Sinterklaas

Of course, everyone knows about the old bearded saint on horseback.
But not everyone lived in the land where Sinterklaas feels most at home,
where children went to bed in excited anticipation of the saint's visit and gifts.
Maybe they still do.
Dec. 5, yes; and it's coming up.
And hence, this story--a recollection of sorts.

The boy lived in a land that was sometimes visited by saints.  At least one saint, anyway.  His name was St. Claus, or better known in that small northern country as Sinter Klaas.

On December 5 each year he’d come riding on his beautiful Arabian horse, his long white beard flowing down to his waist, his red robe a bright symbol of cheer under the pale winter sun.

In the daytime he would be everywhere—in parades waving at all the little children clutching their mama’s hands; in children’s hospital wards, bringing presents and telling Zwarte Piet (Black Peter), his helper, to throw an extra handful of pepernoten (gingernuts) on their beds; walking slowly on city streets, his tall staff tapping the cobblestones, his eyes always searching for children who needed a kind word.

But the young boy knew that the busiest time for Sinter Klaas came after the sun went down.  Then he would visit every home, at least the homes where children lived, where he would surprise and delight everyone with presents.  But he couldn’t get to every home before the children’s bedtime.

So, before going to bed, the young boy would fold his clothes carefully and leave them neatly by the bed.  Then, under the warm wool blankets, he would think of Sinter Klaas coming in the night, stealing softly up to his bed, pick up the pile of clothes, stuff them full of presents from his bottomless bag, and hide the clothes throughout the house.  Soon, his eyelids grew heavy, and thoughts of good things to come turned into sweet dreams of a kind old saint who didn’t rest till he had made all the children happy.

For some reason he would wake up earlier than usual the next morning.  He would look down to the floor for his clothes pile.

Nothing.

His heart jumped, for now he knew that Sinter Klaas had indeed come.  He’d be out of bed in a flash, shivering in his underwear in the unheated bedroom.  But he didn’t mind much because the most exciting adventure was ahead: finding his clothes and the surprises hidden inside.

He’d look in the kitchen first where the stove was hot and beginning to melt the frost off the windows.  Maybe Sinter Klaas had been extra kind and hidden most of his clothes in a warm place.  Yes!  He found his short pants (for young boys don’t wear long pants there) under his own chair by the kitchen table.  His hands quickly examined its contours.  There was something inside, wrapped, for it crinkled when he touched it.  He eagerly reached for it, unwrapped it before taking time to put his pants on, and hauled out a warm winter cap that would cover his ears as well as his head.

Now he was most eager to find his stockings, not only because his bare feet were getting cold, but because he knew that Sinter Klaas liked to put candy treats inside the long wool stockings that young children wore in wintertime.  After a bit of looking, he found one stocking on the kitchen shelf behind the stove.  It felt toasty warm to his fingers, but the bag of sweet licorice and piece of nougat inside made him even happier.  He quickly stepped into his stocking and continued the search for his shirt and other stocking.  He could find nothing more in the warm kitchen, so with one bare leg and no shirt he ventured back into the unheated living room.  He couldn’t find anything until at last he spotted his blue shirt wedged behind the family pump organ.  This time he took the wrapped present out and first pulled his shirt on.  Then he hurried back into the warm kitchen to open it.  He beamed when he unwrapped a tall gingerbread man.  He broke off a little piece and stuck it in his mouth, though he knew he should eat his breakfast first.  But wait, there was more!  His very own checkers set!  Wow!  Maybe he could take it over to his friend’s house to play a game.

Now there was only the one stocking left.  His toes were really cold by now, and he had to go badly.

He searched more frantically now in the unheated living room and bedroom, looking into corners, on  shelves, in drawers, in the closet, but nowhere did he find his warm stocking;

He decided he couldn’t hold it anymore—he’d have to go to the toilet first.  He slipped into his wooden shoes in the hallway, opened the door to the cowstalls, and awkwardly clomped along the gutter behind the cows that led to the inside outhouse.  He hurried in, closed the door, and then he saw the lost stocking hanging right above the toilet seat.  He stopped and stared a moment, wondering: did Sinter Klaas himself have to use the toilet during his visit?  Did saints really have to go to the bathroom too? And had he forgotten to take his stocking back inside the house?  Strange.  But then eagerness to know what was inside took over again, and for the moment he forgot why he had come here.  He snatched the stocking down, reached inside, and hauled out a small box with an H on the outside and a dark chocolate letter on the inside.  Immediately he forgave Sinter Klaas for hanging the stocking in the family outhouse.  Maybe he’d done it to be funny.  But he’d been good, for the young boy liked his presents very much—every one of them!