Monday, December 28, 2009

A good Christmas

We celebrated Christmas in a hospital cafeteria in Geneva which smelled of cinnamon, disinfectant, orange slices, urine, apple cider, formaldehyde, glühwein, candles, meat, greasy French fries, and sickness. We spread a red table cloth and raised our glasses and dipped the fries in ketchup, and remembered the old days and laughed, and were glad when Roland woke up and recognized his wife Lydia and daughters Véronique and Isabelle and granddaughter Laura, and even me, his son-in-law, and perhaps remembered his brother Marcel, who died in an avalanche on Christmas Day of 1954, and then we exchanged presents and kisses, and felt happy because Laura was happy, and then we wheeled Roland back to his room, and took a bus and train home. It was a good Christmas, all things considered.

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