city of remich
Christmas Eve Party
From Germany, headed west to Luxembourg, crossed the boards with little to no difficulty. I went by car, a dull green 1967 VW, it wasn’t the best of cars but it looked like it could do two hundred and fifty miles, so I decided to take a quick trip. The road was dotted with picturesque rural villages that most people associate with fairy tales. It was the dead of winter, and winter in Luxembourg is not as extreme as it can be in nearby countries, and I had been to Europe a dozen times, and during this tour, I was stationed near Darmstadt, Germany. For a landlocked country, it had what I would call pretty standard weather. It was a day before Christmas. The trees were covered in glass like frost as he drove through an area that seemed like the landscape had its share of forested edges. Very beautiful and pleasant area, it was brisk in the woods, and when I got out of there it was cool, with warm sun resting on top of my car. I had my two sons with me, Cody and Shawn, twins, they were five years old the previous October. I found myself in a quaint little town called Ville de Remich, didn’t see much of it, stopped the car for breakfast, the street was cobblestone, and the guesthouse was old Germanic style, the owner in an apron, looked us over me and my two children, it was Christmas Eve morning, and there was nobody in the guest house, that is, there were no guests, nobody except the owner, and I’m afraid he was about to say: we are closed, but his wife came over and asked:
“…you need something?”
“Yes,” I said, “for myself and my children, a room for the night and breakfast.”
“Well, that’s fine,” he said, “but tomorrow is Christmas, and I hope you don’t sleep over that day, we’re always closed.”
I assured her that we had just made it through the day and night, that we would like to have breakfast if possible, and that we would leave early on Christmas morning. In between, we would go to the nearby cemetery that I noticed on the way down, and climb those 100 steps to his domain, and visit the city. And her and her older husband looked at each other, then at my twins and me, “Okay,” they confirmed, and I filled out a guest sheet.
Breakfast
The kids and I sat outside around a wooden table and chairs, my car parked by the roadside and passing cars, it was cold but not cold cold, everything in the cafe area was set out on tables, the chairs and ashtrays, and so on, a message that no company expected on Christmas Eve.
I ordered eggs and bacon, toast and jam, milk and coffee for breakfast, and the three of us, Shawn, Cody and I, sat waiting, I think our mouths were salivating, we were hungry. I thought he understood the order, he brought three bagged eggs, which he didn’t know how to eat, but would learn fast, I had to ask him how to do it, “Just crack the egg at the top with your spoon, the shell,” he said, “then take out inside the egg and eat it.
I had a hard time doing that for some strange reason, can you imagine the guys? Anyway we didn’t get bacon but we got bread and butter and jam and that was it and the boys got hot milk and I got coffee and that was it I dare not complain though I did leave a kind of face empty blank, when I paid for the food.
And then we went to see that cemetery, and the town, and that night I bought two large beers and drank them, and I kind of looked out the windows, I looked at my kids, short hair, blonde hair, blue eyes. They were good boys, they never complained much or cried much, they just fought and laughed too much with each other, but without creating any deep disturbance.
Part Two: Christmas Day, 1975
It was Christmas day, and we had said goodbye to the owners of the guest house, and had about 250 miles to travel back to Darmstadt, give or take. As we set off it seemed to be a long way back, our brakes were coming off, mental on metal, screeching and burning, and you could smell them. The twins knew something was wrong, but not exactly what. As we drove further, into a mountainous area, the sky darkened and the transmission stuck in first, I couldn’t get it out, so I drove in first for miles. The heaters had stopped working and the fan belt had snapped, the car sputtered and sputtered; when we got to a long hill, I turned off the car and went down the hill letting the engine cool down, and then I hit the clutch to start the car again; actually it was a long hard morning, and it dragged on into the afternoon, and we didn’t get anywhere apparently, i mean we should have been home by 4:00 pm, but it wasn’t going to happen, we would arrive home at 9:00 pm that night.
It was turning out to be a worrying Christmas day. The kids had insulated snowsuits, I had bought them in Minnesota, oversized knowing they could outgrow them and I’m glad I did. We finally drove past a boarding house, it was closed for business, but at the back of the building, some lights were on. Actually, we were on a lonely road, somewhat deserted. And I really didn’t know what to do, and I raised the hood, of the car, knocked on the door and asked to buy some food for the children (the woman of the house brought sandwiches for the children and me), and they speaking German, and I a little German, along with English and sign language, got the message across. The middle aged man who was at the house saw the car, took a look at the engine, knew we were in trouble, went back to his garage and found an old fan belt, it was too big for my car, too loose for example . Least.
“You have to drive slowly,” the German said, indicating that if I didn’t and went over too many bumps, the belt would fly off and maybe get tangled in my engine and loosen or break my fan.
Well, what could I say but thank you and I had a cup of hot coffee, and the boys bought more bread and cheese with ham, and they didn’t take money, it was Christmas, and they felt like they just couldn’t. t. It all took an hour or so, and I felt like I was butting in, but in life stepping forward is exactly what you have to do, butting in, lest you die where you are, waiting for someone to say something only to find out they won’t say anything. And I think they’re both biting their lips, meaning, “I wish we could make you stay until morning,” it was now about 3:00 pm, we’d left about 11:00 am, and now it was even darker. , dark gray, not dark black. A snowstorm was slowly building up.
When we got to our apartment in Babenhausen, Germany (even though we had actually left Darmstadt on the trip), the kids were tired and asleep like two little sheep, and I sat down, had a beer, a cigarette, and was thankful for the trip, and got rid of that pile of junk from a car a week later.
Written: 5-30-2008.