A Winged Present

 By Jan A. Loeffler

Back in the olden times, everything was a bit different, even Christmas. It has been more than 50 years ago that we were allowed to write our wishes on a Christmas list. At the orphanage in Zurich, every year many children wrote a Christmas list: "To the Christ Child (our version of St. Nick) - In Heaven." And we knew that our wish could only be fulfilled if the hopefully expected gift would not cost more than 10 Swiss Francs. The choice of gifts for 10 Francs seemed limitless! We found many things in the catalogues of the toy stores: "Only 7.50 Francs - only 10 Francs…!" We had to choose carefully. There were many things that cost only 5 Francs that we would have liked, but we did not simply want to squander this once-a-year chance. It was not easy, and one time, it proved impossible for me. I was not able to make up my mind; nothing I had seen in the catalogue I liked, nothing that had a price tag of 10 Francs or less. And the truth of the fact was that I really did not want a toy; I was wishing for a duck. Yes, a real, live duck, to be exact: a white duck. A duck all of my own.

In the orphanage, we had chickens, which gave us eggs. We also had ducks. Our cooks said that duck eggs should only be used for baking. We had chicken and duck eggs, which I had to collect every day and bring into the kitchen. Counting and weighing of these eggs was my chore, and each Saturday I had to clean the chicken coop and the two duck houses. Of course, I had to feed them too. It was a much-wanted job in the orphanage, much better than cleaning the stairs or emptying the trash. I was "Master" over chickens and ducks - or maybe rather a "servant", the "Mistress" was Miss Lehmann, an older woman with a large goiter and devout words with which she always announced her faith in the dear Lord. She also announced when it was time for the chickens and ducks to be brought into the kitchen. And if our gardener, Mr. Stoll, was "unavailable", she herself chopped off the heads of the chickens - and off the ducks as well. And all other women who belonged to the servant staff of the orphanage, such as Miss Anna and Miss Ida, then plucked "my" chickens and ducks until no feathers remained to be plucked. The rest of the work was then done by the cook. Roast chicken or duck - who would not have liked to join in the eating? I was sick - and excused and given something else to eat in the kitchen. And that although I also liked to eat chickens - as long as they were "strange ones" and not my "own". I did not care that much for duck. That was when I had yet to discover "canard a l'orange."

If I were to have my own duck - so I thought to myself - it would never have to come to the kitchen; it would be allowed to live forever and swim around in a little pond, lay eggs and maybe even have little ducklings - those then would also belong to me - would they not? That was a thought a bit far removed for me at the time. My only question was if such a duck might after all cost more than 10 Francs. Nobody knew about such things, none of the children in the orphanage or school knew this. And I did not dare to ask my "boss" Miss Lehmann. I imagined what her answer to me would be: "Pray to the dear Lord, be a good boy and perform your chores well and correctly; maybe your wish will be heard, and you will receive your own duck." It seemed an easy task, asking the Lord for a duck. But I also knew that being "a good boy" and doing my chores "well and correctly" was another matter altogether. I would not find an easy ear with the Lord; he probably knew what was best anyway. Thus, I quit praying and wrote: "Dear Christ Child - I did not find a toy for 10 Francs I would like to have, but I do have one wish after all. Could you bring me a duck for Christmas, a white one. I don't know how much a duck costs and if it is too much, then bring me something else, something that does not cost more than 10 Francs, I don't know what. Thank you and best regards. Hansli." The folded wish list was placed in the small mailbox in the large foyer. And then came the long wait up until the 24th of December, Holy Night and Christmas Eve.

One week prior, a large fir tree had been set up in the refectory, a tree so tall, its tip reached all the way to the ceiling. But now on Christmas Eve all the candles were alight, maybe more than a hundred all white. Silver Christmas baubles glimmered, and silver tinsel shimmered. There was - just like every year - the manger of Bethlehem, with the ox and the donkey, with the crib and Mother Mary and Joseph and the little infant Jesus sitting on Mary's lap. A little hay, a little straw, and a red light were in the manger, and moss was on the roof of the stable. Each year the same scene and each year it brought new joys. Everybody crowded in front of the manger, me among them. And many of us glanced furtively in the direction of the half dark refectory because on its tables all of the packages and parcels had been spread. One could barely see them, all the way back from the Christmas tree and light of the candles, all shrouded in mystery. But everybody had to sit on the chairs, which had been arranged so that all could see the manger of Bethlehem. And next to the stable Mr. Meister took his seat - he was the highest boss in the orphanage; he read to us the Christmas Story. Each year the same story - each year we had to wait until Mr. Meister had finished reading.

This year - it was the year of the desired duck - I was not listening. I was disappointed. How could I have been so stupid to wish for a real, live duck of my own? There was no way one could wrap up a duck and place it as a package on the table. Surely, there would be a package for me, with 100% certainty, but it was as certain that it would not contain a duck. I did not care anymore how long the story reading would take. I was not interested in the end, not curious what my gift might be, it could only result in disappointment. That much I knew. And Mr. Meister read and read and quacked on and on … yes, I could clearly hear a sort of quacking. Everybody looked at me, even Mr. Meister. Everybody smiled and looked at me. And there it was again - a low quacking. -- could it be true? I would be the proud owner of my very own duck. A miracle, no doubt. And the story came to its end, the light came up. A few children ran up to the tables, one shouted: "Hansli, look, look here, here is YOUR DUCK, here, under the table." Under the table, in a large woven basket was a large, fat, white duck with a yellow bill and blue eyes. My Anita! That's what I named her as soon as I set eyes on her, at once. Why Anita? I have no idea. All I knew was that this large white duck was Anita to me. And none of the girls in the orphanage and no one in school had that name: Anita.

Now I owned my very own duck - and could even touch her. And Anita was patient and let me pet her. I took her out of the basket, took her in my arms. Anita barely resisted; she was heavy. I brushed with my face close up to her head - immediately she plucked out some of my hairs with her bill; she pinched me a bit on the ear. Hunger, yes, she must be hungry, my poor Anita, and thirsty as well. Although the basket contained some hay, there was no grain or water. Anita was returned to the basket - and I ran to get some water and some grains. And she "shoveled" it all in - grains and water. After all, I KNEW DUCKS. I had collected much experience with ducks. How many times had I fed the ducks of the orphanage - now I was feeding Anita, my very own duck. Of course, it was not too long before Anita had to join the other ducks in the duck house. It was nighttime, and Miss Lehmann came along to help me out. She said: "See, Hansli, your wish came true. What a nice Christmas gift you received. I am sure you will now really try to be a good boy, always, and do your chores well and right." I did try but did not always succeed. But I had my own duck, which did not have to go to the kitchen. That is, not as long as I was in the orphanage.

Three years later I left the orphanage. Anita stayed with the other ducks. In the years to come, I had other wishes, of which many came true. But a white, fat duck of my own, with a yellow bill and blue eyes, such a gift comes along only once in a lifetime; it had been a fairytale - once upon a time! The orphanage "Sonnenberg" in Zurich is now called a children and youth center. No more are the chickens, the chicken coops, and the ducks. Once upon a time, there was a duck... Merry Christmas!