He sat on the old, worn-out armchair, the same one he had been sitting on when his wife was still alive. The television he stared at was not much younger than he was. Occasionally, he remembered better times, back when his back was still strong and his legs carried him safely through the world. Yes, those were good times, when he could wander the Christmas markets with his wife and children, occasionally sipping mulled wine. Nowadays, he mostly sat in his chair, listened to the radio, or watched TV shows that, with their modern and loud style, filled him with fear about this new world outside. In his old age, the former charmer had turned into a quiet, sad man fighting with his loneliness and memories.
Now he sat there, looking at the screen, watching an old Christmas movie – a cheesy and sentimental story that had nothing to do with the reality he lived in. No, the children wouldn’t come; there wouldn’t be a big celebration with a happy family – that was the difference between TV and reality. Just like in the past few years, one of them might call his number, spend five minutes reassuring themselves that he was still alive, but they were more likely busy showering their own children with gifts before hurrying back to work. He was old, and old age? That’s something most people seem to fear. Something one avoids – as if it could be contagious. He had his memories, and that was enough, even as he tried to convince himself of it.
As the movie ended, he stood up with effort and walked to the window. From there, he looked down at the grimy courtyard and thought about how everything had been better in the past. In his memories, people were cleaner, more considerate, and far less aggressive or tense than they are today. No, progress hasn’t brought much good, and when he watched a political broadcast, it was just as gray and bleak as the world outside. It seemed to him as if even the snow avoided this gray metropolis, which felt increasingly alien to him, as if it were too dignified to lay its white coat over the parked cars and dirty streets. A few children were running around outside. Would they ever really get to know proper snow? Feeling a bit melancholy, he closed his eyes and thought back to his own childhood…
Yes, they had known snow – back then, when parents would enthusiastically take their children out onto the streets. He remembered how they placed a little flag in his hand and told him to wave at the important man in the big car as he drove past. The important man hadn’t mattered to him at the time; what mattered more was the cheerful crowd and the small flag in his hand. Later, the important man wouldn’t be so unimportant anymore, because of him, he had to walk through bombed-out cities, endure the screams of the despairing, all while being a despairing soul himself, searching for his own…
In the years that followed, he had built a new family, found his wife, and together they endured both good and tough times, just as he had promised her and himself so many years ago. “Until death do us part” – no, death did not part them. It left him behind as the survivor, alone with the memories of two lives, two hearts that often beat in harmony, and two souls that shared dreams. Death didn’t part them, but it made him profoundly lonely. He opened his eyes and brushed off the sentimentality with a grim twitch of his lips. Just as he could have brushed away the tiny snowflake that had landed on his window if he had opened it and run his hand across the glass.
Snow was falling – perhaps there might finally be a white Christmas again? He smiled cautiously because he liked the thought – even if, like the previous years, he’d spend it alone in his apartment. Slowly, he walked back to his chair, turned off the television, and moved his old armchair so it faced the window. Now he could watch as the snowflakes fell more heavily outside. He found it far more interesting than following the dull and foolish programs, or the deceitful promises of advertisements made for people younger and more naive than himself.
He watched the flakes for a while and remembered Christmases when he was still a child. What it was like when his parents were still alive, before those endless nights of fire, wailing sirens, and despair. Yes, it was a beautiful time. Full of smells and sounds. He wondered, for a moment, if winters today still smelled the same as they did back then. Opening the window for a moment and watching the flakes before going to bed, yes, that was a lovely idea!
He would sit with his blanket, watch the falling snow, and maybe have a glass of mulled wine while absorbing the scent of the past. A little more spirited than usual, he went into his small kitchen, took a mug from the cupboard, prepared his mulled wine, and grabbed a sweater on the way back. At his age, he had to be careful not to catch a cold. He opened the window, wrapped his blanket around his legs, and emptied his mug.
Indeed, winter still smelled the way it used to! He thought he could catch the faint scent of fireplaces, perhaps even baked goods: cinnamon, apples, and almonds. The memories of what once was – and what now seemed so far away – became stronger. Yet all he needed to do was close his eyes, and it was all there again. His wife was there again, too; he simply had to close his eyes and remember. Yes, there she was, his beloved wife. The mother of his children and the companion for much of his life. It was beautiful to see her smile. And all he had to do was close his eyes and give himself to the memory.
The wind howled around the window, but that didn’t matter in this moment of remembrance. Even if it was just a dream, was it wrong to give in for a moment and embrace the one whom he still loved? He fell into her arms, clung to her, and enjoyed the joy he felt in her warm presence after so many lonely years…
It’s not pleasant work, and far too often, it harbors unpleasant surprises – sometimes just utter chaos, and sometimes complete emptiness. The man hadn’t paid his bills in months, hadn’t responded to letters, and, at last, to the eviction notice. And now it was time to open the apartment. The locksmith finished his job in a matter of minutes.
Sometimes, it scared him how quickly an apartment door could be broken into. Doors were supposed to protect, but watching the locksmith unravel the lock within seconds made him think that doors don’t protect us – they just hide us from the outside world.
He entered the apartment and immediately noticed the faint smell. He told himself it must be spoiled food, clinging to that thought until he found the old man lifeless in his chair. The window was open, and the TV listings on the table, beside an empty bottle of cheap beer, showed the date: December 24th.
A ghastly sight, despite the smile on the old, sunken face. He wondered what this forgotten man might have been thinking about in his final moments.
One of his colleagues opened the window, and a gust of wind hummed softly around the house, carrying away the smells and making room for a new story…