Jeffrey flung his left arm across his face and rolled over. He had kicked the scratchy army-issue blanket off in the middle of the night, and now he was freezing. Below his bunk, his roommate Philip Butler was snoring lightly. This was his second winter in Germany, his first winter with his new wife, and he was away from her. It was two days before Christmas and he looked forward to seeing her. He had called her earlier in the day and she said that she had bought a small Christmas tree and decorated it for them to enjoy while they cooked dinner and exchanged gifts. He still had not picked out her present, he thought as he rolled over and pulled the blanket to cover his legs and feet.

His stomach growled and he sat up as the door to the barracks room opened. He watched in silence as the pale white beam of a flashlight bounced through the room over the table, the beer bottles, the cigarettes; over the footlockers until it shone directly in his face.

“C’mon, Lehrer, it’s time to go on watch,” Adam Dennard said, covering the flashlight.

“Okay,” Jeffrey nodded and sat up, feeling around the bed for his undershirt. He watched Adam open the door, briefly casting the dull yellow glow of hall light over the room. He pulled his shirt over his head and jumped down from the bunk. Philip coughed in his sleep.

Jeffrey walked over to his footlocker and reached inside, grabbing his fatigues and boots. He sat down on one of the metal folding chairs and slid on two pairs of heavy wool thermal underwear, his skin rough with goose bumps. He buttoned up his shirt and pulled on his trousers. He stood up, putting his arms behind him, and stretched his back until it popped. Philip sat up.

“You goin’ on watch?” he drawled in a thick Mississippi accent.

Jeffrey reached into his footlocker and pulled out his regulation snow pack – a pair of thick, black rubber boots, wool socks and a heavy, olive drab, wool overcoat.

“Yeah. I’m going to the coal pile,” he said, tugging on his boots.

Philip leaned on one elbow and watched as Jeffrey finished getting dressed and slammed the footlocker.

“Better you than me,” Philip flopped back down on his pillow.

“Cold as the devil out there. Man, I just can’t get used to these German winters. I sometimes miss winter in Texas. No snow, just rain, with lows no more than twenty degrees. None of this minus thirty degree shit,” Jeffrey walked toward the door. “See ‘ya later, man,” he said, closing the door behind him.

He buttoned up his coat as he walked down the corridor, blinking his eyes from the sudden shock of bright light. He glanced at his watch. It was almost one in the morning. He pushed open the heavy metal barrack doors and held his breath as the frigid air hit him, stinging his face and nostrils. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of thick black wool gloves and quickly shoved his hands inside. The earth crunched underneath his boots and his breath came out in hot, white puffs. He flipped up the collar of his coat and continued walking, occasionally waving at the few people that were still awake, working around the base.

He shielded his face from the wind by looking down as he walked, watching each black boot take one step, then another. He sighed, tired. In two hours, he would be back in bed, and then two hours later, be back out in the cold again. He didn’t mind working the coal pile shift, the two hours on, two hours off; it had to be done. It was 1955, barely ten years after World War II ended, and he had observed first hand just how destitute the Germans were. It made him ache. He had seen the hungry men in the streets, rummaging through garbage for their next meal. He had seen the young women sitting with their children on park benches, their eyes dark, bleak, waiting on a husband that would never return from the front lines.

The townspeople of Karlsruhë would sneak in at night and take the coal if no one was looking, so he and the others had been assigned to rotate guard at the pile. They had erected a heavy chain link fence around it and were strictly warned not to give away one briquette of coal. If they did, the commanding officer warned, they would be stripped of their stripes.

Jeffrey approached the coal pile and saw Thomas Walcott on watch. He was from a well-to-do family in Vermont and being only nineteen, counted down the months until his tour was completed and he could return home. They were friendly and sometimes drank at The Three Kings together, but Thomas tended to run around with the men who frequented the whore houses, and Jeffrey knew if he went along with them, it would be the end of his new marriage.

“Walcott, it’s my watch,” he banged on the fence, startling him.

“Lehrer,” Thomas nodded, slipping the M-1 rifle off his shoulder and handing it to Jeffrey. “It’s all yours,” he reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette. “I ran out of matches. Do you have a light?” He shivered, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Go get some sleep, man,” Jeffrey said, lighting Thomas’s cigarette.

“Thanks. I’m going to do just that. It’s freezing out here,” Thomas blew a puff of gray smoke out of the side of his mouth.

“How’s Barbara?” Thomas asked.

“She’s good. She bought us a tree.”

“You off on Christmas?” Thomas took a heavy drag from his cigarette.

“Yeah.”

Thomas shook his head and then threw the cigarette down, where it slowly went out. “You’re a lucky guy, Lehrer. Wish I had a girl to take care of me.” Jeffrey grinned.

“Well, I’m going to get some sleep. See you in a few hours,” Thomas said as he walked to the gate and opened it.

Jeffrey slipped the rifle over his shoulder. “Good night.”

“Night,” Thomas said, walking away.

Jeffrey began pacing around the pile to keep warm. He would have run around the inside parameter if he could, but he knew that would draw some curious stares if anyone were to see him. He dug into his pocket and fished out a cigarette for himself. His gloves made him clumsy and he dropped in on the ground. He bent over and picked it up, blowing a hazy stream of air onto the paper, brushed it off, then lit it. The tip of the cigarette glowed a deep orange as he inhaled. He stopped walking and looked up at the sky and tried to make out the constellations, tracing the big dipper and the little dipper with his index finger. He tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it out with his boot. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and began pacing again. He was walking around the pile when he heard a faint rustling in the brush near the south side of the fence. Sometimes small animals would root around in there, but he always feared the worst. He had been taught that any sound could be a Russian and he grew hot, almost sweating inside the layers of his clothing. He swallowed hard, clutching the rifle.

The fence began to shake and he slowly walked around the eight foot mound of coal. He saw it shake again and then another time. He took his right glove off and threw it on the ground and put his finger on the trigger. All of the sudden, he heard a loud clatter along the fence and he jumped, almost shooting the ground. He quickly regained composure and ran around the coal pile to where the sound was coming from. He lifted his rifle, keeping his finger on the trigger and turned to face an elderly man and a small child. He trained his rifle on them and they paused, their hands still clutched to the fence. He walked forward
and saw the fear and desperation in their eyes.

“What do want? Get outta here!” Jeffrey yelled, his finger still on the trigger.

The man held up a bottle and at first, Jeffrey figured that he was just another wino from town, but then he looked at the little girl, her bare legs, her torn coat, her dirty face and down-turned mouth, and took his finger off the trigger and let the gun fall to his side.

“What do you want?” Jeffrey asked again, coming close enough to the fence to see the redness in the old man’s eyes.

The old man held up the bottle again and pointed to it and then to Jeffrey. The little girl banged on the fence again and Jeffrey looked down at her. She brushed her knotted blond hair out of her eyes and looked up at him, a hesitant smile beginning at the corners of her mouth.

“Schnapps for coal? Schnapps for coal?” she said as she took the old man’s hand.

Jeffrey felt his heart sink. He turned from the fence and began to walk away. He heard the bottle rattle against the fence again.

“Schnapps for coal! Schnapps for coal!” The little girl wailed.

Jeffrey stopped walking and stood for a moment, watching his breath in the black night air. He closed his eyes and pictured his commanding officer towering over him, his lips thin and angry, berating him, bits of spittle at the corner of his lips like a rabid animal. He looked at the little girl as she scratched her leg with her worn shoe and shivered, wrapping her skinny arms around her waist and nudging up against the old man, burying her face in the side of his coat. He dropped his rifle to the ground and turned around.

“I don’t drink Schnapps, but I’ll give you all the coal you can get,” he looked around him. “But hurry,” he added.

“Danke, Danke,” the old man cried, placing the bottle of Schnapps at the base of the fence.

“No, no, no – take it with you. I don’t want it,” Jeffrey shook his head as he bent down and grabbed a briquette in each hand. The old man shrugged and smiled, leaving the bottle on the ground.

Jeffrey rolled his eyes, took off his other glove, and began tossing the heavy briquettes over the fence, aiming them at the underbrush. The little girl grabbed a dirty white bucket from the heavy foliage and began scurrying after the coal. He watched as her hands and face grew dirty and as the old man ran after her, picking up what she couldn’t get. He threw pounds of the black briquettes, and then when he saw they couldn’t carry any more, stopped.

The old man walked back up to the fence and smiled at him, revealing badly damaged teeth. He held up the bucket and nodded, pointed to the Schnapps and then toward Jeffrey, and then took the little girl’s hand, and then walked away. Jeffrey watched them retreat, their breath rising above their heads in the darkness. He began to pace again, checking for any sergeants that might drive by in their jeeps, as they occasionally did. He put his gloves back on and lit another cigarette, kicking at a few stray pieces of coal. A car horn sounded far away and he kept pacing, blowing into his gloves. He looked at his watch; it was nearly three a.m. and his relief would be coming. He ran his hand along the fence, his glove occasionally catching in the links. He thought of his wife at their apartment and wondered what she was doing, if she was asleep. He tossed the cigarette to the ground and crushed it underneath his boot. He heard the metallic rattle of the fence and looked up.

“Lehrer, time to hit the sack,” Thomas said, rubbing his hands together. Jeffrey walked over to the fence and unlocked it, stepping aside to let Thomas enter. Thomas pulled out his pair of black wool gloves and began to put them on. He cocked his head, staring at the bottle on the other side of the fence.

“Say, that your Schnapps? I didn’t see you bring any Schnapps. Did you hide it in your coat pocket?” Thomas walked back out of the gate, bent down, and picked it up.

Jeffrey sighed and shrugged off the rifle. “No, it’s not mine. I guess someone left it here earlier. I hadn’t noticed. I’m so tired and freezing right now, I wouldn’t notice if Stalin himself walked up to these gates,” he handed the rifle to Thomas.

“Well can I have it? Need something to keep me warm, you know?”

“It’s all yours,” Jeffrey said, waving it off as he closed the gate behind him and began to walk back to the warmth of the barracks.

They returned the following night, Christmas Eve. Jeffrey was leaning against the cold chain link fence, almost asleep, when he felt it rattle against his back. He opened his eyes for a moment, shook his head, and stood up. He turned around and only saw the open field beyond the coal pile. The wind lifted the ragged leaves of the underbrush and he shivered inside his coat. He saw the fence rattle again, dropping the snow that had fallen earlier that evening in heavy clumps onto the ground.

“Who’s there?” his voice echoed into the darkness.

He began walking around the pile and saw them. The old man held up a wrinkled, gloveless hand, and smiled. His other hand was holding the little girl, who shivered inside the tattered red dress she was wearing. She looked down and kicked at the frozen ground.

Jeffrey walked up to the fence and stared them. The old man reached down and produced the dirty white bucket from the night before and pointed to the coal. Jeffrey shook his head.

“No way, man. I can’t keep giving away this coal. I gave you some last night and that’s the best I can do,” he shoved his hands in his pockets.

The old man nodded and held up the bucket again and pointed to the little girl. Jeffrey looked at her as she stuck a grubby finger into her mouth and put her head down. He turned and looked at the coal and then bent down, picking up a single briquette. He remained squatting, weighing the heavy coal in his hand. He turned it over several times and then dropped it back to the ground. He stood back up and turned to face them again.

The old man had wrapped his coat around the little girl. The thick brown fabric dragged the ground as she shifted from one foot to the other. Jeffrey looked down and saw the black tips of her shoes peeking out. He thought of his pregnant wife in their apartment in town and wondered if they would have a girl. He approached the fence and shook his head once more.

“Hey man, I’m sorry. I can’t do anything for you. I can get in a lot of trouble giving this out to you. Do you understand?” Jeffrey said.

The old man looked down at the little girl and said something to her in German that Jeffrey did not hear. She nodded and then shrugged her shoulders. The old man looked back at Jeffrey and then walked a few steps over to the brush. He knelt down slowly and parted the stiff leaves, scraping off the layers of snow caught in the branches. He took the white bucket and shoved it into the thickest part of the brush, and then covered it with the leaves and snow.

Jeffrey watched as he walked back up and took the little girl’s hand. She lifted her arms to him and he bent down, put his arms around her waist, and slowly stood back up. She rested her head on his shoulder, her finger still in her mouth. The wind blew her hair across her face, covering her eyes. The old man turned and without looking at Jeffrey, began walking away. The little girl stared back at him over the old man’s shoulder and he stared at her until the darkness swallowed them and he could no longer see the details of her face.

He glared at the coal pile and lit a cigarette. He rubbed his eyes with his other hand and sighed. He began to walk again, making dozens of laps around the mound, staring out into the field. The sun was coming up over the horizon and it was beginning to snow. He pulled out his black watch cap from his coat pocket. His ears burned and it hurt to breathe.

“Hey, cowboy,” Thomas smiled. He had met Jeffrey in boot camp, where he began calling him a cowboy when he learned he was from Texas. Jeffrey chuckled.

“Is it that time already?” he said, pulling his hand out of his pocket and checking his watch.

“Yeah, time for you to go home. Have yourself a nice Christmas with the wife,” Thomas pulled on his gloves and rubbed his hands together.

“You get off later, don’t you?” Jeffrey handed him the rifle.

Thomas nodded. “Yeah. I’m going with Bernard Hodges and his wife and their two kids, Adam Dennard, and Jared Browning into town. We’re having dinner at Tom Wood’s apartment about six. Why don’t you and Barbara come?”

“Well, I think that she wants it to be just us two,” Jeffrey said, winking.

Thomas sniggered. “Well, you know where we’ll be if you change your mind.”

“Alright,” Jeffrey said, turning to leave. He shielded his eyes with his hand and looked over Thomas’s shoulder. “It looks like it might finally warm up today.”

Thomas turned and looked the sun that was slowly creeping up over the snowy hill. “I hope so.” He turned back to Jeffrey and extended his hand. “No, go on and have yourself a merry Christmas.” They shook hands and Jeffrey turned and began heading back toward the barracks.

By the time he had finished packing and caught a taxi back to their apartment, it was seven-fifteen. Jeffrey leaned his head against the window of the car and stared out into the early gray morning. A few merchant stands were beginning to open for business, hoping to catch any last minute holiday shoppers like him. He leaned over the front seat of the cab and looked at the driver.

“Hey, buddy, can you stop here for a second? I need to get the wife something for Christmas,” he motioned to one of the shops.

The driver slowly parked the car along the curb, leaving the motor running. Jeffrey told him to wait there as he climbed out of the cab and slammed the door. He passed a teenaged boy selling newspapers next to a candy stand.

“Zeitungen! Kaufen Sie Ihre Zeitungen!” The boy called, holding out a paper. A man wearing a gray overcoat stopped and handed the boy some money, took the paper, and adjusted his tweed cap.

Jeffrey stopped in front of a small shop and peered in the window. Inside he saw several displays of cookware, canning supplies, flatware, and a table of kitchen linens. He pulled at the heavy wooden door and walked inside, the brass bell ringing as the door opened and closed.

A woman with thinning gray hair pulled into a high bun stood behind the counter, reading a ratty magazine. She looked up as he approached.

“I need a gift,” he said. “Ich brauche ein Geschenk,” he repeated in German.

She shook the magazine, placed it on the counter, and adjusted the glasses that rested on the narrow bridge of her nose.

“Ist es für Ihre Frau?”

“Yes,” he said, looking at the rows of spices on the shelves behind her. “She likes to cook.”

The woman came out from behind the counter and motioned for him to follow her. She led him to the back of the store and showed him a small selection of cast iron cookware.

She held up a frying pan. “It is nice?”

“Yes it is. I’ll take it. Can you wrap it for me?”

She nodded her head and walked past the displays of jam jars and napkins back to the counter. Jeffrey pointed to the spices behind her.

“Throw in some of those. Whatever you think she can cook with. Pepper? Salt? Something like that,” he said, watching as the woman pulled out a stool and climbed it, reaching for several small tins.

She climbed down and placed them on the counter. Jeffrey picked each one up and nodded.

“Ja, ja. That’ll do,” he placed the course pepper, poultry seasoning, and mustard seed back on the counter.

The woman pulled out a plain brown cardboard box and stuck the frying pan inside, along with the tins of spices. She placed two layers of white paper on top and sealed the box with tape and handed it to him.

“You don’t have any wrapping paper?” he looked at the box.

“No,” she looked at him. “Das zweiundzwanzig mark.”

He put the box down and paid her the twenty-two marks. She thanked him and he took his package outside and returned to the cab.

The driver was smoking a cigarette when Jeffrey opened the door and got inside. He held up the box. The driver nodded and threw the cigarette out of the window and manipulated the gear shift and pulled away from the curb. Jeffrey leaned back against the black seat and closed his eyes, listening to the loud rattling of the old diesel engine. He hadn’t gone to bed since his last shift and was exhausted. His feet hurt, his arms ached, and all he wanted to do was go home and eat whatever his wife had cooked for them and then go to bed.

“Sie sind hier,” the driver said, turning to face him.

Jeffrey grabbed the box, his bag and coat and stepped out of the cab. He walked over to the driver, who rolled down his window. Jeffrey leaned down and handed him several bills.

“Danke,” the driver nodded and rolled up the window.

Jeffrey slung his bag over his shoulder and threaded his heavy coat through the strap. He turned to face their building, which was three stories high and had a modest brick exterior. There were six cement steps leading up to the front door. They rented a room on the second floor and shared the common facilities—the kitchen and the three bathrooms, one on each floor, with another couple and two men. The landlady, Frau Schmidt, was a diminutive woman, but had a great voice that could shake the walls whenever someone used too much water or failed to pay the rent on time. She once claimed to have been an opera singer in her youth and he didn’t doubt it.

He walked up the steps and opened the heavy front door. He heard Frau Schmidt humming as he entered. Not wanting to be bothered with small talk, he crept up the stairs until he reached the landing on the second floor. The hallway was long and narrow. There was one window at the end, but otherwise it was dark. He walked up to their door and knocked. He adjusted his bag and looked up as the door opened.

Barbara stood in the doorway, her pale blue dressing gown wrapped around her thin frame, though she was almost three months pregnant. He smiled and handed her his bag and coat.

She brushed a curl of jet black hair from her face and took his things, ushering him into the apartment. She placed the bag on the floor and hung his coat up on the wooden rack by the door.

“Have you been to sleep, yet? You look so haggard,” she gently touched his shoulder.

He looked around the room and sighed, breathing in the smell of the eggs and pork sausage she had cooked. The Christmas tree was sitting on a small round accent table in front of a half-open window, the blues and pinks and reds of the glass ornaments glittering in the sunlight. He walked over to the tree and fingered the branches and ornaments.

“I haven’t,” he ran his finger over the silver and blue steeple of an ornament shaped as a cathedral. “These are nice,” he smiled and turned to face her. “It’s all nice. You did a real good job.”

She poured two cups of coffee from a carafe. “I saw them in a shop and I thought they were so pretty. I’ve never seen ornaments like those before. It’s a special kind of glass. I thought it was tin, the way it’s colored, but the shopkeeper said it was glass.”

He walked over to the bed and sat down, kicking off his boots. He stared up at the ceiling and thought about the little girl and the old man. He wondered if they had found someone else to give them coal. Perhaps Thomas gave them some to sneak off with.

“There were some people from town who snuck onto the base the other night,” he said, sitting up.

Barbara slid the eggs onto two plates. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and looked at him.

“Oh? What happened?” she set the plates on the table and walked over to sit next to him.

Jeffrey ran his fingers through his light brown hair and shook his head, his eyes focused on his lap. He picked at a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt.

“It was an old man and a little girl—probably his granddaughter or something. They looked real bad, real shabby. I felt sorry for them. The old man wanted some coal and even brought a bottle of Schnapps to barter with,” he smirked. “I wouldn’t have given him any coal if it wasn’t for that little girl. That’s why he brought her along, I guess.”

“Did anyone see you?” Barbara placed her hand on his thigh.

“No and I’m glad they didn’t because the C.O. would have had my stripes in a second,” he scratched his nose and looked at her.

“Well, you did the right thing, Jeff. This place is so sad. It’s hard sometimes for me to go out shopping and see how poor and hungry they are. I wish I could help them all.”

They sat for a moment, quiet, looking at the thin throw rug covering the floor at the end of the bed. Jeffrey cracked his knuckles. “They came back the night after that. I guess the old man figured if he could get it once he could get it again, but I had to turn him away. I can’t keep giving away coal to anyone who comes up and asks for it. I did my part. I did what I could,” he looked at the Christmas tree.

Barbara stared at him, trying to meet the pale blue gaze of his eyes, but he kept turning from her. She took his hand.

“Let’s open presents and eat breakfast and then you can rest while I clean things up around here.”

He nodded and stood up with her. She held his hand as they walked over to the tree.

“I’ll be Santa Claus,” she said coyly, shaking her hips as he laughed. She reached under the tree and pulled out a small box and handed it to him.

“Is this from you?”

“Of course it is! Open it,” she smiled.

He slowly unwrapped the plain red paper and slid out the box. He broke the tape and opened the flap, taking out a plain silver wristwatch.

“Do you like it?” Barbara knelt down beside him. “You needed a new one, a nicer one than you wear everyday. I saw this and thought it would be perfect.” She took the watch from him and opened the clasp. He held out his arm and watched as she slid the watch over his hand, her fingernails lightly grazing his skin.

“It’s really great,” he kissed her. “I have something for you, too.” He stood up and walked over to the table and picked up the brown package and brought it to her, placing it in her outstretched hands.

“What is it?” she held it up.

“I’m sorry it’s not wrapped like the one you gave me. The store didn’t have any paper,” he sat down beside her on the floor.

“That’s alright.” She undid the tape on the box and opened it, pulling off the two layers of white paper. She looked at him, smiling, and then looked into the box. Her smile began to fade as she pulled out the frying pan and the tins of spices.

“I know you like to cook,” Jeffrey offered, smiling.

She nodded slowly, disappointment creeping across her face. She bit her lip and looked at the tins.

“Do you like it, honey?” he touched her arm. Barbara burst into tears and threw the pan down. She covered her face with her small hands for a moment and then looked up, wiping her face with the bottom of her dressing gown.

“You don’t like it?” he picked up the pan and placed it back in the box. The tins rolled under the table.

“Oh, Jeffrey! I don’t know what to say. I mean, really. What can I say?” she said, her voice edgy and tearful.

“But I picked it out for you,” he frowned.

Barbara stood up and walked over to the window and raised it the rest of the way open. A crisp rush of wind came into the room, knocking over the tree and breaking several of the ornaments.

“Damn it!” she knelt down and began collecting the debris in her hands. Jeffrey reached for the cathedral ornament, which was still intact.

“Look, it’s okay. It’s okay. They aren’t all broken,” he said, patting her back.

“They’re broken!” she cried, tossing the shards of colored glass into the wastebasket and glaring at him.

She walked back over to the window and set the tree back upright. Jeffrey stood behind her, motionless. Below on the street, a woman pushed a pram, her two children skipping along beside her, their legs bare and knobby. The little girl looked up at them for a moment, stuck a finger in her mouth, and wiped her knotted blonde hair from her face.

“Frieda, kommt hier!” the young woman called. The little girl turned from them and ran down the street to catch up, her black shoes tapping loudly against the cobblestone.

“Let’s fix this. Don’t let this spoil our Christmas,” Jeffrey said as he reached across Barbara and pulled the window shut, blocking out the wind and the voices below.

Amanda Auchter works as an editorial assistant at the Gulf Coast literary magazine. She is also completing a degree in creative writing from the University of Houston. Her writing credits include Benchmark, Carillon Magazine, Coffee Press Journal, The Journal, The Moriarty Papers, The Morpo Review, Rearview Quarterly, Red Booth Review, Southern Ocean Review, The Wolf Head Quarterly, Wilmington Blues, Write On!!, and Zillah. She has also published with Sun Poetic Times, which selected lines from her poem “Omniscience” to appear in the 2003 Poets Market. Her first novel Burning Sins to Ashes was published in 2000 by Writer's Club Press.

Copyright 2003, Amada Auchter. This work is protected under the U.S. copyright laws. It may not be reproduced, reprinted, reused, or altered without the expressed written permission of the author.