Christmas with Nick Klaas

Part 19: Play Time

 "Welcome everyone!" Nick enthusiastically greeted the guests after they've grabbed platefuls of food and settled into their seats. The room was now packed, but miraculously—or perhaps due to precise planning—no one was left standing. "It's so great to see you all here for our annual Christmas Eve production of 'The Story of Sinter Klaas.' You can think of it as the first superhero origin story, if you will."

As the name left his mouth, Noelle had a "well, duh" moment. Sinter Klaas was Santa Claus before the moniker had become Anglicized. She felt so dumb for not putting that together.

"Now, some of you have seen this play before, while others are experiencing the tale for the first time," he continued, looking around the room before his gaze landed on Noelle for the final words. He smiled. "I'd ask you to hold your applause until the end, but the truth is, our actors think quite highly of themselves so they'll gladly accept your accolades. And with that said, let's begin."

He gestured toward the stage, where the curtains slowly pulled back to reveal a wintry backdrop. Stepping away, Nick returned to the couch next to Noelle and took her hand in his. She gave it a squeeze before making herself comfortable, drawing her feet up and snuggling against his side.

The pianist—who'd also returned to his instrument—began to play a haunting tune to accompany the flurry of fake snow that had started to fall over the stage. Noelle could practically feel a few degrees colder as the scene was set for a frigid winter's evening in the dark woods.

From stage left, four characters suddenly appeared, and Noelle almost burst out laughing. Although two were clearly supposed to be children (each holding a straw doll) and one a woman (wearing a flowing skirt), all had long, scraggly beards. They also had bulbous noses and pointy, knit caps, but Noelle had already recognized them as four of the gnomes she'd met the night before.

Quietly clearing her throat to gather her composure, she focused on the action. The travelers struggled against the blizzard, shielding themselves with their coats and scarves as they traversed among the bare trees. They appeared tired because one was always falling behind. When the howl of a wolf sounded, all four stopped in their tracks.

Noelle recalled her similar encounter in the woods outside the town two days earlier, letting her empathize even more with the weary characters. Her heart figuratively broke as they visibly trembled from fright when they slowly resumed their trek. But the wolf howled again. And unlike with her experience, in this story the animal—as a pelt draped over another tonttu—appeared on the right side of the stage, blocking the travelers' path.

The kids in the audience gasped and the travelers jumped. Scattering, they ran in different directions, and the wolf followed one. After a few moments of chaos, the children reappeared on stage. When they realized their parents had disappeared, they held each other and began to sob.

It had barely begun, yet Noelle already hated this play. It was making her immensely sad, and she wondered how anyone could think this was appropriate for Christmas. This was the time for stories of hope and cheer, not suffering and pain. But then, the tune of the music changed. It went from low and melancholy to high and joyful, accompanied by the tinkling of tiny bells. The lights went out before a single spotlight shone on a newly arrived figure standing in the center of the stage. Dressed in silver and white, she wore a glass crown on top of her knit cap and a large grin under her russet beard. The two lost children slowly approached this ice queen.

"That's Halla, the frost fairy," Nick whispered in clarification, as if reading Noelle's mind regarding the newcomer's identity.

With an embrace, Halla quieted the children's sobs before leading them off stage left. As the curtains closed, only the audience got to see that they'd left behind two bodies in the snow.