At least you are familiar? A house in winter is more than just a house. And 'your mother. Never leave.
Julius opened the door a bit to observe the situation. Everything was silent. Only three points of light described his house.
1. The beam sticking out from her room: projected streaks on the bathroom door upstairs. At night the wooden railing of the stairs was less secure. It seemed to warp some points and pitfalls of darkness. Would be taken against the wall, if you had come down.
2. The cloud of light the bottom of the ramp, a deep red like a pot of roasted chestnuts. It was his goal: the fireplace, but not for long now. It was late that night for the coals.
point illuminated number 3: The window next to his door. Little light to be there with all that snow hanging from the eaves. But what little was enough to make things less comfortable. He felt the eyes of an owl, neutral and static.
are buried and made creaking handle, Giulio. The crunch really seemed to flirt, now in Hell to spy. He would not be caught, but now he also ran away to pee. It had only one bathroom downstairs. He had to get off. A scale at a time. Always seemed higher. The light around the corner, afraid even to nine years.
Just put the sock on the floor of the room, leaned against the partition wall and leaned slowly. He saw a shadow and his heart faltered. But it was only Berta, who, feeling watched, she ran under the couch, in his bunk of cardboard. For the rest, no signal. The flickering shadows on the fire was constant. Taken to move toward the source of light. Between the belief and the sofa, with his pajamas and downward legs parted for the need to go to the bathroom, dragging steps, a small cowboy looking for a duel at sunset, sun in your face and shadow behind. The center of the pad was empty. Its orbits rotearono a bit 'up and down, opened the shutter and Serrano, incredulous. It was empty, oh no, no, it was empty, was empty!
Not even that year was presented. No gifts. No holidays.
was December 25, 1999. And a hot fluid and sincere drew a spot on the carpet, taking the place of childhood dreams. The research thus began. It can tolerate an oversight
once. The second is neglect. And an act of indifference on Christmas day to come to him who represents the work of Claus himself, is not like other days: it is unacceptable.
an affront.
Like when you have the tree in your house every day and drop a ball, a packet or a bit 'of golden rain. And you hang up or take the shovel to clean up, blame the cat because it is closer and blame the draft. It 's normal. It happens. However, when falls the most beautiful spots in the neighborhood, you have placed on the tree after three hours of effort, dusting off the chair when you were little, using a clothes changed (by you) and circus skills apparently unknown ... Well, when it falls that damned charming pointed star is different. You have two possibilities. Or cut the tree with a saw of his grandfather. Or throw the remaining pieces on top of the trunk, hoping that holding out on the upper branches, and then split with nonchalance for the new house: minimeteoriti more stardust.
Giulio had a similar attitude after the crime of Christmas was going to put up posters at school with a pseudo-Satanic Santa Claus filled with TNT or alternatively thought of building a package with the savings of the year and gift under the tree itself the following Christmas.
The two possibilities of which we spoke earlier with the example of tree: anger reaction soggy or fall-back (also called the response "both"). Nothing
why. He did not see other possibilities. And was determined to hate the party and all preparations great man sated and hypocritical.
was then that Matt made the difference. The genius. The superstar. Shit.
Matthew was a classmate of Julius. The first of the class. But do not tie the coconut with the teachers. Not the one who studies hard and is encouraged and praised by parents pimps. And that comes with the nose to the TV quiz. No. Well, definitely not. It really was something indescribable. It was from another planet. A monster, in every sense. She was eight years old and read Céline, Nabokov and recently spoke even of a Zizek. Nothing strange in the circle of geniuses from commercials. The great thing was that these gifted matches him as a physical prop from rugby, an insight worthy of the best Philip Marlowe character and a born provocateur, something like Cassano at the time of youth. Can you imagine a Cassano intelligent, determined and unbreakable? No? In fact it was a stuff you would not believe.
And the teachers did not believe it weds. Before entering for the first time in the Third H irony on that myth: "Yes, ok, but could it be? A smart boy who needs rules to further improve "or" will be a stimulus for us teachers, "or, referring its humble economic conditions, said "Nigerians must be like those players that lower the age to emerge: we as a discipline, we will investigate and we will stay."
Nothing could be more reckless. Fuckin, continuously corrected, humiliated, or shortly after they were forced to flee or to leave the reins of the class in the hands of little despot. Matt had sent three teachers to a psychologist, for lack of self esteem in themselves and another had tried to slap him and was taken by the wrists, immobilized by the pupil and later condemned by the Council of the Institute. The old Dean, an expert, when he pretended he was called away from class. On the morning of
January, the start of the school during the hours of physical education, just Matt's review of the comrades who did the skip, and asked, "So, little friends, what you received from Santa Claus?". Smirked which supports its claim of non-existence of the already famous grandfather red and fat and continued: "You, Michel? The videotape of the world of 1998 or that of ''82? You'll understand even if you are Italian or French? It 's a need for you to know what is your nature. Or do you want to follow my example of a reflection on features common to all languages, from which it would derive moral areas on which beat the nail in a cross-cultural vision? But maybe you're not fit to fly the nail ... "Matt said and looked at the blonde Letizia, who flushed with emotion.
Michel stood silent for a moment, then spoke with his head down: "I got a puzzle of the Smurfs."
And Matt: "Not bad. They are light blue, not disgruntled fans or Italian or French ones. It 's a first step for comparison. Braai "and gave him a pinch on the cheek.
"And you, Gigi, this year my father, and nougat 'Mamma pastiera or early?" The little fat Neapolitan
blushed red and after a short breather between clenched teeth, "Chella zompaper'te' Zieta, "Ainsctaign 'do' 'or cock!"
But Matt had passed well and had not even heard. Or he pretended not to hear. Sometimes it kept them in no account, the companions, let alone their answers. They were too, too much lower. Used them for fun, but a long preferred to focus on teachers. He was magnanimous. Anyway, that day had to end-around inspection.
He spent the last three, the cronies: Marcello, the only poorer than him, Aldo, said Alito to the swallow that mints constantly to please the girls, and clearly Giulio.
Even with the first two was a little show (for Matt), but the turning point came with Giulio. Matt introduced himself
thus: "He-he, then, is comfortable?"
"What?"
"Your new gift!"
"The m-my new reg-alo, mm ..."
"Well, yes,"
"And you how do you know what? "
" It does not take a genius is the same every year. "
Julius began to get nervous because he suspected that they knew all that was left empty-handed.
"No, no, it's different this year," he tried to escape, Giulio.
"Ah, you're grown up" with the verdict Matt on his back. Giulio
now knew that they had discovered that did not receive gifts.
He said a "yes" softly. But Matt
raged: "Do not lie, you just received a new model."
Giulio, then, confused and nervous, grimaced and wept bitterly, just as Matt would say: "A new model .... .. Chiiccooo jar. "
Everyone laughed, thinking of Julius incontinence, but also and above all to please the boss. The small tears in
shouted: "Lies, bugieee! Not true! I have two Christmases I do not receive your gifts! "
At that friends became serious and pity, and Matthias, attentive, asked," Are you serious? "
" Yes, I swear, I swear, I am exhausted, Santa Claus has betrayed me, I do not appreciate, does not deign to visit me: noooo-ho-hooo! "Singhiozzoni and chills. It was really destroy a child.
Matt, that looks serious, they came closer. But he said things like, "Shit, Santa does not exist 'but' Hmm, interesting ... We should investigate. I wonder why you neglected egalitarian. Well ... Well ... Look, why do not we work, me, you and your two trusted? "And hinted at Marcello Aldo. Certainly wanted to wander around the head of a posse, then take them around, and resume it in the lurch around. But Julius had no choice: it had obey. And that was the only way to look at the situation and try to understand. It was what he wanted. His only track. Then he wiped his nose and nodded.
For the following December would be ready, prepared for the game or joke (in the thoughts of Matthew), for the discovery (in hopes of Julius), after a year of investigations.
And so it was. The three different stories and testimonies gathered pards and delivered from time to time in Matthew, who opened a dossier on the case. Julius thought that, thanks to the skills of its head, that was not the usual indaginetta the Cartoon Network, such as to who has kidnapped Santa Claus and stuff like that. And perhaps it was wrong. Thanks to him, the three friends have finally been able to not where, when or why comes, but who the fuck is Santa Claus!
Hoh!
The search was finally started. The deal was sanctioned. And above the broken winter warning: they come out of their cozy little houses (or Marcello sacristy / orphanage where he lived-friendly in the strictest sense of the term) for a limestone area alien to them. To enter the realm of deep snow, the holly, the night without sleep. The white and opaque region belonging to the man they sought. The information
gradually increased.
The dossier included a diary of the discoveries made every day. [The summer section, among other things, was phenomenal: Mattia added even sketches with the expression of respondents, who flip-flops, Hawaiian shirts and with ice in his hand asking for information they felt in polar sun. Wait stuff.]
Plus pages attached were more technical and culturally prestigious. There was
binder with newspaper clippings and poems about St. Nicholas and St. Claus, just to get an idea of \u200b\u200bwhat they thought on the subject even poets and journalists. Although the categories were uninformed, because far from the ultimate road-rumors, an impression is always a witness. And the signing of important matters a lot.
Mail to a higher rung of importance, was the word citizen of the priest, rarely, if appointed Santa Claus would certainly say that his information was worth. It was not a saint any. From the words of the priest had learned as the jurisdiction of Santa, made up of equally big heart and in December expanded the brave and fat down for centuries in the field next to the divine Triad. Indeed, in the night between 24 and 25, seemed almost climb in ranking the three pillars and take the reins of universal empire. Temporarily. As a "good tyrant" who makes the deck for the good of the community. Why has broad shoulders. It deserves respect. Yes, respect: that they too were beginning to understand. Except Julie: If you did not receive gifts for two Christmases in a row, there is no pulpit or paternalistic morality tale that takes, though softened by ingenious parables. But what the baby was cheated shared the idea that Santa Claus was a big shot, in every sense. An untouchable. It would have been easy to track.
They, in response, intensified the investigation, asking, reading and reasoning. The most important part for Matt, that is literary history, was impressive, with hundreds and hundreds of pages from the newspaper or the library, read and underlined. They examined the origins and evolution of the myth, reconstructing the journeys of the Old and in every country in the world by coming to terms with the Dutch colonies, changes in the look, homes located in areas where ice, goblins crazies but loyal to duty, god orb, Coca Cola and plots, letters and songs written with the feet, the smell of incense and high-altitude breeze, red cheeks, jute bags, colors, colors, colors.
Gradually the children seemed to be lulled by these fantasies. Maybe it just had to believe? They had to say yes and pray and do good? Although Alito's father suspected that his wife had betrayed him to light a fireplace and then, in retaliation, had placed in the room a huge neon sign that made him look like Christmas decorations from pub signs? Although Matt did not have the humility to make the crib? Although Marcello could have a Christmas tree (semispoglio) only as tenants of the church in the house for the poor? And even if Julius had not received gifts from two years without reason and without being able to discuss the problem with mom and dad because they were listening, engaged and fast?
Yes, maybe just had to believe and that's it. Why? Because it was beautiful. Why read several times Christmas Carol by Dickens, all together in their basement-department, made them feel united, equal, peaceful. Matt even gave them to speak and sometimes even listening to them. Alito did not eat mints. Marcello did not fit in the finger nervously jacket laundry. Julius did not pee your pants. And then came the cold and before returning to sleep unsheathe Christmas anecdotes, updates, jokes pressures on Santa, that even if stupid and repeated them laugh.
is ripe in December continued the hunt no more (a lot) to know the truth, because only live for some more 'magical atmosphere, which made them happy as never before.
But the survey, unfortunately, is a form of cruel reasoning: it must reach a conclusion. And they followed the route almost without realizing it.
One afternoon they found Matthew in their base, sitting beside a small campfire. He would not tell stories or folklore exotic as usual. He burned the material. It spared only the best clues. He had made a selection. The others seemed to agree.
only three roads travel:
1) go to ask questions of the bearded fat man who lived in carton of Linden Street and fully reflects the iconography of Christmas: "Perhaps he has a double life like superheroes," said Alito,
2) rely on the myth that seemed to them best: that of Saint Nicholas of Myra (later of Bari), patron and donor, and then go to the Duomo in Puglia to extract traces from the past;
3) go to department stores and make a row mileage taking punches to the children rivals-a real tight-knit gang-finally to embrace the Big Belly in his chair and raised, thanks to a quick questionnaire to see if he was the original Santa Claus or a publicity stunt.
The second thought was ruled out immediately: the idea of \u200b\u200bgoing to dust off relics encrusted certainly did not accord with their idea of \u200b\u200bthe holiday season. It was an action by Halloween. Contrast sharply with the atmosphere so beloved of Christmas.
Then they took into consideration the two remaining possibilities. But once met the tramp coat, his stench of alcohol in a flash he dismissed the thought that that guy could have a second identity. Scaldabudella with everything in the body, if he were Santa Claus, still partially lit the first fire in which he had slipped he would do a bang! No. No. Of course it was not him.
remained the runway at the supermarket. To think that the real Santa cuddling children in their own town and nowhere else was not great. But why discard it? You never know. At the bottom of that city was a discreet place. Nobody did the people's business. Except for the four of them, of course. So they decided to act.
was on the 24th, late afternoon: the last day when the Father of the stores dispensed gifts. Each invented a small excuse to go out tasks, chores, mints or alms for the church were just fine. They found themselves in front of their shelter. The final papers were thrown into the trash first. What to do? That was the end of the race. The last cartridge. Could focus only on cold-blooded, warm hands and timing. They moved in unison. Advanced
air of twilight winter in a town so small it be free if you pay attention to your surroundings. The grass at the roadside trying to emerge timid on ice and asphalt: mash and grow stronger. The first shadows are never all the same: they look notorious knights that stand out compared to the unformed infantry that come later, with the pitch dark. The smoke of chimneys pouring into the street and the smell of a warm assurance that, in the air infinite, not to disperse, is linked to others in a symphony irresistible. And then the moon, the moon lady, after a snowfall is like an ashtray which has flown the content, so empty, sad, yet comforting and inviting.
Yes, the four live that night like never before.
The road to the superstore was a lot of them but walked without difficulty, with bright eyes, ruddy cheeks and nose. They said a few words, and just to hold on. Were observed to keep inscribed the image of their childhood for as long as possible in the future. You would remember that they were a group at one time. So even
Matt was always quite friendly, sometimes even protective, not more despotic.
"Are you hungry?"
"No"
"No"
"Mm, me neither"
"I'm really a bit 'yeah, I need ..."
"No, Alito, there's no time to stop the ARCI. Eccheccazzo, not even want to kiss Santa? "
" Fuck no! Ok, Ok, let's go. But promise me we'll make it without the mint. Eh, what do you think? We'll make it right? Yes? Come on, tell me that we will know who he is, who he is, who is E'E'E-ee-'"and ended singing the phrase, to dissolve.
"Yes, we will succeed. It 's a feeling. A promise. "
The lights of the store taps could be seen already from the previous curves. When they entered, a crowd of mothers and children wrapped flocked to the center of the main store: Santa's throne. It looked like a sort of solar system entangled. A real nest.
Matt tries to assert his chili, but if you push one way, this magically fall back bounce in his place because he had no space to roll out. It was like a pudding fight.
They threatened to make the last hours in a row is empty. They decided to wait outside.
Half an hour after closing time, by which time the park was deserted, went out the back door Father Christmas. He was slightly swaying gait, like a tired but not fully happy.
surrounded him. From behind the mufflers were studying the grim air.
He promptly greeted. In its own way, "Ho-ho-hooo!".
No response. The circle tightened and Julius went inside. Was his turn to ask questions. It was just so, with everything that had combined the portaregali.
"What's your name? Who are you? "
" Ho-ho! What a question, son. But where you live, not knowing who I am? Ho-ho! "
" The questions we do us, "Matt stepped in from the circumference.
"Where do you live, you?" Continued Julie.
"Well, return home every year, always trying to stay in cool places. Should I keep in shape. I landed in this area more than once because you're really good. And then, late at night, thanks to my sled, I move. Are still the patron of all. I must play my best ecumenical-universal mission. "
Small moved his eyes to Mattia. They nodded. The answer could go. Perhaps it was telling lies.
's voice was talking about sudden and warm, "and bring gifts to all-all from here? But how do you do? "
" I told you, my sled does wonders. And do not forget any names, my assistants use the latest database. We could also scrolls. It is now a breeze. We are a consolidated team. " Before Santa seemed to enjoy, now his tone had become mixed.
Julius stepped forward. He unrolled the scarf, slowly, like a belt. His eyes were swollen with tears.
"You're a liar," he said. "There are two Christmases that overlooks my house. I have not done anything. I have not done anything to anyone. I am a good child. Or at least I thought so. Because ... "and pulled up the nose" ... because I do this? "Santa Claus
froze. The beard, white and dark hushed, almost imperceptibly shuddered. He started to speak, but thought better of it. Then shooting said: "Well, enough! Here the games ... I take them and they told me. We have joked too "and waved a nervous start.
Then Matt moved sideways, hands in his pockets and wool beret, calatissimo, which touched eyelashes. "You do not move from here." It was a rather cold tone, but betrayed the intention to defend the wounded friend. "You're not who you claim."
Santa Claus pushed him and the two men pulling on a hint of a fight by a penny. The others ranged
seams with excitement.
Since the end of the road came a authoritative voice: "What the fuck are you doing there?"
was a cop in uniform along with a colleague, and another that appears like this: the guard at the supermarket.
came running, and the guardian, a friend of Daddy, Matt tried to pull away. They put his elbow on the Adam's apple and put pressure to push forward to the man in red. He wanted to expose him. The police tackled him but he dragged them along. Santa grabbed the velvet on his shoulder. The old, red in the face, neck stretched back because he wanted his beard to remain intact. But there came the big hand of Matthew. The boy collapsed under the weight forward of the soldiers who had on the rump. A tumble general showed the audience a little cartoon skit: a shapeless heap of bodies, almost all overweight, had shattered the thin layer of snow and ice that covered the asphalt of the parking lot. The lance
jumped up to wipe his uniform and began to recompose the scene. In fact, he set standing even watch, and then the captain, with gun in his hand the other hand tugging Matt, telling him: "Get up, finally you have found."
And turning to the officer: "This guy was a colleague of ours. He was working undercover, to the south. One really good. After killing some-right-leaders of a local gang, seems to have escaped in the throes of an existential crisis. It seems it regretted the violence inflicted on others and tired of being alone. But shit! But that alone? But we're not your friends? What you did was to fight crime! For the Corps! You must be proud. Do not resist. It is not right to refuse a gift of the general, if it has already ordered. E 'lack of respect for him and the State, your guardian and protector. Come on, pick the stain and then decide what to do. We entrust with new cases or, if you really want, you give a supply for a year and a new identity. As long as their choice, "and jerked his head bent forward and arms back. While the handcuffs snapped, Julius and others thought that the history of African players that change the age. But it did not feel cheated or betrayed. Before the eyes of Matt proud and melancholy feel a lump in my throat and, perhaps for the first time, took a good-cop quell'ex that even in the class had managed to give up his tough guy image. Had mind is sincere. Her companions greatly appreciated.
Then they saw that Santa hardly get up from the ground, bruised but younger looking. There was something strange about him. A
yards away, in fact, lying under the feet of Matt a fake beard.
Julie noticed her eyes and laid back about Santa Claus.
Then he knelt and he remained undecided whether to cry or make a bit there 'without jar of pee. Instead he spoke: "But how can this be?"
Even his friends seemed paralyzed history: Marcello arms tight to the cold, Aldo open mouth to replace some breath mints with cold.
The man in red touched his chin and looked down. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry. Mom and I work and work but collect little or nothing. So I chose this job stupid. I hate all this rigamarole, you know. And I wish you many gifts. But in the last two years, even mom had to move several times and manage a company house costs, yes, it costs, too. Deliver gifts to all and not to you it is humiliating, I realize only now. But we thought of having to spend more to ensure a future, a more forward, instead of a present made of sweeteners. We thought I had already figured out, I had become great, but it was perhaps only one of our excuses for not maintaining the guilty conscience. Sorry, my son. "
The child looked at him long. They said it in so many. His skepticism suddenly collapsed. His father was Santa Claus. Simple and amazing.
Yet even then he did not understand until the end that behavior. Not for this could be considered immature. In fact, despite what had happened was sad and ridiculous, now that father forgave frustrated and sincere. And even thought of wanting so much to her mother. The image in front of the house waiting for them, in thought. Christmas, the real one, was suddenly upon us.
His father promised to leave the job they hated. He promised that he would try to take care of this another of his son. And nothing else. Why Christmas was that day, not in subsequent years.
So they walked back home, for the first time as a father and son, while the cops loaded on Matthew Gazelle.
What would become of their classmate more representative? They did not know. But goodbye to the window, where a boy was just too old then failed to mature, upside down, having fun. In fact, his phrases like "Comrades, you pretend to play together, but in a few years will be the usual assholes that pull water to their mill only" or "you will be the Impaler's already lifeless body of the collective consciousness", well, those sentences were disgusted given way to a sincere smile behind glass. Looking at their expressions understood to have found friends. It was happy.
They noticed that he had begun to snow. The flakes came down slow and careful. The country seemed like a crystal ball in which he had restored the balance between the home and the outside world, between the fireplace as a central uterus and white swirls of heights, now distant memory. The village was now at peace. Two close-knit bagpipes played behind the hills. The ribbons showed protection, no longer necessary. The sky was muted and docile. Everything, even the Christmas songs played and echoed, was full of purity. The research was behind as the winter of hearts. Enchantment spell now. There was joy to others times in the air. An unforgettable landscape of the soul.
A sweet finale, Christmas in every way.
Finale by convention, as always.
fact no one knew what made the guys in the future. If an employee or other bomber became president or first lady or itinerant fruit seller. Or whether they remained in contact with, or died at thirty or went to live far away. By necessity or by choice.
What you knew that winter is that Julie, Matthew, Alito and Marcello reached a delicate balance between consciousness and youth, maturity and happiness. Probably would not happen again. Unless the search for the real Santa Claus had not given Take them two gifts with her, oddly matched: unity and independence. Perhaps, after all those failures and mishaps, they would be kept a bit 'longer.
In part they had already accepted those gifts. And yes, only nine to ten years, childhood for them was truly over. As a wave of snow that had kept them afloat and transported too long, unique and merciful.
Now they had learned to cover up and float.
I write this story because it reminds me of something.
too, are now dressed in red velvet and white flannel. I was part of a group. Now I work alone, except for the clerks-elves at the mall. But that group, that of this history will never forget. Fri
I write also so that you, my children, you deserve a gift. All
.
For two reasons: 1
. that, since there insignificant, not even think to take educational odyssey that threatens to lose their jobs in winter stores, which I like very much;
2. because even if you were bad, a story always costs less than coal.
And then, children, Christmas, what the heck. We're all good.
Welcome home.
desirable. Copyright © 2010 Gianmarco
Galuppo
-Among low helpless houses- 
he moved. He put a hand on the back of his chair and pulled her to him, while taking a leap forward, in particular point. He looked at his feet ... 
"Boy, you have a light?" He spoke in Italian, but the focus was slightly montaganese. 
He thought the last time you gave a sneak peek at the TV. And it was enough. Yes, of course, the boobs of Miss Italy and Roberta Capua-finally resurfaced, he did not mind really, but had decided to declare thinker. And to do everything possible to be convinced. An immortal, the only Highlander Plains, it wanted to be. The first of Foggia and then easily around the world would understand his choice. So in the autumn of 2012 had begun to peek in the butt of his kids and sometimes even pigeons. Haruspicy, future and "I know" had become his daily bread. Paradise minutes from his service rendered to humanity. Peeling knowledge. If he had someone really interested in which to transmit, its predictions were translated into such terrible news to lose his smile even in the crazy race of dog Muttley Hannah-Barbera, they were so dark and hopeless. If realized, every day. That morning, sunny but humid, a few months after the beginning of his work as a clairvoyant, good old Pasquale had found at hand and had only a talpetta got to keep his small intestines. To see if anything changed for the better. Among other things, Pasquale was only able to "see" through a fucking mole orba poor unfortunate. But he had the gift. And here's what he saw. By becoming 
The mullah was going to the winner. He raised his finger, up, up high, for the blessing. Pasquale 