Newkirk

The snow was coming down hard now and Newkirk couldn't see further than a few feet in front of him outside. He knew that somewhere nearby was a small storage shed and animal shelter the farmer who owned this land used occasionally. Not that it would be in use this time of year, as the shelter was made up of old planks and let in quite a bit of light to say nothing of snow, rain, and wind. Finally he found the dark colored shack and hurried in. As he looked around the small shack, he mumbled angrily to himself, "Bloody swell!"

He moved some hay together to make a comfortable spot where he could watch the open doorway to see if anyone would be coming and to see when the snow would be dying down enough for him to get back to camp.

"Just abso-blooming-lutely swell! Colonel's going to have a right go at me for this one, he is. 'Sposed to be a routine recon and I'm caught in a blizzard and can't get back," he continued to mumble. He began to shift some of the hay around himself, now he was seated, trying to stop the wind from blowing over him. "I was bloody stupid to stay around Lily's after she told me to go. Don't know why I even volunteered to leave camp."

"Don't worry," a voice in heavily accented English called from the back of the shelter, "this storm can't last long."

Newkirk quickly got up with his gun in hand and peered into the back of the shelter. Bloody hell! "Com'on out you. Let's have a look at you."

Newkirk was astonished as a tall, thin white haired old man came out from the back. He was neatly dressed in a dark coat coming to his knees and wore heavy black boots with his pants tucked into them. At the moment he had no hat on his head, but he did have some warm woolen mittens on Newkirk noticed enviously.

The man was busy brushing hay from his neatly trimmed white beard as he spoke, "Don't worry, and don't shoot. I'm not here to harm you." The man glanced down at Newkirk's gun then sat down on the straw next to where Newkirk had just gotten up. "It's just me and Elsa." The man gestured with his mitten toward the back. Newkirk glanced toward the back and saw a small white donkey contentedly eating hay. She turned her head toward Newkirk and continued to chew while showing some rather large yellowed teeth.

Newkirk could have kicked himself. How'd he manage to miss them when he looked around the shelter? It was mistakes like that that could shorten a bloke's life. "You are an Englander? From the prison camp, yes?" the old man looked at Newkirk.

Newkirk looked down at his uniform. Well at least he could give thanks he was in uniform. If caught, he could just say he was escaping. They would just return him to the stalag not shoot him as a spy or saboteur. "Yeah, I'm escaping, like," Newkirk explained. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't turn me in. I mean even if we're enemies and all…" Yes, that's it, Newkirk, play the part…

"Escaping?" the man nodded his head. "O-kay." Newkirk was slightly amused by the use of the not-so German slang word. "Why do you say we are enemies?" the old man turned to look at Newkirk with startling blue eyes.

This took Newkirk aback. "Well, you're German and I'm British and our countries are at war…"

Again the old man slowly nodded and waved his hand airily, "Oh that. I make it a point of not getting involved in such things." Newkirk was beginning to wonder if maybe there was a family nearby wondering what happened to Großvater; if he hadn't taken to "wandering" again. The old man reached into a small bag he had placed beside him and pulled out a small thermos. Unscrewing the top, he poured out some dark hot liquid. "Hot chocolate?" the old man gestured toward Newkirk.

Newkirk gratefully took the cup, "Don't mind if I do. Thank you." They both were quiet as they watched the snow fall outside.

"You hope to arrive home by Christmas, yes?" the old man asked after awhile of companionable silence.

Christmas? Newkirk hadn't really thought about that. Christmas at the Newkirk's usually meant at the Theatre; one show a night and two matinees. Newkirk's parents were theatrical: his mother was a dancer, could have been tops, but she met Newkirk's dad and gotten pregnant. Dad was a magician. He could make anything disappear in a wink of an eye. In bad times, things could disappear off-stage just as fast as on.

"Hadn't thought about it much," Newkirk answered honestly.

"Ah. Getting home itself would be a treat in itself. Yes?" asked the old man. "Going to family, home, yes?"

Newkirk shrugged his shoulders. Home? Well, maybe home if they ever had a proper one. After a quick marriage at the registry, Mum became Dad's assistant in his magic act until Peter began to put Mum's figure out. After his birth, he was literally living out their trunks. His cradle, the lower drawer of the old steamer trunk they used for props and costumes. After Peter's birth, Mum got her figure back fast; so back she was again as Dad's assistant. While they were onstage his babysitter was usually one of the other acts. But, never the drunken ones or the "peculiar" ones. Mum was careful of who was watching her baby. Same thing when Mavis was born two years later.

"Maybe not," responded the old man answering his own question.

"No, I'd like to see England and family again," Newkirk quickly responded. "It's just that, well…"

"Yes," replied the old man smiling. "Sometimes families are…difficult. But surely you would wish to see your old…mates? School chums?" the old man hesitated over the unfamiliar word.

Newkirk frowned. Not many school chums he'd be seeing. When Peter became old enough for school, Mum insisted that he go to a proper one. None of this traveling around, her son was going to be able to better himself. Trouble was Peter didn't think anything was wrong with traveling around. He was out of school more than he was in. Not that he didn't learn anything. Luckily for him, he was a quick learner and had a certain native intelligence. It also didn't hurt that Mum insisted that he read any book she brought home. It was a sketchy education he had at best, but he found out it was a bit more than some of his chums back in England.

Not that he didn't have any mates. A few good friends he could count on, but, although a charmer and outwardly appearing as open as a book, not many people got close to Newkirk.

Newkirk gazed out into the swirling snow. "Maybe a few mates," He lied. He had realized he had become closer to the men from Stalag 13 who he had only known maybe a few years then the men and boys he had grown up with. It was an uncomfortable thought bringing some truths to Newkirk he didn't want to look too closely at.

The old man had put away the thermos and was now sitting contentedly with his hands loosely clasped on his lap. He was smiling absently as he watched the snow. The cold didn't seem to bother him. "Maybe you would go to church as thanksgiving for your successful escape," he suggested.

Newkirk snorted. Church was the last place he'd be going.

"Ah, I understand. An unbeliever," again the old man nodded in his slow way.

Thinking he had insulted the old man who he was beginning to develop a fondness, "No not quite, I just don't know what I believe."

"Yes, I understand," the old man answered calmly. "There are those who are born with the words 'credo' on their lips, faithfully, sometimes even blindly, believing anything they are told about faith. Then, there are those who believe in nothing either through birth or happenstance. And lastly, those who wish to believe, but must journey through life finding their own answers."

Newkirk scratched his ear. "I don't rightly know about that. But, how can a bloke believe in a god that allows war, poverty…" Newkirk threw his hands up. How could he explain his loss of faith if he had any, to this old man?

"And for how long does one expect ones father to take care of them as they approach manhood?" queried the old man. "Maybe that's why there aren't as many miracles now because God expects mankind to begin to take over some of the responsibility"

Apparently he was the type to enjoy philosophical debates. Well, it did pass the time, but usually Newkirk didn't like his personal philosophy examined so closely. He went along in life, doing what he had to do. Don't look too closely at the rights and wrongs; you get by better that way. Besides, who knows where he'd be if he expected his father to take care of him and his family. Drunken lout had taken to drink and when drunk taken to beating his wife. Newkirk had kicked his father out of the house they were then living in when he was 16. His mother was crying, but Mavis, his sister stood by him. He guessed from talking to others that not all fathers were like that, but, he certainly didn't expect his father to ever take care of him.

"I see," replied the old man. Newkirk puzzled what he was seeing. "So, do you believe you are a good man?"

Newkirk was taken aback. He had stole, and now even killed since joining up. He believed he was doing right, protecting his family, friends and country, but was he truly a good man? Surely, there were men on the other side doing the same thing; believing they were good men, doing right. It was hard to tell what was good and what wasn't anymore.

The old man must have noticed Newkirk's discomfort and patted his knee, "if it helps, just worrying about it is a good sign."

"Yeah, uh, thanks," murmured Newkirk, still thinking.

The old man brightened up as he looked outside. "See, the snow has stopped you can go on."

Newkirk looked and the snow had stopped he'd be able to get back to camp now. "Thanks, Herr…" he let it drop as the old man was not forthcoming with his name. "I guess I'll be going now. Please don't tell anyone you say me."

The man gave him a cheery wave, "don't worry. I'll tell no one. I'm just going to get Elsa now and finish my deliveries. It was nice to pass the time with you." He held out a mittened hand for Newkirk to shake.

"Yeah, it was nice knowing you too." And Newkirk was off.

"Farewell, Journeyer. Hopefully you will find your path soon. You are a good man." The old man whispered as he watched Newkirk disappear into the grey night. "Ach well, come Elsa, we have to find Peter now."

Elsa brayed at him. "Yes, I know that young man was Peter. But, you very well know that is not the Peter I was talking about," the old man scolded the donkey which, brayed again. "What do you mean you were joking? That wasn't very much of a joke. I don't know what I'm going to do with you…" He continued talking with the little donkey as he disappeared into the night.

Finis.

HINT: if you want to know who Newkirk met, read up on German Christmas lore.  You may find the answer there.