By Mekkin S. Perkins
Editor's Note: Mekkin Sveinsson/Perkins (IR# I652101) worked as a translator, language teacher and later wrote her own stories. The following story was published in 1960 in an anthology titled "Christmas Stories 'Round the World." For more background on Mekkin S. Perkins, read Mekkin Sveinson Perkins, the Translator, by her great-great niece, Robin Engel.
Gunnar brushed a lock of sandy hair out of his blue eyes as he ran to open the door for his mother. Christmas was coming and his mother had been downtown shopping.
“Didn’t you get a tree?” he asked.
“No Christmas tree for us this year,” his mother said. “There’s not a tree left for sale in the whole city of Reykjavík.”
At this, Gunnar’s face fell. For a moment he could not think of anything to say. “We saw the trees from Norway unloaded from the ship. There were many hundreds!” he said it last. “Mother, are you sure they have all been sold?”
“Every last one,” said Mother.
“How about the artificial trees?” asked Gunnar.
“All sold too.”
“We must get a tree somehow,” declared big sister Magga.
“Yes, we must do that,” agreed Gunnar, “or little little Olla and Arni will be heartbroken.”
“Your Uncle Helgi might help us,” suggested Mother, “but he is busy at present.”
Amma, the children’s grandmother, who sat in a corner knitting a dainty pink dress for three-year-old Olla, now spoke up. “When I was a girl,” she said, “we lived in the country. There were smoked mutton and other good things to eat at Christmas time. We were happy to get one piece of rock candy, a homemade candle, and, of course, something new to wear. But,” she finished with emphasis, "we had no Christmas tree.”
“That was a long time ago”, Magga objected. “Now everyone in Iceland has a Christmas tree.”
Gunnar was determined to get one - somehow. He put on his jacket, snatched his cap, and ran down the street, racking his brains as he went along.
Suddenly his eyes fell on a fir tree among the mountain ash in a neighbor's yard. An idea flashed into his mind and a smile came over his freckled face. He walked up to the house, rang the doorbell, and stood there twirling his cap until the lady opened the door.
“How do you do Gunnar,” she said.
“How do you do, Fru (Mrs.) Inga.” Gunnar answered her greeting politely. He hesitated for a moment. “Won’t you please sell us your fir tree?” he then pleaded. “All the trees from Norway have been sold and we have no Christmas tree.”
“I am very sorry,” Fru Inga replied. “I cannot do that. There are so few trees in Iceland now because long ago many trees were cut down and the sheep ate the little ones. If we keep on planting thousands of little trees and do not cut any down, someday we will have plenty and not need to get any from Norway. I am truly sorry,” she repeated with a kindly smile. “I cannot let you cut down my fir tree.”
The boy sighed and thanked Fru Inga politely. With bowed head, he turned around and walked slowly down the street. His brow wrinkled in a frown as he struggled to think of some other way to get a Christmas tree.
Turning the corner, he looked up suddenly and there was his Uncle Helgi’s house. At the sight of it, his mother‘s words echoed in his mind: “Your uncle Helgi might help us, but he is busy at present.” That gave Gunnar an idea. His face brightened. He broke into a run. “Uncle Helgi is busy, but if I help him, he might have time to help me,” he thought he ran along. “I won’t say a word to anyone. What a nice surprise that will be!”
At the thought he quickened his pace. He was panting when he reached his Uncle Helgi’s house and explained the plan he had in mind. “And I will run your errands if you can help me,” he promised.
The man smiled at the boy’s eagerness. “I am busy,” he admitted. “But I can find time to help you.”
“Oh thank you!” said Gunnar, much relieved.
The next few days he was busy, running his uncle’s errands as well as his own. He brought back many mysterious packages. Some were long and narrow; others, short and thick. He took them into his uncle’s shed. Then from the shed came strange sounds.
The work was finished the day before Christmas. Gunnar secretly brought his “surprise” home, put it in the living room and locked the door.
By Christmas Eve everything was ready for the feast. The whole house had been cleaned. Lights glowed in every room. There was not a dark corner to be found anywhere. Smoked mutton, laufabrauð, and other good things to eat had been prepared.
Everyone had something new to wear. Mother had a stylish new dress that came from America. Magga wore a new plaid skirt. Father and the boys had new shirts and Olla looked sweet in the new pink knitted dress. Amma had a new silk apron to wear over her black native dress.
Gunnar had a hard time keeping Olla and Arni out of the living room until after supper. They were so excited. They kept asking: “Mamma, are you sure the Christmas Goblins came down from their workshops in the mountains? Are you sure they left presents for us? We have been such good children, for so long!” Gunnar smiled to himself at their chatter. The nine Christmas Goblins! What nonsense! Only little children believed in them.
For supper there was a rice pudding full of raisins, but with only one almond hidden somewhere in it. Also the fancy fried cakes. A pitcher of juice made from the black crowberries the children had picked in the lava fields was passed around. Each person poured some of the juice over his pudding and took a piece of laufabrauð. Then they dug into the pudding and search of the almond. Who had it? They looked at one of another, wondering. Mother had placed a special present on the table for the person who found it.
For a while they ate in silence until suddenly Olla cried out: “I’ve got it! See!” She held up the almond. They gathered around and watched eagerly as Gunnar helped her take the wrappings off the present. Inside there was a bag of chocolates which the little girl proudly passed around.
After that, they were all too excited to eat. Olla and Arni kept begging Gunnar to let them see what was in the living room.
At last the great moment came. Beaming with pride, Gunnar open the living room door and stood aside.
“Oh!” they all gasped. “A tree! We have a Christmas tree after all!”
“But it’s red, not green like the trees around the house,” exclaimed Arni.
“It is just like the trees your Uncle Helgi made for us when we were children,” said Mother. “It is made of sticks, covered with red paper and fitted together.”
“Did Uncle Helgi make it?” asked Arni.
“Gunnar made it with Uncle Helgi’s help,” said Mother.
“It is beautiful!” exclaimed sister Magga.
“See the pretty lights!” shouted Olla, pointing at the flickering flames of the colored candles fastened at the flattened ends of the branches.
“And the basket!” said Arni, reaching for one of the tiny baskets of colored paper that hung here and there on the tree.
The children’s happy faces shone in the twinkling candlelight that was caught and reflected in the shiny colored balls hanging from every branch.
They ran around the tree, examining it from the top to the cross-shaped base on which stood in big letters: GLEÐILEG JÓL, meaning MERRY CHRISTMAS.
Holding hands, they danced around it until their mother made them stop. ´We must first sing our Christmas carols,” she said. And so they sang in their native tongue, Icelandic, "Silent Night, Holy Night,” and other carols.
When they had finished singing, they kissed one another on the cheek, and wished one another a Merry Christmas. Then Mother gave each of them a little paper basket off the tree. “Oh, good! Candy and raisins!” exclaimed Arni and Olla, eating some.
After that, Mother had a rare treat for them - an orange apiece. Then she passed out the presents. There was a doll for Olla, a sled for Arni, a pair of skis for Gunnar, and a book for Magga.
For a while they sat admiring their presents and gazing at the tree. Then they danced around it again and played games. Even little Olla was permitted to stay up as long as she was this one night. The lights were kept burning all night long in honor of the Child born so long ago in Bethlehem.
Olla dropped off to sleep at last and had to be carried to bed. Arni too became drowsy and went to his room.
Gunnar was determined to stay up all night. But before his eyes grew heavy. He too began to nod. At last happy, though tired, he fell asleep in his chair before the little red Christmas tree he had made with his own hands.