Christmas Eve

The wounded evening fell behind the hill, its blue wing hanging limp and its golden beak half open.  The nest of night was empty, except for a sprinkling of stars and the shiny egg of the moon.  Feathers fluttered a mournful evensong.

            Tall, silver guarumo trees watched each other like ghosts in the darkness.  The thick breeze, cold and dank, moved the branches in the clear spaces of the sky.  The damp air left the shapes of things glistening and wet and the smells of the earth rose up to the sky.  Crickets scraped their legs together, polishing the silence. 

            A fistful of light came from the door of the run-down shack. The hunched-over shadows of the inhabitants slithered onto the porch.  The dog settled himself in the doorway.

            Little by little, the moon filled the night with beautiful light.  The houses of the village could be seen from the porch.  Here and there a candle appeared on the street.  In the old bell tower, the moon settled in and chimed merrily and now and then, bright fireworks pierced the stretched tent of the sky, whistling and crackling.

            The mother wrapped her shawl around her and went out, her two children following behind.  Tina was eleven, thin and round-bellied.  Nacho was around five: chubby, whiney, disheveled and runny-nosed.  His shirt hung just shy of his belly-button.  His mother pulled him along, tripping and with his mouth open and wiping his nose.  They walked down to the main road and headed toward town.

            They walked and walked, without a word, making their way down the dusty road that had skin like a snake, with patches of light and shadow.  Bulls walked through the fields, pushing through the solitude with their bellowing.  As they passed by "La Canoga," opposite Mr. Tito's place, the light from the open door fell on them, blinding them, and they heard the laughter of a guitar.  They walked by in single file.  They walked and walked.  It was Christmas Eve, so there would be midnight mass; and word had gone around that Father Peraza was going to give presents to the children after the sermon.  Tina and Nacho had never owned a toy.  They played dolls with tree branches dressed in corn husks; they played store in a hollowed-out log; they used corncobs to play cops and robbers and gourds for ball games.  They walked and walked. Their skinny dog followed them, a sorry-looking creature coughing and dragging her tail.  They could hear the drum and the horn that accompanied the town's festivities.  They turned a corner and there was the town; from the church steeple the clock like an eye with two lashes frowned at them and watched them until they turned toward the plaza.

            There were things for sale; it smelled of smoke and liquor and firecrackers.  The doorway to the atrium was festooned with palm branches and chains of colored paper.  The horn and the drum accompanied the festivities. 

*

            Miss Lola stopped them on the steps.

            "Did you come for the gifts, Ulalia?"

            "Well, yes . . . ."

            "Hurry up, then, if you want to get something for the children.  The priest is almost finished."

            The mother pulled her train along, looking for the priest; she walked down the side aisle and pressed into the crowd of parents and children waiting for presents.  The noise was deafening.  People were laughing and shoving.

            Ulalia pushed her way through.  Finally, she found herself before the black-robed belly of the priest.  She heard trumpets, she heard bells and music boxes.

            "And who are you?  You're not from here, are you?"

            "No, Father, I'm from the valley."

            "Hum . . . Your kids haven't come to catechism classes, have they?

            "No, Sir, we live so far away . . . . "

            "Hum . . . !  None for you, none for you.  Did you hear?  None for you.  Next, who's next?

*

            A light was shining from the top of the hill.  Ulalia walked home.  With her hoarse, tired voice, she said, "Come on, Nacho, hurry up!"

            Tina pulled him along.  Nachito said, "What about the toys, Mama?"  His shirt fell just shy of his belly button.  He was sniffling.  In the distance, the river tumbled through the ravine.  The black arms of the trees waved their fists at the sky.

            "Come on, Nachito, hurry up!"

            "What about the toys, Mama?"

            As they passed by Mr. Tito's place the light from the open door fell on them and they heard the laughter of a guitar.