Red Christmas

  Written in my first term as a teacher this rather unseasonal story derived from a conversation I had with my wife while we were on a ten hour drive from Norfolk to Oban. As is often the case our talk gradually meandered into increasingly bizarre byways. So it was that we began to discuss Christmas and the realities behind this annual orgy of consumption. Don't get me wrong, I love a good Christmas, but there's a lot more to the process than we think, and not all of it is attractive or good-willed. And all those toys have to come from somewhere...

  "Red Christmas"

  There was a chorus of shouts as the door to block twelve banged open and the snow flecked wind howled into the wooden shed. A line of heavily muffled figures wearily entered and stomped the snow from their ragged boots, before the last one turned to push the door back in place and secure the catch. Abruptly the noise of the wind outside was cut off and there was a moment's stillness before the workers who had just come off shift peeled away their grimy coverings and shuffled over to the stove that glowed warmly in the middle of the large shed. A few of the more exhausted ignored the stove and just collapsed onto the bunks vacated by workers making ready for the next shift. It was a sensible strategy; although the stove was much warmer than a recently slept in bunk it was much harder to get near to, and one had to stand - not an easy prospect after twelve hours in the factory.

  The shed was packed while the two shifts swapped over. The snow and ice that had formed on the recent arrivals during their trek over from the production line was melting; wispy twists of steam clogged the fetid air. The door opened again as the next shift hurried out into the darkness to make their way across the compound to the factory gates. They were joined by more groups of workers from the other barracks and before the door shut those inside caught one last glimpse of the shadowy column sullenly picking its way through the blizzard towards the giant wrought iron gates looming in the distance. Then the door shut again and the stove slowly restored warmth to the room.

  Once some of the workers had begun to feel their fingertips they began to help the cook prepare a meal. Wrinkled and grubby vegetables were picked out of the splintered ration crate in a far corner and carefully diced into a large pot on the stove, in which scoops of snow rapidly melted. After a while the shed filled with the scent of vegetables and other ingredients stewing and there was a comforting bubbling sound from the top of the stove. More than one belly was rumbling and the workers waited in eager anticipation of their portion of stew. When the barrack cook announced that it was ready the others quickly formed an orderly line by the stove, battered mess tins held ready. The line shuffled forward as the cook ladled out the stew and handed each worker a dark lump of bread from a hessian sack at his feet.

  "Here! What's this?" One asked loudly as he held up the bread accusingly. "Where's the rest of it?"

  "Ration cut." The cook grunted as he reached out with the next ladle of stew. "Orders from the boss. Until the New Year we're on half a loaf a day."

  "Until the New Year?" The worker repeated angrily. "We're already starving as it is."

  "Ain't my fault." The cook answered. "You got a complaint then you take it up with Claws, not me. Now out the way, I got others to feed."

  At mention of Claws the worker shrank away, muttering as he clutched his mess tin and went off in search of place to sit down and eat.

  Over on the bunks the exchange had been heard by a young worker and he swore softly at the news of the reduction in the bread ration. It was mid December and that meant going hungry for over three more weeks - going hungrier he corrected himself. Joey had only been at the production camp for a few months and was still in reasonably good shape. The twelve hour shift was exhausting to be sure but it had not broken him as it had so many others. In recent weeks the workers had been driven hard to produce more and more toys for the Christmas market. It was the same every year he had been told. And when he had heard that Joey had decided to leave the camp as soon as he could. The trouble with that, he learned soon enough, was he had heard that no-one ever left the camp, alive that is. All the promises of high wages and good living conditions the recruiters had seduced them with had proved to be shallow lies. In the camp you worked until you died, and workers did die - he had seen it with his own eyes. The exhausting work ground down even the strongest until they were no more than unthinking, glassy eyed zombies toiling over an endless production line. Death was the only mercy in the camp.

  With a sigh Joey raised himself up off the bunk and trudged over to the end of the meal line. By the time he was given his ration there would not be much left in the pot and there was a good chance that he would get most of the solids that had sunk to the bottom. It was a trick he had learned from one of the older workers. The dregs might not be piping hot but there was more nourishment in them, sufficient to keep the body just strong enough to resist the worst effects of the freezing climate and back-breaking toil. Joey reached into his coat and extracted his mess-tin. His body had warmed it so that it was comfortable to hold in his fingerless mittens. Joey followed the line as it shuffled forward.

  "Cold night, eh Joey?"

  Joey turned to see that he was no longer the last in line. An older worker had joined them, a squat round faced individual who offered him a smile.

  "Hello Kramer." Joey said. "Yes, it is cold. Coldest I've known."

  "You're new here, just you wait until January. That's what I call cold. You wait till then - the older ones will start dropping like flies. I've seen it happen, every January the same thing."

  "I thought the workload eased off after Christmas."

  "Ha!" Kramer snorted. "That's what they tell everyone when they first get here."

  "But what happens?" Joey persisted. "Once Christmas is over there's nothing left to do."

  Kramer looked at him pityingly. "You don't know much do you? Once this Christmas is over the next one begins. No break for us. The boss is already planning the new product line for next year and new toys means new designs, new machines. We'll be lucky if we finish the refit by summer."

  "Oh..."

  Kramer felt a twinge of guilt at the youngster's crestfallen expression and gently nudged him. "Joey, the line's moved up. Should be some good pieces in the bottom of the pot by now, eh?"

  "I guess."

  There were only a few workers ahead of them and Joey could see that each ladle was thick with diced vegetables. He licked his lips and his stomach groaned in keen anticipation. Then he was standing in the warm comforting glow of the stove. The cook swung the ladle into the pot and scraped a portion from near the bottom. Up it came in a fine wisp of steam and Joey held out his mess tin. He breathed in the aroma of the stew - the taste of it tingling on the edge of his tongue. Making sure that the mess tin was kept level Joey bent down towards the sack and thrust his hand inside, groping for his bread ration. His fingers searched anxiously and then closed on a lump of the hard bread. It felt stale but Joey knew that he could break it into pieces and mix it with the stew - that would soften it enough.

  Then, as he withdrew his hand from the sack, Joey felt a sick feeling well up inside him - it was the last piece of bread. He quickly glanced up over his shoulder and saw the cook pour out the stew into Kramer's mess tin. The bright light of hunger glinted in the old man's eyes. Joey quickly stuffed the last hunk of bread inside his pocket and straightened up. He said nothing as he watched Kramer reach for the empty folds of the sack.

  Joey thought quickly. Kramer had not seen him pocket the bread, he was sure of that. He could say there was none left for either of them - he could lie. Or he could just accept that someone had to miss out on the bread and just be thankful that it wasn't him. That was camp life - someone always suffered, you just had to make sure it wasn't you.

  Kramer slowly squatt
ed down by the sack. The glint in his eye disappeared and was replaced by a look of horror as his hand move frantically inside the sack.

  "There's no bread left!" He whined. "No bread!"

  He glared accusingly at the round full face of the cook. The latter just shrugged his shoulders as he dropped the ladle into the pot and using a old rag he heaved the heavy iron container off the stove.

  "I want my bread!" Kramer said through clenched teeth.

  "There isn't any more." The cook puffed. "You saw for yourself."

  "But I want my bread." Kramer made to lower his mess tin as he took a step toward the cook. The cook lowered his cauldron and stood his ground.

  "Listen to me!" He growled. "There ain't no more bread, got it? Now, if you give me any trouble, any at all - I'll break you in half. Now back off!"

  For a moment it looked to Joey as if the old worker was going to lunge at the cook and with a curse at his weakness he pulled the old man back by his elbow.

  "Here, you can share my bread."

  Kramer glanced quickly at Joey, then back to the cook, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Then Joey felt him slowly relax and with a gentle tug he pulled Kramer away from the cook towards the bunks. The cook grinned and was about to say something when he caught sight of Joey's warning look. Then he shrugged and made his way back through the room with the heavy pot swinging from his two handed grip.

  Joey steered Kramer to an empty bunk and they sat down on the soiled blanket. Joey took out his hunk of bread and broke it in two, giving the larger piece away. He was angry with himself for the noble gesture. The first step towards weakness of character - compassion - something no worker in the camp could afford.

  "Thanks." Kramer muttered.

  Joey was too embarrassed to think of a reply as he broke his remaining piece of bread in two and tucked half in his pocket for later.

  "And thanks for stopping me."

  "I thought you were going to go for him."

  "I was. I'm ashamed of myself."

  "Ashamed?" Joey raised his eyebrows. "What's there to be ashamed of? He was stronger than you. There's no shame with avoiding a fight you're bound to lose."

  "Oh, it's not that." Kramer replied as he broke the dried bread into his stew. "It's that I lost control. I actually gave in to anger and hate.... I sinned."

  "Well don't worry about it," said Joey, slurping some stew from his mess tin. "In this place the very idea of sin has lost its place, if you get what I mean."

  Kramer paused to stare at him. "Sin is always sin Joey. Nothing changes that, ever."

  "Perhaps, but it doesn't make any difference here."

  Kramer carefully sipped his soup before continuing. "You've been listening to them again."

  "Them?"

  "The Underground. Leon and those friends of his." Kramer spat out the words but Joey did not react and finished chewing a piece of turnip wondering how a simple vegetable could have so much flavour, for some reason it seemed to have more flavour than usual. He was beginning to get annoyed at Kramer for distracting him from enjoyment of the meal. Unfortunately Kramer was in no mood to let the matter drop.

  "You shouldn't mix with them Joey, they're evil."

  "They seem to make a great deal of sense to me."

  "I tell you they're evil," insisted Kramer. "I've heard them justify the use of violence in changing things here."

  "That's what they say."

  "But Joey - violence? How can violence be right? It's against the word of God. We must pray for our oppressors, so that they see the evil of their ways. We must help them."

  "Oh sure," Joey responded dryly. "We must help them. That's all we ever do - help them to help themselves. I tell you what the real evil is Kramer. The fact that we let it happen to us. It doesn't matter that we're always hungry, that we have to work until we drop, that the older workers die like dogs. None of that matters, as long as we produce the toys in time for Christmas. Toys for God's sake!"

  "Joey!" The blasphemy had shocked the older worker. "Joey...I never thought I'd hear-"

  "Yes? Well you were wrong then." Joey felt his rage burning inside. His meal had been ruined and Kramer was to blame. Damn him... and damn those like him. Couldn't they see what was really going on? Claws and his overseers were just laughing at them. As long as they had Kramer and the other elders to preach their ways then nothing would ever change. An endless tide of suffering for what - the promise of a better world in the after life? It was pathetic he reflected, quite pathetic. At least the Underground saw things for what they were and were determined to want a solution in the here and now. More workers were beginning to listen to them now, secret meetings were being held in the barracks between shifts. Minds were being changed....

  Joey was suddenly aware that Kramer had not said anything or moved for a while and he glanced round. The older worker was staring fixedly into his stew. It had cooled so much that a scum was forming on the thickening surface.

  "Eat it up Kramer." He said gently. "Look, I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't really mean it, alright?.... C'mon, eat it up."

  "I understand your anger Joey," said Kramer. "I was like that at your age, before He found me and became my comfort in this terrible place. Then I knew I was no longer forsaken." He suddenly looked up at Joey with fire in his eyes. "And I want to help Him find you too Joey."

  Joey sighed. There was no point in prolonging the discussion and he quickly wiped up the final remnants of the stew with his last fragment of bread before tucking the mess-tin away.

  "Well, I have to go and see someone." He said as he rose from the bunk. Kramer darted a suspicious glance at Joey.

  "Oh it's alright - not some secret meeting or anything. I'm just going to the stables."

  "To see Rudi?" asked Kramer, and Joey nodded.

  "He hasn't been well lately. A cold or something. I found a length of old sacking he can use as a blanket."

  Kramer placed a hand gently on Joey's arm. "You're a good one Joey, always have been as long as I've known you."

  "Yes...well I...." The youth blushed. "Look, I must go. I have to get some sleep later on before the next shift."

  "I'll pray for you... and Rudi."

  As soon as he shut the door behind him all light and warmth was extinguished and a harsh wind blew flurries of snow into Joey's face. Pulling the hood tight around his head with one hand Joey started down the well trodden path that led from the barracks to the factory gates. Under his other arm he carried the bundle of sacking for Rudi. The pressure of thousands of weary feet had hardened the surface to a glassy sheen and only the fresh flakes of snow gave him any kind of footing. The path was cleared once in a while and the snow was shovelled onto high banks rising up on either side, providing some shelter from the wind. Even so Joey had to lean into the wind as he steadily made his way across to the main factory gate. The shutter of the porter's room momentarily flicked open and Joey saw an overseer glance at him and nod permission to enter before sliding the shutter back.

  Passing under the dark iron barbs that protected the gate Joey turned away from the path leading to the inner compound where the long low workshops stretched into the night. Even above the howl of the wind he could hear the sounds of machines endlessly turning. Light fell out of windows onto the snow in dull yellow streaks, and thick black smoke billowed from tall chimneys to fall back as grey snow that covered everything.

  To one side of the outer compound stood a grim squat mansion built in the gothic style, tall towers stood at each corner. In the furthest tower a light burnt high up near the battlements where Claws had his study, surveying the factory and the barracks that stretched out on all sides beyond the compound.

  Opposite the mansion stood a coach-house and stables and Joey made his way over towards them. Through the dark windows of the coach-house Joey could make out the looming hulk of a vast vehicle. He had seen it before, many times - a giant wooden sledge with sharp steel runners almost four inches wide. The sides were ornately carved and gilde
d with gold leaf, and a vast seat at the front was padded with the finest eider feathers and covered in the softest of leather. He passed on quickly and slipped in through the small door at the side of the stables, tugging the door shut behind him.

  Immediately the warm animal smell from the stalls wafted into his nose and he breathed it in deeply - one of the only scents that gave him pleasure these days. The floor was covered with a thick layer of straw which rustled under his feet as Joey walked down the line of wooden stalls each with a stencilled plaque bearing the name of the animal within. The reindeer moved restlessly as he passed each stall, except for one which was still and silent. He stopped at the last stall and stood on tiptoes so that his chest reached the top of the stall door and he could reach over it with both arms.

  "Rudi!" He called softly. "Rudi, it's me Joey."

  In the darkness at the back of the stall he could hear his friend stirring and Joey reached over to slip the catch. The door swung open and he stepped slowly inside and shut it behind him. In the gloom he could see the reindeer warily raise its head at Joey's approach, nostrils flaring. Then as it recognised the young worker the beast relaxed and gently nuzzled the gloved hand that was stretched out towards it.

  "That's my boy." Joey said soothingly. "That's my boy. Here, look, this will keep you warm."

  He unbundled the sacking and laid it over the beast's side and then lowered himself down into the straw beside Rudi and patted the long neck with one hand while the reindeer licked the fingers of the other.

  "Hey!" Joey smiled. "Alright then! I've got something for you. Just let me get it out for you. Retrieving his hand he rummaged into his coat pocket for the morsel of bread he had saved. He broke it into small pieces which Rudi ate out of the palm of his hand. Every move the reindeer made was clearly a strain and when it had finished eating Rudi gratefully rested his head in Joey's lap. Faint plumes of steam puffed out of his delicate nostrils and mingled with the breath of the worker.

  Joey shook his head. "You're not much better, are you?... You must get better Rudi, you have to.... It's Christmas in a few days. If you aren't well...."