34
Green grow the leaves on the old oak tree …
AS CHRISTMAS APPROACHED THE CHILDREN BEGAN to think of presents. The Russian Christmas was thirteen days later than ours, the reason being, according to Natàsha, that Father Christmas could not possibly be in two places at the same time. The children liked going to the big shop in the Kitaiskaya where, besides the splendid Christmas display, there was a man dressed up as old Father Christmas, who had to shake hands all day long with all the children who came to the shop in a long stream; and he seemed very angry and irritable, being more than fed up with his job. But the children revelled in him, such as he was. Berthe had bought a pair of scarlet felt slippers for Nora with scarlet pompons, and was knitting a little striped jumper to button her in, while Uncle Lucy was making three little chairs for the three little bears to sit on. Harry and Nora had no doubt in their mind as to what they wanted, and at night, before going to bed, spoke up the chimney: ‘A peddling-motor, please.’—‘A perambulator and a doll, please.’
‘What would you rather have: a little horse or a little doll?’ I asked Bubby.
‘A little horse and a little doll.’
‘And you, Nora?’
‘Sometime when you have a specially lot of money—’
‘Well?’
‘A rittle house.’
‘A doll’s house?’
‘Yesh.’
‘And what is Father Christmas bringing you?’
‘A perambulator and a doll.’
‘Both at once?’
‘I ’hink so,’ she said.
On the afternoon of the 24th a parcel arrived, with a card from General Pshemòvich-Pshevìtski, addressed to Aunt Teresa and Sylvia, which, being opened, turned out to contain two sets of crêpe-de-Chine camisoles and knickers of Japanese make; Sylvia’s being pink with little Chinamen stitched out by hand all along the border.
‘Oh! how beauty! Oh! what a lovely!’ Natàsha exclaimed as Sylvia held them up for inspection. Aunt Teresa’s were green but without Chinamen. She was both confused and yet, I think, secretly flattered by the gift. It seemed too impudent for words — if the General had had any kind of … suggestion in mind. That he had coupled her with her daughter seemed reassuring. And yet, could he have had any thought of Sylvia’s wearing them? — that alone was too impudent — and she even felt jealous. How tactless the man was, to be sure — the tall man with the stiff black moustache and the closely-cropped hair turning grey. Much, of course, must be forgiven him, since he had risen from a plain policeman! And, after all, he had just been over to Japan, and anything in silk was a natural gift in the circumstances. That was the trend of the innuendoes that she had exchanged with Berthe. But the knickers were nice and reminded her of her youth — though in her youth they didn’t wear such knickers.
The whole week before Christmas had seemed unusually dull. Melancholy life. When I was a child home for the holidays, I sat on the hat rack and imagined I was a bird. The passing of the day, twilight — just like now in the Far East. And ‘Far East’ suggested that we were far away. But far from what? — the world after all was round. — A dreary day. You stand still, your nose pressed against the cold pane, and watch the movement in the street: life is passing swiftly. You are bored by life, but it is passing much too quickly: worse, you stand here at the window in Harbin and you think you ought to be somewhere in Adrianople. And it would seem that whatever you did — if you were to run out into the street, shout, dance, work, forget, go on a voyage, engage in politics, drink, marry, love — it would slip away even more quickly while you did not reflect; and the moment you tried to envisage it you would be leading again a still life.
Christmas Day was a cold but snowless and sunny day, and I was wakened early by Harry, who had come in for his present.
‘What is it?’ I asked.
He smiled his old man’s smile, a little confused. ‘I’m not asking for anything,’ he said.
There was another shuffle at the door.
‘Ah, Nora in her pom-poms!’ said he.
She came up, a little mushroom, smiling all over, in her red shoes and striped jumper.
‘Have you bought me something?’ she said.
‘You mustn’t ask,’ he whispered in her ear, stooping to do so. And both stood waiting. When they had got their presents they at once ran away with them.
In the dining-room was Natàsha — so pretty, so fragile, so happy in her new white and pink frock. ‘Look me! Look me!’ she said, turning round. ‘Shut your eyes and open your mouth.’ And I ate a chocolate. ‘There will be trifle cakes, vinaigrette, meat, tea, pastry, cocoa!’ she said roguishly.
‘What nice shoes you have.’
‘4.25,’ she said.
‘Shanghai dollars?’
She shrugged her shoulders, sucking a sweet the while. ‘I don’t know what’s it means. Daddy bought them.’
She stood on, wondering why I was not admiring her new frock. She had curled her hair with paper overnight so as to enhance the effect upon Harry. ‘Oh, I wonder what will Harry say when he sees me in my new dress! He will say, “Oh, Natàsha, isn’t it beauty!” ’
Harry came in, and Natàsha waited for him, a little confused, to notice her frock. But taking no notice, he said, ‘Where’s that peddling-motor?’
There wasn’t one. Father Christmas up the chimney flue had played him false.
‘Oh, damn!’ he said — and smiled.
When Sylvia came up, like a China rose, in her champagne georgette, Natàsha relapsed into ecstatic delight: ‘Look, look! What a beauty thing! Oh! Oh! Look!’ And, indeed, Berthe’s present could not have been more welcome.
‘Ah! little Nortchik!’ Natàsha cried as soon as she saw her, and at once began hopping about — and then lifted her by the waist, which you could see was no great satisfaction to Nora, to judge by her face. ‘Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Stop it!’ she said.
There she stood — like a little mushroom, red-cheeked, awfully appetizing.
‘Isn’t she just a little apple dumpling?’ said Aunt Teresa. ‘Come on your old auntie’s knees, you little applie-dumplie.’
Nora climbed up Aunt Teresa’s knees and putting her small arms round her neck tenderly—‘Auntie Terry,’ she said, ‘have you bought me something?’
‘Have you seen my dress, Harry?’ Natàsha ventured.
‘H’m … yes!’ he said, looking at her, while she beamed all over. ‘Have you seen Nora’s pom-poms?’
‘Shut your eyes and open your mouth,’ she said.
Which he did at once.
‘That’s not a sweet!’ he cried, spitting out the silver paper, while Natàsha laughed aloud her gurgling, bubbling laugh, hopping and clapping her palms together in ecstatic mirth.
While we were at our Christmas dinner, the virgin called, and Uncle Emmanuel went out to speak to her, and she pestered him for a Belgian certificate. His Christmas pudding was quite cold when he returned.
At four o’clock the tree was lighted. Uncle Emmanuel, who had donned his made-up Belgian uniform and waxed his moustache with especial care, gave Harry a toy motor which, being wound up, ran across the room and up against the wall. But Harry was very peevish and could not be prevailed upon by Uncle Lucy to take the slightest interest in the toy motor. ‘Look here, Harry, look here,’ Uncle Lucy urged — to save his own face and possibly to spare Uncle Emmanuel the sense of humiliation. But Harry would not look and turned his back to it. ‘It’s no good! I can’t get inside it,’ he said — when Slap! his father landed him one over the ear. Not at once, but as if on mustering enough self-pity, Harry began to cry softly. ‘Come, come,’ said the people surrounding him. ‘I want a peddling-motor,’ he sobbed, drying his tears with his fist. And thinking of it, he cried louder and louder and louder, until he had to be given the little cupboard Aunt Teresa had given Natàsha, my aunt promising to get Natàsha another one exactly like it immediately the holidays were over. Natàsha was reluctant. ‘No, s’mine! s’mine!’ she said. But Captain Negodyaev, out of deference to his hosts, at once ordered her to give it up.