A boy stands in the doorway looking over at Nana Erika. She doesn’t let herself be thrown, though she knows the look he’s giving her, she just strokes her roses. Nana, let’s go have dinner, everyone’s at the table. Nana Erika lifts her head; her glasses on the tip of her nose, a whippet of anger would be enough for them to fall into her lap. But Nana Erika doesn’t get riled, she lets the boy take her hand and help her from the armchair; her legs feel the weight of her body, every bone bending, every muscle trembling, every vein trying to hold it all together. She had never been conscious of her body, hadn’t been aware of it carrying or moving her, but now she knows it well; Nana Erika and her body have finally become one, and she’s happy, because life’s not easy with your soul on one side and your flesh and bones on the other, always out of kilter. The boy led her step by step to the dining room; her shawl had slid to the floor, left lying in front of the armchair; how careless and sloppy, he’s not going to pick it up, that’s all right, someone will take care of it, someone will teach these children how to behave, even this one walking at her side; she’s not one for worrying the worries of others.
A grand long table covered with a white tablecloth. At its head sit Nana Erika and her Lujo, around the sides the strangers. There are more of them than usual. All look to the two of them; Lujo has rested his hand on hers, as if afraid of something, perhaps all these unfamiliar faces. It’s okay, Lujo, it’s okay, it’s our turn now, she whispers to him, and he squeezes her hand.
How far is it to Bethlehem? Not very far, sang Nana Erika. They should listen; they need to learn the song and how to sing. Tonight there shall be no lies, tonight, after the song it shall be known, who is father to whom, who son to whom, and what she and Lujo are doing there in Zagreb with this crowd. They all close their eyes and start singing, but they don’t know the words, and some of them don’t even know how to sing. Nana Erika picks up on that immediately; she’s got an ear for these sorts of things, for thirty years she sang in the Sarajevo Opera choir and from a hundred harmonic voices she knows who’s messing things up.
The song at an end, Nana Erika gently laid her head to her chest. Lujo shook her arm, but she didn’t wake. She hasn’t had enough sleep, he whispered as if apologizing. Everyone began nodding their heads to an invisible rhythm, staring at Nana with the same look she used to stare at her roses. It’s a shame Nana Erika couldn’t see this, because if she had, she would have recognized their eyes and maybe come around to the idea that Lujo hadn’t been lying after all, that everyone here really was a child or grandchild.
Merry Christmas, Nana, the girl was sitting on her bed offering her her hand. Christmas? What do you mean Christmas? We haven’t even had Christmas Eve. The girl laughed aloud: we have, we have, but you slept through it. . Slept through it? Child, you don’t know me. Erika Potkubovšek never sleeps through Christmas Eve and don’t you be cheeky with me. We haven’t had Christmas Eve, and there’s no Christmas without Christmas Eve. The girl looked sheepish — and so she should have, caught lying like that — and left the room.
Rika, Merry Christmas, Lujo came over to her, the devil peeking out from behind his every word. Have you no shame, man? Nana Erika turned her back to him. She looked at the wall and waited for him to go. He said something else, but she wasn’t listening. Sometimes you have to forgive people the unforgivable. But they’re not just any old folk, they’re Rika and Lujo. In the thirties all Sarajevo turned its head when they walked the riverbank, there had never been such a couple, or so people said, and that’s no small thing; when you’re with someone for sixty years, there’s no suffering you haven’t endured together, no sin you haven’t forgiven them. In a marriage like this people become similar to God: mercy and forgiveness embodied and only thus can they be happy. Nana will forgive Lujo this lie too. How could she not forgive him his lies when he’s so certain he’s protecting her from what she is to discover on Christmas Day inquiring of everyone who and what they are.
That day and the entire night, and then the whole of the next day, Nana Erika kept her back turned to the world. She looked at the wall, sometimes she would fall asleep and doze for an hour or two until someone came by, but she wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t say a word. She was punishing Lujo and knew well how long the punishment must last. Long enough for Lujo to think she would never look at him again and he would forever see only her back.
Promise me something, Lujo, she finally spoke, having checked that they were alone. Promise me that tomorrow we’ll celebrate Christmas Eve, and that the day after tomorrow we’ll celebrate Christmas, and that all these people won’t addle our minds and muddle our feast days. . Rika, all this I promise you, just don’t ever switch off again, and don’t ever turn your back to me. What a wretch I’d be without you, he said, framing her face in his hands and kissing her lips.
Nana Erika slept poorly because she spent the whole night worrying about butter for the cake, chocolate, codfish, decorating paper, and the suckling; who knows if there’ll still be young sucklings at the market or whether they’ll already be sold out, she thought, tossing and turning. And who’ll fetch everything when she can’t stand on her own two feet, and Lujo, well you know Lujo, he can’t even buy mincemeat at the butcher’s, let alone a suckling. She finally dozed a little in the dawn, but a girl woke her: Nana, it’s Christmas Eve today, isn’t it? Nana Erika caught a glimpse of mischief in her eyes. As if she were making sure that Nana knew about Christmas Eve and Christmas.
Nana Erika sits in her armchair in front of the television caressing the roses in their black sky. It’s a summer night above Treskavica, Lujo’s asleep in the cabin, but she can’t sleep because he kissed her for the first time today. Roses had appeared in the sky in place of stars and no one would ever see them except her. Warm, soft, and tender roses on a black sky blanketing her legs, warming them like it never had before.
The boy leads her step by step to the dining room. At the head of the table sit Nana Erika and Lujo, around the table the strangers. Lujo dear, do you know how many Christmas Eves this makes for us? But he just shrugs his shoulders, turns the ring on her finger with his thumb and index finger, and lets his gaze wander as if afraid the strangers might notice something; that they might see that even after so many years the two of them are still in love, and try and destroy or trample what they have. Nana Erika won’t let them though. She’ll ask them whose they are and who they are, and on Christmas Day they’ll have to tell her the truth because whoever dares lie on Christmas Day will burn in the eternal fires of hell.
How far is it to Bethlehem? Nana Erika begins the song, just Lujo accompanies her, the strangers remaining silent. They’re probably ashamed when they hear the song and it’s better they shut up and try to feel God’s voice in their hearts, a voice to kill every lie, cleanse them of every doubt and hatred and return to them the hope that not a single truth is ever spoken in vain, not even the truth they shall soon speak of themselves and their intentions toward Nana Erika and her Lujo.