It was Christmas Eve, a lone woman and her 12-year-old son were hiding in a little cottage during the near end of World War II, when three Americans (their enemy) knocked in their house. The mother agreed to shelter them and take care of the wounded one, Harry. Just as they were fixing the table, another knock came from the door. The son opened the door and saw the men who were wearing familiar uniforms; they were Germans who was lost and will stay then continue their trip at daylight.
The mother and son were frightened but the mother stepped outside with courage and she talked with the Germans with a calm voice. She told them that she will take them in if they will not kill each other inside.
The German corporal stared at her for seconds but she snapped out of it and ordered everyone to hand out their weapons. Both sides agreed to it and they handed out their weapons to her. While the mother and son were busy preparing for the dinner, they heard Harry moan. One of the Germans inspected the American’s wound and instructed the mother to let him rest and feed him foods with nourishment.
After the meal, both sides feel relaxed with each other and their suspicions were slowly fading. Just before midnight, they all stood up outside looking to the star of Bethlehem except for Harry who was sleeping. It was a moment of silence; the war was a distant, almost forgotten thing. Next morning, Harry drank an invigorating drink from the corporal’s wine, sugar and an egg, and everyone else had oatmeal.
Afterwards, the Americans and Germans were figuring their way out the forest and to their lines. The mother gave them all back their weapons and wished them good luck and God bless. The Germans and Americans shook their hands then went to their opposite ways.
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