The little boy was crouching on the floor and rummaging through an old box, out of which he managed to claim various oddities, including a sewing silk roll, a twisted wagon and a silver star.

What is this? He asked and held the star high up in the air.

The kitchen machinery was buzzing and from the TV, you could hear men screaming and shots falling. In front of the kitchen, the little city helicoptors were moving carefully up and down. The little boy got up and went to look at the star more closely under the neon light. The star seemed to be made out of some  kind of fiberglass.

What is this? He asked, once again. Excuse me, the mother said on the phone, the child is annoying me and I will call you back later. She put down the handset and looked around, saying: that is a star. But stars are round, said the little boy.

Show me, said the mother and took the star from the boy. It is the Christmas star, she said. A what? asked the child. I’ve had it, yelled the man on the television screen and threw his gun at the mirror, causing a great din. The mother pressed a button, silencing the noise and extinguishing the picture.

Something from former times, she said into the silence. From a celebration. What kind of celebration was it? asked the litttle boy. A boring one, said the mother quickly. The entire family would stand in the living area around the tree, singing songs or the songs would come from the television and the family would listen.

Why around a tree? asked the little boy. It doesn’t grow in the room. Yes it did, said the mother, on a certain day in the year. It was a fir tree that was decorated with burning lights or little bulbs and on its branches, colorful globes and glittering chains were hung.

That cannot be true, said the child. Yes, said the mother, and the star was fastened on the top of the tree. It was supposed to recall the star the shepherds followed until they found little Jesus in his crib. The little Jesus, said the child in a fit, now what is that supposed to be?

That I will tell you another time, said the mother, remembering the old story somewhat vaguely. But the boy did not want to hear at all about the shepherds and the crib. He was only interested in the tree that grew in the room and that was decorated so crazily with burning lights or little bulbs. That must have been a beautiful celebration, he said after a while.

No, said the mother. It was boring. All were afraid of it and happy once it was over. They could hardly await the day the decoration was removed from the Christmas tree and it could be placed outside of the door all scrawny and bare. After saying this, the mother stretched out her hand for the television remote.

Now the Mars pilots are coming, she said. But I do not want to see the Mars pilots, said the boy. I want a tree and I want to know what happened to the little blahblah. It was, said the mother involuntarily, during the time of the Emperor Augustus when the entire world was being valued.

But then she became frightened and was silent again. Was it supposed to happen again from the beginning, starting with the hope and the love and then ending with the indifference and the fear? First comes the joy and then the incapability to enjoy, culminating with the paying off of the debt? No, she thought, oh no.

And thus she opened the lid of the garbage chute and gave her son the star. Look at how old it is, she said, and how unsightly and yellowed it has become. You can throw it down the chute and watch it as long as you can see it. The child dedicated himself to this new game with all of his eagerness.

He threw the star down the chute, laughing while it disappeared. But, after the doorbell rang and his mother stepped out and came back, the child was still bent over the chute. I still see it, he whispered, it gleams and is still there.

Marie Luise Kaschnitz (1901 – 1974)