Santa Claus
It was one of those exceptional months of May—of which there are only two or three in a lifetime—that shine with the brightness, flavor, and scent of childhood memories. It reminded her at once of her first communion and of her first spring in Barcelona, when everything was new and wonderful for her.
That spring day she felt very happy: her granddaughter had come to spend a few days with her, and with Judith everything was different—she no longer needed to look back and see the shadows of the past that had disturbed her so much.
They kept walking downhill, enjoying the last song of the little birds seeking refuge in the leafy trees, so close together that they created the feeling of an unreal pathway.
Suddenly, just a step away from her house, she froze—drawn by a distant sound, a warm breath of air, a pale smear of shadow that transported her twenty or thirty years back in time. She grew slightly afraid; it was a strange sensation, like a premonition. The girl noticed.
—Grandma… are you alright? —Yes, darling, yes, quite alright.
A little later they arrived home, and she felt so tired that she barely ate dinner. She walked her granddaughter to bed after giving her something light to eat, because—taking advantage of Grandma—she had eaten a few too many sweets. She put on Judith’s pajamas and, with a good-night kiss, tucked her in.
—Will you tell me a story, Grandma? —Judith asked with a little smile. —Of course, darling, of course I will. —Thank you, Grandma. —But tonight will be different; I’ll tell you a story that will make you very happy. —Really, Grandma? Oh, yes! —she said, excited.
—Listen, you don’t know this, but when you sleep, your toys wake up and start to play on their own. The train sets off at the cry of “All aboard!” while the winged horse flies over the meadows and mountains to your bed; it’s in charge of watching over your dreams so they stay sweet and pleasant. If it senses any danger, it alerts your toys and they all come to help you: the firefighters, the train passengers, the kittens, the puppies…
—All of them, Grandma? —Yes, all of them, my child! Even the teddy bears you love so much drop their games and come—half running, half flying—ready to help you. —Yesss! —she sighed in delight. —They do it because they know you love them very much. But now you need to fall asleep so they can play. —Yes, Grandma… I’ll fall asleep very, very quickly —she said, nervous with excitement, squeezing her eyes shut tight.
Grandma kept narrating very softly, like a whisper, while gentle Mozart played and, with the child in her arms, she drifted off until, exhausted, she too fell asleep.
Time passed—I don’t know how long. Suddenly she heard distant footsteps approaching; frightened, she woke up. For a few instants she felt the same strange sensation she’d had earlier in the street, the same warm breath of air… Her body shivered; she was afraid and clung to her granddaughter. She opened her sharp, wary eyes—and saw Santa Claus.
A few interminable seconds went by; it seemed like a dream. She smiled and, looking at Judith as if to say “good-bye,” brushed the bangs from the girl’s little eyes.
—Why do they always imagine me differently? —Santa Claus said, very annoyed, furrowing his brow.
P.S.: In my writings there are no limits between the ordinary and the extraordinary. Everything exists at the same time. Limits are a mental creation. CARLOS