Christmas Eve in
By Natalja Markus
Heliger Abend im kalten Sibirien
Von Natalja Markus
Volk auf dem Weg, Landsmannschaft
der Deutschen aus Russland, Stuttgart,
Germany, December, 2007, pages 20-21
This translation from the original German-language
text to American English
is provided by Alex Herzog, Boulder, Colorado
Natalja Markus (nee Bauer), the author
of our Christmas story, was born in 1950 in Krasnoyarsk,
Siberia. In 1968 she resettled in Kazakhstan. Studied
at the Pedagogical Institute at Zelinograd. For 25
years taught Russian language and literature. In Germany
since 1998, she is very active as a volunteer working
within the the Ev.-Lutheran church community of Altenburg
on behalf of late-arriving Aussiedler
Our small village was situated on the shore of the
mighty Yenissey [River] in Western Siberia. Our log
homes were old and dark, and they stood far apart
from one another. Besides us there lived here a few
other German families, all under military command
oversight. For our family of eight souls our little
home was rather crowded and sad. Still, I love to
remember this place of my far-away home.
It is 1955, a cold day that Christmas Eve. I am sitting
on my Grossmama's [grandmother's] lap in front of
the freshly whitewashed oven/stove and I gently stroke
her silver hair with my small hand. Mother fetches
another armful of birch wood, puts a few pieces into
the fire, and the wood starts to crackle happily.
She beams at me warmly and lovingly, kisses me on
the cheek and leaves the room. Mother always has a
lot to do because she has to take care of her brood
of children by herself, without a father.
Soon the other siblings are back from school, and
everything livens up in the house. Mother begins to
bake with the eldest daughter, Tamara. Emma and Anna
hang fresh, white curtains on the windows, clean the
living area and the small room. Brother Wladimir and
I scour the pots and flatware. Everything must shine
Elder brother Viktor is dragging a sack inside. His
secretive-looking face appears fresh and reddened
from the frost. He places the bag in the small room
and locks the door. We are burning with curiosity.
What could be inside? But we little ones are strictly
forbidden from looking inside the little room. Perhaps
Pelzenickel and the Christchild, about whom we've
been told so much,
are hiding in there?
During the early afternoon, as the winter son's rays
fall onto the small frozen window panes, I see my
mother coming up from the shore carrying firewood
on her shoulders and also lugging two large wooden
buckets full of laundry that she has rinsed in an
ice hole of the cold river, and she hangs the laundry
on the line outside. Her felt boots are covered with
a thick layer of snow. Mother looks around, and with
a satisfied glance she comes inside. This way the
other village residents can see that for the Germans
this is just another workday, not a holiday. Mother
puts me on her lap and sticks her red, stiffly frozen
fingers in my blond, curly hair. I am happy that I
can give a little warmth back to my dear mother.
Impatiently we wait for evening to come. Once it
gets dark, we were told, Pelzenickel and the Christchild
Once grandmother is sure that no strangers might
come by any longer, she lights the kerosene lamp.
Then a cover that has been embroidered so beautifully
by Tamara is placed on the table. Grandmother then
puts on it a bowl filled with - for us - precious
baked Christmas goodies - cookies, riwwelkuchen and
pretzels. Everything has been baked with whole wheat
flour and topped with powdered sugar.
Finally there is a knock on the door. Viktor opens
it. As if in a fairy tale, they enter in a cloud of
frosty air. The Christchild is dressed in snow white,
and Pelzenickel is clad in an inside-outside sheep's
hide and a shapka (a Russian word for a hat made from
an animal pelt). He rattles frightfully with his chains
and makes threatening motions with his large birch
switch. Immediately I disappear, along with Waldimir,
to hide under Oma's [Grandma's] bed, our secure place.
The older siblings now must give answers to the two
as to whether they've been good, have said their prayers.
When Anna fails to remember her prayer, she immediately
gets a few hits on her bottom with the switch. The
tough, but just Pelzenickel soon notices that two
children are missing,
and he hauls us out of our hiding place. Full of dread,
instead of praying, I start with a verse from a Russian
folk song about the birch tree. Anna and Emma had
brought this song home from school. The stern Pelzenickel
forgives my misdeed, but still demands that I recite
my child's prayer. With trembling voice, I begin:
Dear Savior, make me pious, so that I may get
Young and small though I may be, I can still
become perfect, And my Savior stands by my side When
I do something good.
The Christchild praises us, and now we can breathe
more easily. Looking at Pelzenickel is no longer so
frightful. Besides, his eyes remind us of the kind
eyes of our Uncle Jakob, who plays the violin so beautifully.
Also, the Christchild's voice sounds like that of
our dear Aunt Katja. At last, the Christchild opens
the door to the small room. Oh, my heart is filled
with bliss. A wonderful glow and aroma emanate from
the little room. There is a genuine Christmas tree
decorated with burning wax candles and fir cones!
It stands there, simple and forlorn, in that small,
modest room without windows. Next to it there is a
creche with straw, just like in our stable where our
Grandmother bids us to be very quiet - the little
Baby Jesus is sleeping in that creche.
But that's not all. The Christchild lifts the white
cloth spread under the Christmas tree like a blanket
of snow, then distributes to us Christmas presents
that have been lying under it. Anna and Emma receive
a box of coloring pencils. Wladimir is happy to get
a small ball fashioned from the hair combed from our
And I, well, I get a genuine, home-made doll. It
is wearing a blue dress and tiny, knitted woolen socks.
I press it against my chest. My doll, my very first
doll! It appears soft and even warm to me.
After the gift giving Pelzenickel lays down his switch,
takes the violin from the wall, and immediately the
room is filled with the beautiful melody of "Oh,
du froehliche!' [Oh, you happy ... Christmas time
- Tr.] No sooner have all joined in this song, there
is a sudden, loud noise of breaking window glass.
A hay fork lands noisily on the table, and icy cold
air fills the room. The voices of the singers become
silent, a dead stillness fills the room. Only the
barking of dogs is heard from outside. We little ones
start to cry and quickly slip under the bed again.
Grandmother is the first to regain her senses. She
sweeps the shards of glass with a broom, then she
covers the large black hole in the window with a colorful
pillow case. After a brief pause she kneels and prays.
She thanks God that nobody is hurt. After things have
generally calmed down, Mother pulls us out of our
hiding place, consoles us and takes us toward the
warm oven. I embrace my mother, press close to my
little brother, and then we listen as Mother, with
a soft voice, begins to sing "Silent night, holy
The cold moon appears high in the clear sky. All
the stars are awake and peering through our windows.
The pillow case in the window suddenly reminds me
of the fat belly of the Bad Wolf who ate Little Red
Riding Hood and Grandmother.
Our appreciation is extended
to Alex Herzog for translation of this article.
color by Ardian Dika