Nazy interrupted. “Maybe he’s talking, Dan, but I wish he’d shut up and turn on the tree. I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Why does he insist on speaking Dutch?”
“Nazy, he’s speaking in English.”
“Really? I can’t understand it, crowd noise is drowning him out. What’s he talking about?”
“He’s thanking the Norwegian Ambassador for the tree donation.”
“In English?”
Just then the tree lights appeared. Everyone cheered. I lifted Melika over the crowd to see the tree. We began to surge forward for a better look. The crowd burst into song - in Dutch.
Darius was beside himself. It wasn’t easy, there simply wasn’t enough room.
“What kind of a tradition is this, Dad? We sit on a crowded train, we stand in the freezing rain, we see Zwarte Piet from Spain...”
“Darius! You’re real pain. Do not make a rhyme again.”
“Yeah, Dad. Well what’s traditional about this?”
“It reminds me of a famous Christmas story, Darius. Remember the Grinch and ‘all the Whos down in Whoville?’ We’re the Who Family.”
“We’re not the Who family, we’re the crazy family.”
On the train ride back to The Hague, I sat with Melika. I asked her about her Christmas wish list.
“I just want one thing, Daddy. A live, real cat.”
“A cat? Uh.. You have an allergy to cats, Melika.”
“We need a cat, Daddy. It won’t be Christmas without a cat.”
“A cat is a very complicated gift, Melika. What else would you like?”
“I don’t want anything else, just a cat.”
“Did you like the tree lighting ceremony?”
“It was too crowded.”
“Just like your Waldo books, eh? Would you like a Waldo book for Christmas? What’s the name of the newest Waldo book?”
“It’s ‘Where’s Waldo’s Cat?’ Daddy.”
We finally entered the home stretch. Nazy was really worried - a week before Christmas and not a present was bought and to the wish list, we gave not a thought. Nazy was convinced that we’d never get everything done. I, on the other hand, was not worried. All of Nazy’s worries could be resolved by shopping and buying. With Nazy on my team, there was little doubt of success. And so - we hit the streets.
The final week went quickly, but not without another discussion with Darius.
“She wants a cat, Dad. If she doesn’t get a cat she’s going to cry.”
“Darius, that’s ridiculous. No one cries on Christmas morning. There are lots of things that she wants. Don’t worry.”
“Is she going to get a cat?”
“Darius. She’s allergic to cats. Mitra is allergic to cats. You’re allergic to cats. Mom is allergic to cats. Do you want to make the whole family sick?”
“We need a miracle, Dad. She really wants a cat.”
“Did Melika ask you to talk to me, Darius?”
And so the feline discussions continued. The miracle, however, occurred before Christmas. Melika made the announcement.
“Daddy! Mitra’s in the kitchen.”
“So what, Melika? That’s where we eat.”
“She’s cooking, Daddy.”
“Cooking? Mitra? Are you sure?”
“Mitra’s in there cooking, Daddy. Do we have to eat it?”
“Eat what, Melika?”
“Whatever she’s making. Do we have to eat it?”
It was completely out of character for Mitra. Melika quickly collected Nazy and Darius. We all tip-toed to the kitchen door and peered in. It was amazing. There she was - actually cooking. It wasn’t a complete miracle, she wasn’t cleaning.
“Do you want me to go in and find out what’s up, Dan?” Nazy whispered.
“Please, Nazy. And see if she’s feeling okay.”
“I’m not eating anything Mitra cooks, Dad. You can’t make me.”
“Darius, calm down. I don’t remember Mitra ever cooking anything. What are you worried about?”
“Remember the bread she made in Hanover, Dad? We had to borrow Chris Sachs’ chain saw.”
“You’re right, Darius. We’ll be careful.”
Nazy came back out. The rest of the family was huddled in the hall - awaiting the news.
“She’s just in the Christmas spirit. She’s making cookies.”
“I’m not eating it, Dad.”
“That’s enough, Darius. Let’s listen to what your mother has to say. If she’s making cookies, why has she sliced all those tomatoes?”
“It’s a special recipe. I talked her out of using the grated turnips.”
“I’m not eating that stuff, Dad.”
The family was treated to Mitra-prepared culinary delights for the next several days. Cookies that were eaten with a spoon. Gingerbread pavement slabs. A disintegrating cake. The kitchen was a perpetual mess but everybody bravely tried the wonders.
There were a few minor problems. Christmas dinner - prepared by Nazy - came ‘sans salt’. Mitra had disposed of that and any other useful condiment.
Finally, Christmas Eve arrived. Melika was despondent and abnormally quiet. She had had a long discussion with Nazy about ‘cats’. Nazy, on the other hand, was feeling good. Every necessary gift had been acquired. I had never been worried.
