St. Nicholas and his Helpers, pt. 2
1646 Words
“Mariyka! Look what I got!” Taras exclaims as he displays his gift bag to me.
I smile at his infectious joy, reminded of those days when I would get a mandarin and a chocolate coin for St. Nicholas day or a chocolate “Dyed Moroz” as the announcers would say during the New Years television specials airing “Live! From! Moscow!”
But, my baba has banned the mention of “Dyed Moroz” or “Did Moroz” in our household, trying to prioritize the new Ukrainian St. Nicholas for 7 year old Taras. The tantrum he threw that first “official” Ukrainian New Year’s echoed throughout the entire apartment building as my grandma banned the man who gave gifts to him on New Years:
“You don’t need Dyed Moroz anymore, Tarasyku!”
“But why not?” he cried on the floor, his face red with tears.
“Because Dyed Moroz kidn*pped Svyatiy Mykolay when I was a little girl so that he could take his place!” She whispered, as though she was telling him a secret that nobody else had heard.
“Why would he do that, baba?”
“Because he did not want to work hard to earn his place in the hearts of children like Svyatiy Mykolay did. He was a lazy man who only wanted the glory of Svyatiy Mykolay without putting in any effort? Do YOU want to get presents from such a lazy man who pretends to be somebody that he’s not?”
“No! I don’t want to work for such a bad guy!”
“Exactly! Plus, the presents from Svyatiy Mykolay are holy since he got them from God. But, the presents that Dyed Moroz got were from the grain that the devil and his friends stole from my parents and the rest of their village, leaving them with nothing to eat.”
“What happened to them?” He asked with concern.
“Many of them went to Heaven, to be with God. Even my big sister who I never got to meet,” she said with teary eyes.
“Since Svyatiy Mykolay is back, does that mean that the devil is gone?”
“Unfortunately, he is not, Tarasyku. God and Svyatiy Mykolay have been able to fight their way back into our lives and give us strength, but they haven’t been able to get rid of the devil and his friends for good.”
“But why? Is the devil strong?”
“The devil is only strong because we let him be strong. That’s why some of your friends will still be getting presents from Dyed Moroz, because it’s hard to change and do the right thing when you’ve been taught to believe that the wrong thing is the right thing to do.”
“So does that mean that my friends are bad?” he asked.
“They’re not bad, they just haven’t learned.”
“I can teach them and be a hero just like Svyatiy Mykolay!”
“You can try, but it won’t be easy. They won’t like you for telling them the truth and will bully you for doing the right thing. Even the kids and teachers who agree with you won’t help because they don’t want to be bullied for saying something different either.”
“So I just have to be quiet and let them do the wrong thing?” he asked.
“You can tell them, but do not be disappointed if some of them don’t want to listen. It takes time for people to change.”
I wonder if Baba would think that Santa Claus is evil? Then again, he’s American. We can just tell Taras that Santa is a good friend of Svyatiy Mykolay, who helped him get back home.
“He got me a car!” exclaims Taras as he opens his gift.
“Wow! Are you ready to go home and play with it?” I ask him as I eye the exit.
“Not yet! I want you to meet Druh Andriy! He’s the one who teaches my rij every Saturday and told Podruha Anya to make me the narrator because my Ukrainian is the best!
“Do you see him anywhere so we can say bye to him and wish him a happy holiday?”
“No! He was here before the performance started, but he wasn’t with us when I sat down with my class!”
I noticed a table selling coffee, sweets and raffle tickets near the entrance of the hall.
“What if we got some sweets while we wait to see if he shows up. Maybe he left early?”
“I don’t think he’d do that! None of the podruhy and druhy are allowed to just leave while they’re supposed to be watching us. That’s irresponsible and goes against the rules of this organization.”
You’d think I was talking to a lawyer the way that my brother talks for his age. But, he’s a nice boy who believes in morals. He’ll learn that not everyone follows those morals when he’s older.
“Anyway, I still think we should go and buy some sweets. Mama and Tato would like some sweets. And we can try hot cocoa! Haven’t you always wanted to try that?”
“Mama and Tato didn’t even come to watch me perform. Why should they get sweets?” he sulks as he looks down at his shoes.
I sigh and try not to sulk with him because I’m the adult here and he needs to appreciate everything our parents do for him and me, “You know our parents are working hard to make money so that we can live a good life.”
“I know, but Saturdays are for resting!”
“They are, but people like to eat at restaurants on the weekends and someone has to make that food or deliver the food to the grocery store.”
He is silent afterwards and we go to get the treats. People start to leave after the children get presents and Svyatiy Mykolay starts to leave as well.
“I guess we can see him next week,” I tell him, hoping he’s not too disappointed.
“No! He has to be here! He wouldn’t just leave,” he says as tears start to form in his eyes.
I prepare myself for the speech I have to give to console him when a blonde woman in her 30s walks past us and my brother stops her.
“Podruha Anya! Do you know where Druh Andriy is?”
The woman looks shocked at his desperation, but I quickly interject, “I’m sorry. He just wants to say goodbye and wish his counselor a happy holiday. I’m his sister, Maria.”
“Oh!” she says as her face grows into a smile, “You’re Taras’s big sister! We’ve heard so much about you! You always come to bring him here and pick him up each Saturday. How have the past few months living here been for you?”
“New and overwhelming! It’s so different here compared to Ukrayina*,” I tell her.
“I can imagine. My parents felt the same way when they first came here from Germany in the 50s,”
“So do you know where he is?” Taras interrupts.
“Taras! Watch your manners or Svyatiy Mykolay will take your presents away from you!” I exclaim.
“Sorry! I got distracted by the small talk. He should be backstage, but I’d wait for-”
Taras starts running toward the backstage door before she can even finish her sentence, and I apologize to her as she shakes her head with a laugh, something that my teachers in Ukraine would never do.
“Taras! Do you want to go on timeout?” I yell after him as he opens the door and runs through the back stairs leading to a room near the stage. The door is closed and before I can stop him, he opens it to reveal a bearded St. Nicholas in a t-shirt and jeans.
“Svyatiy Mykolay! What are you doing here? Do you know where Druh Andriy is?”
“Oh! Yes!” he stutters nervously and quickly changes to a deeper voice, “He just left to get me something before I leave, little Tarasyk!”
“Ok! Why are you wearing a t-shirt and jeans though?”
“Because, I like to dress up in the clothes of everyday humans, so that I can better blend in and help them in their daily lives.”
“So will Druh Andriy come back right now?”
“Yes! But I just need to close this door so that God’s magic can take effect and I could leave.”
“Goodbye then! Thank you for the car!” Taras says as he closes the door.
“Of course! Happy Holidays!”
“Bye!” I say, confused and amazed at this whole situation.
It takes 30 seconds before the door opens to reveal a young man, about my age, with chestnut curls and dark grey eyes. First he locks eyes with Taras, and then his eyes land on mine, his mouth rounding into an “o” shape as though he had just realized something as soon as he saw me.
Why does he look so familiar?
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Glossary:
Dyed Moroz - A Russian version of St. Nicholas that was introduced to people during the Soviet Union as a replacement for the religious figure
Druh - a male counselor, translates to "friend" in Ukrainian
Podruha - a female counselor, translates to "friend" in Ukrainian
Mama - "Mother" in Ukrainian
Tato - "Father" in Ukrainian
Ukrayina - "Ukraine" in Ukrainian
- Writer
