Niño & Christmas tree, January 7 2018

Christmases are supposed to be happy events, particularly when the family sits down for a Christmas Eve dinner. In our family that has meant I cook and dinner is at home.

Not this year. We went to my daughter Hilary’s home in Burnaby. I kept thinking about our own Christmas tree. It was alone in Kitsilano. In some ways (for me) the living thing that is a Christmas tree, is confirmed with tons of melancholy, when you see them discarded in our back lanes.

Taking down the Christmas tree

Today is January 7 which is really the day I have always taken the tree down. Sometimes it has been exactly on the Epiphany of the day before. Before I took down the tree (Rosemary is in charge of the lights) I realized that the tree had not been photographed as our family shots happened in Burnaby. I brought my camera and as I was about to take the picture Niño our male cat appeared and looked back at me. This delighted me and put a bit of a smile on my face on a day when sadness rules.

I found this very sad Christmas Eve very short story by Uruguayan author Eduardo Galeano. It is about loneliness. To me there is nothing more lonely than a tree minus its ornaments when you decide for it that it no longer has a role to play. My translation into English follows the original in Spanish.

Nochebuena. Eduardo Galeano

Fernando Silva dirige el hospital de niños en Managua.

En vísperas de Navidad, se quedó trabajando hasta muy tarde. Ya estaban sonando los cohetes, y empezaban los fuegos artificiales a iluminar el cielo, cuando Fernando decidió marcharse. En su casa lo esperaban para festejar.

Hizo una última recorrida por las salas, viendo si todo queda en orden, y en eso estaba cuando sintió que unos pasos lo seguían. Unos pasos de algodón; se volvió y descubrió que uno de los enfermitos le andaba atrás. En la penumbra lo reconoció. Era un niño que estaba solo. Fernando reconoció su cara ya marcada por la muerte y esos ojos que pedían disculpas o quizá pedían permiso.

Fernando se acercó y el niño lo rozó con la mano:

-Decile a... -susurró el niño-

Decile a alguien, que yo estoy aquí.

Fernando Silva is in charge at the children’s hospital in Managua. On Christmas Eve he stayed late at work. The fireworks  were sounding and illuminating the sky, when Fernando decided to leave. They were waiting for him at home to celebrate. He did one more round to make sure everything was in order. He heard some steps that were following him. They were soft steps; he turned around and saw one of the little sick ones. In the darkness he recognized him. It was a child that was alone. Fernando recognized on his face, one marked for death, and in his eyes perhaps asking for an apology or even permission. Fernando went up to him and the child caressed him with his hand. Tell him, he whispered, tell someone that I am alone here.

My translation