Schwarz Krampus’ Plea
By G.K. Fields
Corporal
Friedrich Seelöwe glanced at his chronometer as he hitched his
load-bearing equipment to a more comfortable position. The subdued green
letters and numerals read, “22:50 – 24 December 349 ID/532 BD.” By a
trick of planetary orbital mechanics or a Creator with a sense of humor,
Christmas fell on the same day on both Tara, by which Imperial Erin’s
armed forces set their time, and his home planet of Bayern.
About
now, Papa, Seelöwe’s siblings and their spouses and children would be
awaiting the visit from Father Christmas. In his village’s time zone,
Midnight Mass had passed some eleven hours before. This would make—he
did a mental count on his fingers—seven Christmases that Mama wouldn’t
be with them. He sent a quick prayer aloft asking the Virgin, St.
Anthony, and St. Joan for their prayers for her.
His tent mate, Lance Corporal Tom Talltree stuck his head in the tent. “Hey, Fritz, Gunny wants us.”
Seelöwe put his helmet on but left the visor open. “Don’t you just love midnight watch?”
Talltree—in
the natural way of the Cosmos, the shortest man in the platoon--grinned
as he handed Seelöwe his weapon. “Eh, I’d just waste my time sleeping.”
On
their way to the platoon command post, the pair of Imperial Marines
passed the Christmas tree. It was admitted that the local bush made a
good faith attempt at being an evergreen, but it couldn’t quite carry it
off. The green was too yellow and rather than needles, there were
tendrils. The star atop it, made from a candy wrapper from someone’s
care package, helped a bit as did the other decorations cut from ration
boxes and given a coat of silver spray paint. Happily, the CPD supplied
opposition across the way still used cased small arms ammunition. Strung
together, the bright brass cartridge cases made nice garlands.
Seelöwe thought aloud as they approached the command post, “Christmas dinner tomorrow.”
Talltree sneered, “Self-heat pack, no doubt.”
The
Bayern shook his head. “No, Gunny said the Captain told the platoon
leaders that a hot meal was being brought up on the mules tomorrow.
Goose, turkey, ham, fish, with all the fixings.”
“So
we’ll get hit with artillery,” the lance groused half seriously. He
changed the subject, “Suppose Gunny’s going to put us in hole 6-A
again?”
Seelöwe asked without turning his head, “What do you care? You sleep just as well in that one as any other.”
Talltree grinned. “Don’t want Santa to miss me.”
Seelöwe looked at him in confusion, then it dawned on him. Oh, Santa Claus—Father Christmas. He looked overhead at the starry night. It would be a perfect night for his Santa Claus.
~~~~~
After
they relieved the evening watch, they settled into the two man fighting
position. It would be their listening post from 23:15 to 03:15. Gunny
was too smart to relieve watches on the hour or half hour. If one were
too regular, the other side might plan their infiltration around it.
Seelöwe
patted Talltree on the shoulder signifying that he would take the first
two hour watch. The lance corporal turned up the heat on his uniform
and lay back to sleep, his weapon on the edge of the hole. At the same
time, Seelöwe turned his down. A slightly uncomfortable man was an awake
and alert man.
Watching his front, he thought about Talltree and his Santa Claus/Father Christmas.
Visions
of a Christmas long ago came to his mind’s eye. There was Father
Christmas--huge and, in this case, terrible. Besides the gifts for good
children, he carried sticks in his sack for the chastisement of the
naughty ones. And Fritz Seelöwe had been very naughty, breaking the
firing pin in Papa’s shotgun by dry-firing it while playing huntsman.
Bad enough he had broken Papa’s gun, much worse was that he had touched
it before the proper time. His only hope lay in Schwarz Krampus, the
night-black dwarf with the curling horns who accompanied Father
Christmas and often debated on the child’s side for leniency.
Fritz
almost lost hope when he turned to Schwarz Krampus. The dwarf, though
no taller than himself, seemed to tower as he looked coldly upon the
miscreant as Mama recounted his misdeed. From his expression, he mulled
over very seriously the charges. He looked Fritz up and down, sighed,
and turned to his master. “Father Christmas,” he began in a respectful
voice, “we have here Fritz, youngest Seelöwe of the village Einsbach.
His parents charge that he has been extremely naughty, and I’m afraid I
must agree. The shotgun is a tool and in untrained hands a dangerous
tool. And like any tool, it should not be touched without training and
the permission of those responsible for it. Fritz has committed a grave
offense. Besides handling the shotgun without his parents’ permission,
he also pulled the trigger without a shell in it even though he had been
warned not only by his father, Bauer Seelöwe, but by his uncle,
Constable Seelöwe, and his older brother, Martin, that to do such a
thing risked breaking the firing pin.” The little man shook his head
sadly.
Fritz felt a shiver go up his frame as the bottom dropped from his stomach.
Father Christmas looked from one to the other but held his peace.
Schwarz
Krampus regarded Fritz thoughtfully for some minutes—possibly the worst
of the young boy’s life. Finally, he tipped his head to one side and
asked, “Fritz? Have thou learned anything from the preceding?”
Fritz
felt huge tears rolling down his cheeks. He nodded and in a cracked
voice replied, “Yes, sir. I hurt Mama and Papa’s feelings and I misused a
tool.”
The dwarf nodded. “Yes. And what have thou done to make things right?”
“I Confessed to Pater Johann and I gave up sweets since summer to pay for repairing Papa’s shotgun.”
Schwarz Krampus seemed to come to a decision. “All right, I will go out on a limb to make a case for thee to my master.”
Turning
to Father Christmas, he began, “Master, you have heard the things young
Fritz here has done. I do not attempt to excuse them as they are, in a
child above the age of reason, inexcusable. But,” he raised a learned
finger, “he is also sensible to what damage his actions did and why they
were wrong. Further, sir, he has set forth to make amends before God,
his family, and his village.”
Father
Christmas looked down at the boy considering. After what seemed like
eons to Fritz, he asked, “Fritz, will you promise to do your best to
mind your parents and older brother and older sisters?”
“Oh, yes, sir!” Fritz was startled to be addressed as an adult rather than in the familiar as a child.
“When will you have paid back the damages to the shotgun?”
“The sixteenth day of February, sir.”
“Hmm, the feast of St. Daniel,” he mused. He shot a look at Fritz’s father. “Günter, does he say his prayers as he should?”
“So Mama tells me.”
“And how is he about doing his chores? Is he prompt?”
Papa
smiled a half smile as he answered, “About what one would expect. He’s
improving—a work in progress. But, he does not grumble.”
Father
Christmas slowly rolled his eyes in thought. He came to a decision.
“Fritz, I will trust you to keep your promise, as all such should be.”
He reached deep into his sack and came out with, instead of a stick, a
toy horse that pulled a plow and a toy cat that chased a mouse.
Papa asked, “Father Christmas, Herr Schwarz Krampus, will you have a bit of refreshment?”
The
august personages would. Fritz was sent to bring the steins while his
older sister, Trudi, was sent for the bread, cheese, and sausage and his
other older sister, Maria, was sent to bring in the Stollen.
As
he went out the door, Fritz overheard Father Christmas say in a low
rumble, “Heinz, sometimes I think you spend far too much time as a Canon
lawyer down in the lowlands.”
The other chuckled. “Perhaps, Pater, perhaps.”
Seelöwe smiled to himself at the memory. Suddenly, he became alert. Someone had struck a light across the way. Must be a fresh caught one. He smiled grimly as he put his sight’s pipper just below the flame, about where the chest would be. Had to have that smoke, eh, Kinder? As
he began to squeeze the trigger, Father Christmas came to mind. The
corporal paused, released the pressure on the trigger, and lowered his
weapon. All right, Kinder, there’s your Christmas present. Perhaps you’ll do the same for someone else.
~~~~~
As he and Talltree walked back to their tent, the lance corporal slapped Seelöwe on the shoulder.
“U-li-he-li-s-di da-ni-s-da-yo-hi-hv-i.”
Seelöwe looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “What?”
Talltree grinned. “That’s how my folks say, ‘Merry Christmas.’”
The Bayern laughed. “And to you too, Tom.”
Seelöwe began to sing under his breath, “Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht! Alles schläft; einsam wacht…”
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