der Weihnachtsmann - santa claus

Szenen von ein Café - scenes from a café

the view from my cafe window is nothing special. a road, buildings, some old, some new, some with balconies, some without. a line of taxis stretches past the corner and around the platz. the street is wet and has a greenish tinge where you can see the actual pavement, but most of it is covered in sand to prevent slippery surfaces. i twirl my fork making designs with the food left uneaten on my plate. i wonder where a flushed faced child is headed as he runs past.

i'm self-concious, mostly because everyone in the cafe now knows i don't speak german, thanks to my many questions about a particular fruit pastry and final air-drawing of a pear to confirm my suspicions. and i'm annoyed with myself for having started asking questions i couldn't finish. it doesn't matter what fruit it is, i'm not hungry and i just ordered it because i felt like i had to. but these feelings have become familiar by now, like just another one of the things i take with me when i go out along with my keys and wallet.

i brought a book but i can't seem to read it, not because there are more interesting things to do, i'm just not feeling it. so, i look out the window again and make a new pattern with my pears.

that's when he catches my eye. santa. i blink away the smoke from the next table's 3rd marlboro in as many minutes and confirm that i have indeed seen santa. i smile but quickly bit my lip. in germany someone who smiles at nothing is considered dim. but i can't help it. the smile creeps up into my eyes. it's february and i'm seeing santa.

a foot tall, stuffed, and obviously forgotten, santa sits on a swing hanging from a street sign. he drips with the last week's sleet and snow. he is gray on one side - the side closer to the idling taxis' deisel fumes - like the picture in the book we read every christmas eve, he's "all covered in soot." i can only see his back, but he seems happy. i imagine a half-gray, half-white dripping "droll little mouth drawn up like a bow" on the other side of his dirty hat. he seems content to hang there until next year, swinging slightly as the breeze blows down the narrow street. i think to myself, we're doing the same thing. we're just hanging out.

the smoke is getting to me, and i'm done with my coffee. the woman from behind the counter has taken away my pastry/art and so i decide it's time to leave the cafe and let santa chill out, literally, on his street sign for others to discover. as i put on my coat and hat another young woman steps into the warmth and removes hers. she heads for my table by the window. outside the air is not exactly fresh but it's cold, giving it the potential to feel cleansing. i breathe it in and head past the cafe toward home. as i pass the window, the young woman at my table looks out at the road and twirls her fork, making designs in the gravy.