I’m doing. Everything has gone well, now I can drink. My bed has clean sheets, I drink and look at the fireplace and know I have more wine in the locked cupboard. It’s over, it’s over and done with, I’m on my own, finally, happy.
2015
GIANTS IN THE EARTH
O. E. Rölvaag
THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS EVE SNOW FELL. IT FELL ALL THAT NIGHT and the following forenoon. Still weather, and dry, powdery snow. Murk without, and leaden dusk in the huts. People sat oppressed in the somber gloom.
Things were in a bad way over at Per Hansa’s now; everyone knew it and feared what might befall both Beret and him. No one could help; all that could be done was to bide the time, for soon a change must come!
“Listen, folks,” said Tönseten, trying to comfort them as best he could. “Beret can’t keep this up forever! I think you had better go over to her again, Kjersti!”
Both neighbor women were now taking turns at staying with her, each one a day at a time. They saw clearly that Per Hansa was more in need of help than Beret; there was no helping her now, while something, at least, could be done for him and the children. Christmas would soon be here, too, and the house ought to be made comfortable and cozy!
They all felt very sorry for Per Hansa. He walked about like a ragged stray dog; his eyes burned with a hunted look. Each day, the children were sent over to Hans Olsa’s to stay for a while; if they remained longer than they had been told, he made no protest; at last they formed the habit of staying the whole day. He did not realize that it was bad for Beret to be without them so much; he tried to keep the talk going himself, but she had little to say; she answered in monosyllables and had grown peculiarly quiet and distant. In the shadow of a faint smile which she occasionally gave him there lay a melancholy deeper than the dusk of the Arctic Sea on a rainy, gray fall evening.
About noon of Christmas Eve the air suddenly cleared. An invisible fan was pushed in under the thick, heavy curtain that hung trembling between earth and heaven—made a giant sweep, and revealed the open, blue sky overhead. The sun shone down with powerful beams, and started a slight trickling from the eaves. Toward evening, it built a golden fairy castle for itself out yonder, just beyond Indian Hill.
The children were at Hans Olsa’s; And-Ongen wanted to stay outside and watch the sunset. Sofie had told her that today was Christmas Eve, and that on every Christmas Jesus came down from heaven. The child asked many questions … Would he come driving? Couldn’t they lend him the pony? Sofie hardly thought so—he probably would be driving an angel-pony!
Store-Hans, who was listening to them, thought this very silly and just like girls. He knew better! Toward evening he suddenly wanted to go home, and was almost beside himself when his godfather said that he couldn’t: all the children were to stay with Sofie tonight. They had to hold him back by force. This was Christmas Eve. He understood very well that something was about to go wrong at home. Why had his mother looked so wan and worn of late, and his father acted so queer that one couldn’t talk to him?
That afternoon Beret was in childbed. The grim struggle marked Per Hansa for life; he had fought his way through many a hard fight, but they had all been as nothing compared with this. He had ridden the frail keel of a capsized boat on the Lofoten seas, had seen the huge, combing waves snatch away his comrades one by one, and had rejoiced in the thought that the end would soon come for him also; but things of that sort had been mere child’s play. This was the uttermost darkness. Here was neither beginning nor end—only an awful void in which he groped alone.
Sörine and Kjersti had both arrived a long time since. When they had come he had put on his coat and gone outside; but he hadn’t been able to tear himself many steps away from the house.
Now it was evening; he had wandered into the stable to milk Rosie, forgetting that she had gone dry long ago; he had tended to Injun and the oxen, without knowing what he was about. He listened to Beret wailing in the other room, and his heart shriveled; thus a weak human being could not continue to suffer, and yet live. And this was his own Beret!
He stood in the door of the stable, completely undone. Just then Kjersti ran out to find him; he must come in at once; Beret was asking for him! Kjersti was gone in a flash. He entered the house, took off his outdoor clothes, and washed his hands.
Beret sat half-dressed on the edge of the bed. He looked at her, and thought that he had never seen such terror on any face. God in heaven—this was beyond human endurance!
She was fully rational, and asked the neighbor women to leave the room for a moment, as she had something to say to her husband. She spoke with great composure; they obeyed immediately. When the door closed behind them Beret rose and came over to him, her face distorted. She laid a hand on each of his shoulders, and looked deep into his eyes, then clasped her hands behind his neck and pulled him violently toward her. Putting his arms firmly around her, he lifted her up gently and carried her to the bed; there he laid her down. He started to pull the covers over her. But she held on to him; his solicitous care she heeded not at all.
When he had freed himself, she spoke brokenly, between gasps:
“Tonight I am leaving you. Yes, I must leave you. I know this is the end! The Lord has found me out because of my sins … It is written, ‘To fall into the hands of the living God!’ … Oh!—it is terrible! I can’t see how you will get along when you are left alone though I have only been a burden to you lately. You had better give And-Ongen to Kjersti. She wants a child so badly—she is a kind woman. You must take the boys with you—and go away from here! How lonesome it will be for me to lie here all alone!”
Tears came to her eyes, but she did not weep; between moans she went on strongly and collectedly:
“But promise me one thing: put me away in the big chest! I have emptied it and made it ready. Promise to lay me away in the big chest, Per Hansa! And you must be sure to dig the grave d
eep! You haven’t heard how terribly the wolves howl at night! Promise to take plenty of time and dig deep down—do you hear!”
His wife’s request cut Per Hansa’s heart like sharp ice; he threw himself on his knees beside the bed and wiped the cold perspiration from her face with a shaking hand.
“There now, blessed Beret-girl of mine!” His words sounded far off—a note of frenzy in them. “Can’t you understand that this will soon be over? Tomorrow you’ll be as chipper as a lark again!”
Her terror tore her only the worse. Without heeding his words, she spoke with great force out of the clearness of her vision:
“I shall die tonight. Take the big chest! At first I thought of asking you not to go away when spring came and leave me here alone. But that would be a sin! I tell you, you must go! Leave as soon as spring comes! Human beings cannot exist here! They grow into beasts.”
The throes were tearing her so violently now that she could say no more. But when she saw him rise she made a great effort and sat up in bed.
“Oh!—don’t leave me!—don’t go away! Can’t you see how sorely I need you? And now I shall die! Love me—oh, do love me once more, Per Hansa!” She leaned her body toward him. “You must go back to Norway. Take the children with you … let them grow up there. Ask father and mother to forgive me! Tell father that I am lying in the big chest! Can’t you stay with me tonight, stay with me and love me? Oh!—there they come for me!”
Beret gave a long shriek that rent the night. Then she sobbed violently, praying that they should not take her away from Per Hansa.
Per Hansa leaped to his feet, and found his voice.
“Satan—now you shall leave her alone!” he shouted, flinging the door open and calling loudly to the women outside. Then he vanished into the darkness.
A Very Scandinavian Christmas Page 9