How Hard to Be a Warlock

In childhood the New Year is magic! The house is full of the smell of pines. You see your reflection in Christmas tree decorations. Plates, knives, forks, and spoons jingle as a festive table is being laid... And the next morning you find the long- awaited gifts from Grandfather Frost under the Christmas tree. Any other time of the year you get candies and cakes from Brer Rabbit, Mom says. So why was he replaced by Grandfather Frost before New Year and what did Brer Rabbit do off duty? I have never found out.

However, my implicit belief in Grandfather Frost received a shattering blow at an early stage. This is what happened. We had an early morning party on New Year’s Eve at the day care center. The senior age group did it, of course. It went by standard scenarios: most of the boys wearing Brer Rabbit costumes (consisting of black shorts, white socks, shirt, and long cardboard ears on an elastic string). The girls were dressed up as Snow Flakes. And of course Grandfather Frost and his real Snow Maiden. Around the Christmas tree were dances and all sorts of games. In a word, a real holiday. After the party my father and I were walking down the stairs and I saw Grandfather Frost walking up the stairs. He was big and handsome, with a red nose and rich white beard. A good winter magician. Then he stopped and asked Dad:

“Sorry, you got a smoke?”

“Sure. Here.”

Gratefully, he stuck a cigarette in his mouth, under the cotton mustache, then reached under his coat for a box of matches, revealing a pair of dirty pants. Oh my! Grandfather Frost smoked! I was disappointed beyond description.

There were other, even more disillusioning experiences. A friend of mine said their Grandfather Frost came to the day care center drunk. Totally oblivious of his mission, he sat under the Christmas tree and started telling parents dirty jokes. The kids just stood and gaped. What about us? What about your magic tricks? Finally, the woman instructor went out of her stupor and said, “Well, children, Grandfather Frost is apparently tired after a long trip. Let him rest awhile and we will recite our poems for him.” By the time the third kid stumbled through his lines Grandfather Frost was asleep, head bent and snoring softly.

Actually, I also played Grandfather Frost as a student. The director of our student drama group staged several New Year performances at schools. I am tall and my voice is loud and clear, so I was assigned the role. We got the costumes and other props at the local House of Culture where we rented the premises. The beard had a strong mothball odor and the coat was tight under the arms, but the sack looked large and impressive, considering that handing out gifts was not part of the scenario.

The performances boasted several numbers, with only one addressing the occasion, so Grandfather Frost and the Snow Maiden had to read rhymed lines to connect the numbers. The lines were written overnight and held little value by way of poetry. Here is an example: Grandfather Frost, have you
brought us gifts?
Sorry, no gifts for you.
There is something else instead.
Just a little secret, see?
I’ll place it under the Christmas
tree,
Amidst the pine needles that fell
off.

(The part about the needles was added to increase the poetic effect, but more often than not the firs delivered on such occasions lost most of theirs needles before they were set up and decorated) When I’m done you all will see
The reason I placed it under the
Christmas tree!

After that I would pull off a trick with a handkerchief and a handful of balls that would miraculously appear from the hankie. The balls were attached to a thin wire and the trick was good only when viewed up front, at a distance. The first performance was at a school cafeteria, the children forming a close and eager circle. Sure enough, those standing aside and behind saw everything and for them there was no trick at all. For the rest it was pure magic!

Our next rendition was called Red Riding Hood on New Year’s Eve. When the music started we discovered that the Big Bad Wolf was missing (later it transpired that he got the sequence wrong and went out for a smoke). The hasty replacement was not sure about the lines, although his growl was much louder and more terrifying.

However, our tough luck reached its peak during a prize-winning musical game (a weak attempt to stage the newly popular television show Guess that Tune). After the emcee cheerfully explained the rules we discovered that there was something wrong with the playback unit of the tape recorder kindly lent us by the school superintendent. The kind of “music” it produced was totally unidentifiable. Finally, the emcee picked his guitar, but he played off-key. Strangely, the performance ended with applause.

We washed off the makeup, changed, packed up the props, and walked out of the school. It was dark and snowflakes were slowly drifting through the frosty air. Gloomily, we lit our Prima cigarettes. A little girl, a first grader, walking past with her mother, pulled her by the sleeve.

“Mom, did you see?”

“What?”

“The clowns! They’re smoking!”

Yet there was no disappointment in her voice. Rather, the girl was happy. She would tell everybody that she had seen real clowns smoke. Suddenly we felt much better. We realized that we had made our debut after all.