Hiddensee: A Tale of the Once and Future Nutcracker(75)

Drosselmeier put his packages about. Holly decked the mantel. A fire hissed and ticked. “Is Fritz behaving, at least?”

“He’s worn out with trying to be decent. It’s too wearing on a boy. I shall be glad when the holidays are over.”

“Only children love the arresting weirdness of these days.”

Again, Sebastian kept his silence.

Drosselmeier pushed. He wanted to tire Sebastian into giving a different sort of answer. “Has she had more dreams about the mice?”

“Dear Godfather. I’m doing what I can to keep her comfortable. I don’t have the wherewithal to investigate the nonsense of her dreams.”

“Oh, well, then.” But now Drosselmeier was chastened. The poor father was sorely tried.

“Are we ready?” Having lit the last of the tapers, Sebastian trimmed the wicks of the oil lamps on the credenza. “Shall I call them in?” The sounds of the impatient children, now in the antechamber, were building.

“One last thing.” Drosselmeier finished arranging his great gift on a low table. He had built it in four pieces for easier transport, and affixed it with tabs, small bolts, braces. A broad assemblage of a fairy-tale palace, with turrets and a drawbridge and a central courtyard. Drosselmeier had painted it in shades of buttercream with blue shadows and red tile roofs, and he’d hidden a music box in the empty space of the chapel. A key for winding the music fit into a slot in the back of the chapel. He’d made a hiding place for the key in a walnut that he’d parted with a small-toothed saw. Pried its halves apart with an awl, and then reattached them with a small brass hinge with tiny screws. The whole thing was painted with gold leaf and fitted with string.

Drosselmeier wound the music box. It made a few hesitant plinks, then settled into a merry tune not unfit for dancing. If tin soldiers and wooden figurines might be so moved as to dance. Satisfied, Drosselmeier tucked the little key into the hollowed-out golden walnut shell. He hung the secret among the other marvels and baubles festooning the tannenbaum, including a dozen other golden walnuts on strings. Decoys.

“I think you’ve outdone yourself, Drosselmeier,” said Sebastian with just a hint of disapproval.

“Let them enter while the music is playing; it runs down in just a few moments.”

Beginning to warm to the drama of it, Sebastian slid open the doors. Fritz came tiptoeing forward, eyes wide with greed and adoration. Clothilde was behind him, carrying Klara. The girl’s head was too heavy to lift off her mother’s shoulder, so Clothilde rotated, giving Klara access to the view. The child smiled before putting her thumb back in her mouth.

“Oh, a castle!” cried Fritz, finally letting the clue of music distract him from the balm and seduction of candlelight. At this Klara tried to straighten up. Her mother supported her back. “It has little figures in the windows, and they’re moving!” cried Klara.

“They’re at their own Christmas feast. They don’t know about ours. They don’t know we are watching. Luckily they are very polite and they cannot be embarrassed. They are moved by music,” said Drosselmeier.

“Do they fight?” asked Fritz. “You may not know this, but we’re in desperate need of reinforcements.”

“I doubt they fight, but I do think they dance extremely well,” commented the godfather, though as the music slowed down, the dancers began to flag, too. Fritz tried to poke the residents through the unglassed windows. “Don’t, you’ll dislodge them from their tracks, and it’ll be nearly impossible to reestablish them. They’ll spend their lives lying on the floor, unable to see out the windows.”

“Stupid peasants if all they can do is dance.”

“It’s a holiday, not a military call to arms.”

“How do we get them to dance again?”

“Ah, there is magic in this music, but you must find the key. It’s not far. Be patient. It will not stay hidden for long. Magic never does.”

Fritz lost interest at once and began to root among the other gifts. Clothilde settled her daughter on the settee. They began to ferry small wrapped presents to her. Klara was too listless to work the wrappings, so her mother helped her but let Klara finger out the little treasures one by one.

A small wooden cat bought from some toy maker other than her godfather. “I think that creature has little personality,” observed Drosselmeier coolly. Despite being under the weather, Klara had the good sense to drop it on the floor.

A bear wearing a bishop’s mitre.

A fisherwoman with a net. Under her shawl she had a fish face.

“A person from Spain?” asked Klara of a small carved se?ora featuring a real scrap of lace as her mantilla.

“Only one, I didn’t have time to make her a lover. I hope she won’t be lonely.”

“She looks nice. She will like everyone else.”

“But can a Spanish lady talk to the Russian men and the Chinese rice farmers? I am never sure if they can talk together.”

“Of course they do, Godfather. They speak the same language.”

“Not Spanish or Russian? Or Mandarin?”

“No—it’s the language of Toy.”

“Oh.”

“Children speak it, too, so that is convenient,” said Klara.

“Don’t get excited,” said her mother. “It’ll wear you out. Fritz, have you something to share?”