It was Christmas Eve and while it was still early afternoon, with the heavy clouds now lying low and everyone\u2019s excitement buzzing like bolts of energy, the twinkling lights had begun to glow in the shops\u2019 windows, on the eaves, hung in trees, tucked around door frames, or even adorning the houses of the village. As the wait for Christmas was nearly over and winter still had a long time ahead, mostly feasts and holidays, the cheer was barely contained.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
Children, laud and laughing, were twice as excited rushing indoors, their noses aimed for the kitchens, their mouths watering, dreaming of that Christmas feast \u2013 while their eyes darted around searching for clues of hidden presents. Others were panting up the hill, behind the church, where sleighs had already left the prints of a week\u2019s fun. A sprinkle of last-minute shoppers scurried through the market, while chatter and laughter permeated the air.
Father Carp, the old carpenter, bundled in a vest of sheep\u2019s skin adorned with embroideries that once were bright, green trees and blue stars, a gift from his long-departed wife, stepped outside his shop stomping his feet, pulling a heavy snow shovel behind. The path along his antique shop was clean, cleaned it himself that morning, nevertheless, he was out again, looking up and down the street, taking in the cheer and the merriment, the movement of people, the sight of togetherness. Listening to their laughter, even catching a whiff of baking \u2013 that brought back memories of past Christmases when his dear wife was still with him, and not with God, and their children were still young and needy, and not departed in foreign countries. Life seemed to have gone by like a snowflake.
Father Carp exhaled, his large carpenter shoulders dropped, and the lines around his eyes, the proof of many days filled with laughter, now sagged a little more. Still, content with his dry road, he returned indoors with a firm step, set the pot for tea, and went to his bookshelf. A few volumes were left, the ones his children didn\u2019t need. He reached for a leather-bound one, rather old and stained around the corners, and opened it to a place his hands knew well. Tonight he\u2019ll read to himself alone the story of Christmas as the Bible told it.
He read, following the words with his eyes, the story with his heart. He read and he sighed, heavier as the tale went on, and as always when he read about the birth of Jesus he remembered his young family at the beginning of his life when he, too, was a young man and struggled under responsibilities, and felt sorry for Mary and Joseph who had to settle for a manger.
\u201cI would have offered them shelter,\u201d he whispered, \u201cI would have offered them food, and swaddled the baby in the shawl made by the loving hands of my beloved wife\u2026 But what gift could I possibly offer Him?\u201d The old man looked around his room, at the pots on the shelves, the row of books, the frames on the wall, and the blankets on the bed. His carpenter tools had been long tucked away. There wasn\u2019t a thing he deemed valuable enough, special enough for the Son of God. When his eyes stopped on a wooden box. He knew the box well, for he had carved it with his hands for a special girl with a heart of gold before he had even decided to marry her but his heart knew that he will. Back then his hands were strong and sure and when they held the carpenter\u2019s tools magic happened.
He got up from his chair, quicker and easier than usual for his heart was beating faster, excitement brimming, the lines around his eyes flourishing again. With both hands, he picked up the box and set it on the table. His calloused fingers traced the carvings on top, two doves and two hearts, silent wish and prayer for a peaceful and long-lasting marriage. He had to pull the lid a little to open it, the wood stuck to the box over time and the expanding of fibers. A familiar, dear scent reached his nostrils. The old man shut his eyes and held still willing his heart to steady, and his vision to clear.
On top of letters he knew word for word and of an embroidered handkerchief stained by time and tears of love lay a dried rosebud, perfectly preserved, and a tiny pair of baby shoes. The knitting was a little stretched after it warmed the toes of three generations of newborns, but it was still soft, still holding together, like his hands had held the tiny feet minutes after they\u2019d been born as he placed the knitted shoes on. These, these will be a fine gift for a newborn he thought, and, returning the box to its place of honor he resumed his reading.
The street fell silent. The room was long quiet, only the sound of paper rustling and stirring the shadows, the memories, and the heavy breathing of old Father Carp. Until the sounds became more and more regular, until the soothing whisper of paper ceased too, the heavy book dropped, as the old man was deep asleep.
Outside, the town was asleep too and dreams and wishes swirled around it, on wings of frigid winds.
Then, a sudden bump against the front door jolted the old man awake.
What, he\u2019d fallen asleep in his chair again? What would his darling wife say about it? She wouldn\u2019t approve for sure. If she would still be around. But if she\u2019d still be around, she\u2019d see that he sleeps in bed.
Father Carp rubbed his hands over his face nearly bumping over his glasses in the process, when a new bump, followed by a knock, stirred him wide awake.
\u201cI shovel snow for a smile and a crust of bread,\u201d said a voice.
\u201cWhat, on Christmas morning?\u201d said Father Carp opening his door. Outside stood a familiar face; skin stretched over cheekbones that seemed to float on a body so thin, it disappeared completely inside a hand-me-down, oversized coat. A broom that had seen better days stood beside him. Boxes, the street sweeper who also recycled papers and loved the empty boxes.
Father Carp looked at his clean road, then at the toothless grin. Behind him, the village stretched empty on this bright sunny morning, everyone still indoors, sharing presents and making new memories with their loved ones. While here, on the threshold between an empty, dry home and a sunny but nippy morning stood two men, each one alone, and each one in need of company this Christmas morning.
Father Carp took a step back and invited Boxes inside. The skinny figure took a tentative step and then froze, his shoulders drawn in, his eyes large. A soft whimper came through. Father Carp looked a question at him.
\u201cThank you. Thank you,\u201d was all Boxes could say. Father Carp showed his unexpected guest to the table. But the man paused by the hearth, stretching out his hands and rubbing them together. It made a rustling noise, pressing dry skin against dry skin. Steam was lifting slowly from his chilled coat.
Father Carp took the woolly throw from the bed. It felt soft against his skin. A faint scent of violets touched his nose and he almost, almost felt his wife\u2019s soft hand cupping his cheek. But instead of hugging the old shawl as he usually did, he wrapped it around his visitor\u2019s shoulders. A sob shook the skinny figure.
\u201cThank you,\u201d said Boxes again. \u201cI haven\u2019t been inside a home in a long time, a very long time.\u201d
\u201cYou are now,\u201d said Father Carp.
The tea was ready, a cup already steaming, held tight against the visitor\u2019s wheezing chest and thick slices of sweet bread generously spread with butter filled his plate when another bump, and a whimper, came from outside the front door.
Father Carp placed his hands on his knees to aid himself stand, craning his neck towards the old shop window. What could it be this time? He wasn\u2019t expecting anyone this Christmas morning.
Boxes offered to have a look-see, but Father Carp simply placed his hand on his shoulder. \u201cSit,\u201d he said with a smile feeling thin bones that seemed to crackle and crumble beneath his solid touch.
Father Carp opened the door with a smile. Whoever it was, he\u2019ll welcome him inside. A cold draft grabbed at his ankles and slapped his face.
At first, all he saw was the empty street, festive with the bright snow and the lights still gleaming up and down the road. A snowman decorated with a scarf waved at him from across the road. Then a shadow caught his eye, almost hidden by his door frame. A girl, not taller than his elbow, leaned against the door frame, a bundle pressed against her chest.
\u201cI\u2019ll clean, cook, stitch,\u201d she whispered, a wisp of steam, barely visible, lifting from her lips. Father Carp had to lean closer, the woman\u2019s voice barely audible, \u201cFor milk, for my babe.\u201d Only then did Father Carp notice the babe wrapped in a thin shawl. The girl sank deeper against the door frame, her arms nearly offering him her bundle, her eyes watching him with immense sadness, reminding him of the eyes of the Madonna statue in the church. How many times had he gazed into them, seeking solace after the departure of his children? After the death of his beloved wife?
Father Carp offered his steady arm to the girl, helping her over the threshold. They just made it inside when the girl collapsed, Boxes coming forward just in time to catch the bundle and wrap her in the shawl that had kept him warm.
\u201cI\u2019ll warm up milk for the babe,\u201d said Father Carp at once.
\u2018I\u2019ll sweeten some tea for the girl,\u201d said Boxes.
The room was now buzzing with activity, with scents and sounds. It was coming alive the way it had been so many times before. The sun was high enough now that it spilled through the open shutters dusting Boxes with gold light as he sat on his knees near the chair; the girl crumpled upon it, a lavender shawl draped over her. The babe, pressed against Father Carp\u2019s chest.
The sun\u2019s glow caressed the tiny, round face and gilded the rosy cheeks. And then, still succumbed to sleep and warm in the old man\u2019s arms, the babe smiled at a thought that amused her. An inner tickle, and as innocent as her sleeping face; perhaps the feeling of safety, or the sweet, buttery scent of milk rising from the stove. Father Carp felt his cheeks stretch the way they haven\u2019t in a long time. A warm feeling spread across his chest, expanding to his heart. His eyes steamed while his lips curled up, and as he looked across the room at the young mother who brought him this unexpected Christmas gift of simple joy, and at Boxes who had brought him the gift of human company, Father Carp felt grateful for this unexpected, but thought-after Christmas gift.
Father Carp reached for the wooden box and removed the knitted shoes. Then slowly, with gestures long forgotten, he pulled them over the tiny feet.
The babe, so young, so much closer to the Creator than any of them had been in a long time, and even then only through prayers, had brought them all forth, through her sacred smile and her need for protection from all those surrounding her. So that together they can make, and share new memories.
The babe\u2019s smile seemed to go viral around the room that Christmas morning while on a shelf old memories contained in letters and a dried-up rose slept in a carved wooden box.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Copyright \u00a9 Patricia Furstenberg. All Rights Reserved.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Era devreme, \u00eentr-o dup\u0103 amiaz\u0103 de Ajun de Cr\u0103ciun, totu\u015fi cu norii at\u00e2rn\u00e2nd greoi \u015fi cu bucuria molipsitoare care pusese stap\u00e2nire pe \u00eentregul or\u0103\u015fel, s\u0103rind de jur \u00eemprejur precum sc\u00e2nteile, ghirlandele de becule\u0163e erau deja aprinse \u015fi sclipeau din vitrinele magazinelor, de pe sub stre\u015fini, ag\u0103\u0163ate prin copaci, chiar \u00eenfr\u0103m\u00e2nd ferestrele care d\u0103deau la strad\u0103. Cum a\u015fteptarea Cr\u0103ciunului era aproape gata, iar iarna se profila lung\u0103, cu bel\u015fug de zile de vacan\u0163\u0103 \u015fi mese s\u0103rb\u0103tore\u015fti, bucuria tuturor pur \u015fi simplu c\u0103 se rev\u0103rsa \u00een strad\u0103.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Zarva si r\u00e2setele copiilor r\u0103sunau de pe str\u0103zi, copilandrii g\u0103sind mereu motive s\u0103 mai trag\u0103 din c\u00e2nd \u00een c\u00e2nd c\u00e2te-o fug\u0103 \u00een cas\u0103, adulmec\u00e2nd mirosurile din bucat\u0103rie care deja le l\u0103sau gura ap\u0103, mijindu-\u0219i ochii \u0219i vis\u00e2nd la o mas\u0103 de Cr\u0103ciun pe cinste. \u00cen timp ce mintea le fugea la lista de cadouri trimis\u0103 Mo\u0219ului, \u00een speran\u021ba c\u0103 vor \u00eenc\u0103pea, toate, sub brad. Al\u021bii g\u00e2f\u00e2iau, lu\u00e2nd din nou \u00een piept dealul din spatele bisericii, \u00eenh\u0103ma\u021bi la s\u0103niu\u021be, ochind un loc nenoroios de pe p\u00e2rtia veche de-o s\u0103pt\u0103m\u00e2n\u0103. O m\u00e2n\u0103 de cump\u0103r\u0103tori \u00eent\u00e2rzia\u021bi fugeau \u00een zig zag printre magazine, \u00een timp ce zarva \u0219i r\u00e2setele at\u00e2rnau peste ora\u0219 ca o cea\u021ba poleit\u0103 de str\u0103lucirea Cr\u0103ciunului. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u015f T\u00e2mplar, poreclit astfel dup\u0103 meseria cu care se m\u00e2ndrise o via\u021b\u0103 \u00eentreag\u0103, pe c\u00e2nd traiul, ca \u0219i lucrurile, aveau ca scop tr\u0103inicia, ie\u0219i \u00een strad\u0103 \u00eencins cu o curea peste vesta din blan\u0103 de oaie (care \u0219i ea, tot odat\u0103, fusese decorat\u0103 cu copaci verzi, tineri, \u0219i stelu\u021be albastre brodate de m\u00e2inile \u00eendem\u00e2naticei sale so\u021bii). Mo\u015f T\u00e2mplar ie\u0219i \u00een fa\u021ba pr\u0103v\u0103liei cu o lopat\u0103 zdrav\u0103n\u0103 \u00een m\u00e2n\u0103 \u0219i-\u0219i izbi bocancii de asfaltul \u00eenghetat, dar curat. Ochii \u00eei fugir\u0103 de-a lungul str\u0103zii la veselia \u0219i chiotele celorlal\u021bi, la grupurile de oameni care \u00eemp\u0103rt\u0103\u0219eau bucuria sezonului. Trase cu urechea la valurile de r\u00e2s, adulmec\u0103 aroma de cozonac proasp\u0103t copt, \u0219i uite a\u0219a \u00eel n\u0103padir\u0103 amintirile, amintiri despre Cr\u0103ciunuri demult trecute, c\u00e2nd draga lui, so\u021bia lui, mai era l\u00e2ng\u0103 el \u0219i nu dus\u0103 la Domnul \u0219i c\u00e2nd copiii lor mai erau mici \u0219i neputiincio\u0219i, \u0219i nu pleca\u021bi prin \u021b\u0103ri str\u0103ine. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Uite cum trecu via\u021ba, cum trecur\u0103 zilele, precum un fulg de nea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u015f T\u00e2mplar oft\u0103, umerii odat\u0103 puternici parc\u0103 se surpar\u0103 \u0219i mai mult, iar liniile din jurul ochilor, semne ale unor zile pline de veselie, se ad\u00e2ncir\u0103 \u0219i ele. Totu\u0219i, mul\u021bumit cu bucata lui de asfalt curat, se re\u00e2ntoarse \u00een pr\u0103v\u0103lie cu un pas ap\u0103sat \u0219i puse ibricul de-un ceai. Apoi se opri \u00een dreptul raftului cu c\u0103r\u021bi. Dintre pu\u021binele volume ce-i mai r\u0103m\u0103seser\u0103 \u0219i de care copiii nu avur\u0103 trebui\u021b\u0103 alese unul \u00eenvelit \u00een piele, cam veche si cam tocit\u0103 pe la col\u021buri. M\u00e2inile-i deschiser\u0103 cartea de unele singure. \u00cen seara aceasta va citi o poveste de Cr\u0103ciun, a\u0219a cum doar Biblia \u0219tia s\u0103 o \u0219opteasc\u0103.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Citi, urm\u0103rind cuvintele cu ochii, inima-i cunosc\u00e2nd povestea pe de rost. Citi \u0219i oft\u0103, \u0219i din ce citea, din aia ofta mai greu. \u0218i ca \u00eentotdeauna c\u00e2nd citea despre na\u0219tere lui Iisus \u00ee\u0219i aminti de familia lui c\u0103nd fusese odat\u0103 t\u00e2n\u0103r\u0103, de timpul de la \u00eenceputul vie\u021bii lor c\u00e2nd \u0219i el era un cap de familie la \u00eenceput de drum, lupt\u00e2ndu-se cu noile responsabilit\u0103\u021bi, multe neb\u0103nuite, \u0219i \u00eei p\u0103ru r\u0103u pentru Maria \u0219i Iosif care au trebuit s\u0103 se mul\u021bumeasc\u0103 cu o iesle. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eLe-a\u0219 fi oferit ad\u0103post,\u201d zise, \u201eMi-a\u0219 fi \u00eemp\u0103r\u021bit m\u00e2ncarea cu ei, \u0219i a\u0219 fi \u00eenf\u0103\u0219at Pruncul \u00een cuvertura cro\u0219etat\u0103 de m\u00e2inile bl\u00e2nde ale iubitei mele so\u021bii. Dar oare ce cadou a\u0219 fi putut eu s\u0103 \u00eei ofer Lui?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n B\u0103tr\u00e2nul se uit\u0103 de jur \u00eemprejur, la oalele aliniate pe rafturi, la r\u00e2ndul de c\u0103r\u021bi, la fotografiile de pe pere\u021bi, la p\u0103turile \u00eemp\u0103turite, a\u0219ezate frumos pe pat. La uneltele lui vechi, de t\u00e2mplar, pe care nu le mai ridicase de mult\u0103 vreme. \u0218i nu v\u0103zu nimic demn de Fiul lui Dumnezeu. C\u00e2nd privirea i se opri pe o cutie de lemn. O \u0219tia ca pe m\u00e2inile lui. \u00ce\u0219i aminti cum o sculptase pentru o fat\u0103 special\u0103, cu inim\u0103 de aur, chiar \u00eenainte de a se hot\u0103r\u00e2 s\u0103 o cear\u0103 de nevast\u0103. Dar inima lui pesemne c\u0103 deja \u0219tiuse c\u0103 ea era aleasa. Pe atunci m\u00e2inile nu-i tremurau, iar c\u00e2nd apuca uneltele de t\u00e2mpl\u0103rit ap\u0103reau tot felul de lucuri miraculoase.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Se ridic\u0103 cu u\u0219urin\u021b\u0103 din fotoliu, c\u0103ci \u00eei b\u0103tea inima de fericire \u0219i p\u00e2n\u0103 \u0219i cutele din jurul ochilor \u00eenflorir\u0103 din nou. Cu ambele m\u00e2ini, c\u0103ci nu avea \u00eencredere doar \u00een una, apuc\u0103 cutia \u0219i o a\u0219ez\u0103 pe mas\u0103. Degetele lui artritice m\u00e2ng\u00e2iar\u0103 decora\u021biunile de pe capac, doi porubei \u0219i dou\u0103 inimi, o rug\u0103ciune f\u0103cut\u0103 \u00een t\u0103cere pentru o c\u0103s\u0103torie lung\u0103, binecuv\u00e2ntat\u0103 cu iubire \u0219i \u00een\u021belegere. Trebui sa for\u021beze capacul un pic, s\u0103-l fac\u0103 s\u0103 joace, deh, lemnul se umflase cu vremea, \u0219i se \u00een\u021bepenise.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Un parfum venit din trecut, un parfum care odat\u0103 \u00eensemnase sigura\u021ba unui c\u0103min fericit, \u00eel \u00eenconjur\u0103. B\u0103tr\u00e2nul \u00eenchise ochii a\u0219tept\u00e2nd s\u0103 i se lini\u0219teasc\u0103 b\u0103t\u0103ile inimii. S\u0103 i se limpezeasc\u0103 vederea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Deasupra unui teanc de scrisori pe care le \u0219tia pe de rost \u0219i al unei batiste cu broderii cusute de m\u00e2n\u0103, p\u0103tat\u0103 un pic de vreme \u0219i de c\u00e2teva lacrimi, l\u00e2ng\u0103 un trandafir uscat, se afla o pereche de boto\u0219ei de bebelu\u0219. Ochiurile cro\u0219etate se l\u0103rgiser\u0103 un pic dup\u0103 ce fuseser\u0103 purtate de trei genera\u021bii de prunci, dar l\u00e2na era \u00eenc\u0103 moale, \u00eenc\u0103 \u00ee\u0219i men\u021binea forma \u0219i \u00eenca \u021binea de cald ; \u00eei sim\u021bea vii \u00een palma care odata \u021binuse \u0219i picioaru\u0219ele copiilor lui, dup\u0103 ce se n\u0103scuser\u0103, c\u00e2nd el, el cu m\u00e2inile lui b\u0103t\u0103torite le pusese boto\u0219eii s\u0103 le \u021bin\u0103 de cald. S\u0103 \u0219tie c\u0103 au ajuns \u00eentr-o lume unde o s\u0103 le fie bine. Fusese promisiunea lui t\u0103cut\u0103 c\u0103tre pruncii lui. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Da, acesta ar fi un dar demn de pruncul Iisus, se g\u00e2ndi mo\u0219ul, apoi puse cutia \u00eenapoi pe raft, la loc de onoare, \u0219i se re\u00e2ntoarse la cartea lui.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Strada se lini\u0219tise. Camera lui se lini\u0219tise demult, doar fo\u0219netul paginilor care st\u00e2rneau amintiri \u0219i umbre \u0219i respira\u021bia grea a lui Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar se mai auzeau. P\u00e2na c\u00e2nd zgomotele se aliniar\u0103, c\u0103zura \u00eentr-un ritm, p\u00e2n\u0103 c\u00e2nd fo\u0219netul paginilor \u00eencet\u0103, cartea cea grea alunec\u0103 \u00eentr-o r\u00e2n\u0103, l\u00e2ng\u0103 mo\u0219ul care adormise \u0219i el.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Afar\u0103 ora\u0219ul dormea, iar visele si dorin\u021bele se ridicar\u0103 \u0219i se r\u0103sucir\u0103 de jur \u00eemprejurul locului, purtate de v\u00e2nturile friguroase ale iernii.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Apoi, o bubuitur\u0103 nea\u0219teptat\u0103 \u00een u\u0219a de la intrare \u00eel trezi brusc pe Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Cum, a adormit din nou in fotoliu ? Oare ce-ar fi spus draga lui nevast\u0103 de a\u0219a o p\u0103\u021banie? Sigur nu ar fi aprobat fapta lui. Dac\u0103 ar mai fi fost prin preajm\u0103. Dar dac-ar mai fi tr\u0103it l\u00e2ng\u0103 el ar fi v\u0103zut ca el s\u0103 doarm\u0103 \u00een pat, ca to\u021bi oamenii.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar se frec\u0103 la ochi \u0219i mai c\u0103-i c\u0103zur\u0103 ochelarii de pe frunte c\u00e2nd \u00eenc\u0103 o bubuial\u0103, urmat\u0103 de un cioc\u0103nit u\u0219or, r\u0103sunar\u0103 \u0219i \u00eel trezir\u0103 de-a binelea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eCur\u0103\u021b z\u0103pada pentru un z\u00e2mbet \u0219i o bucat\u0103 de p\u00e2ine,\u201d zise cineva.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eCum, \u00een Ziua de Cr\u0103ciun ?\u201d se mir\u0103 Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar deschiz\u00e2nd u\u0219a. \u00cen prag \u00eel \u00eent\u00e2mpin\u0103 o figur\u0103 bine-cunoscut\u0103. Pielea \u00eentins\u0103 peste ni\u0219te obraji proeminen\u021bi \u0219i un cap care parc\u0103 plutea deasupra unui corp at\u00e2t de sl\u0103b\u0103nog c\u0103 disp\u0103rea cu totul \u00eentr-un palton prea mare, \u0219i el de c\u0103p\u0103tat. Ceva ce fusese odat\u0103 o m\u0103tur\u0103 \u00eei \u021binea companie. Zis \u0219i \u201eB\u0103i, Cutie,\u201d \u00een pragul u\u0219ii st\u0103tea m\u0103turatorul str\u0103zii care totodat\u0103 aduna \u0219i maculatura, cu o preferin\u021b\u0103 pentru ambalajele de carton.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar arunc\u0103 un ochi spre asfaltul lui curat, apoi se \u00eentoarse spre r\u00e2njetul f\u0103r\u0103 de din\u021bi care parc\u0103 plutea \u00een fa\u021ba lui. Strada era cufundat\u0103 \u00een lini\u0219te, \u0219i \u00eenc\u0103 pustie in acea diminea\u021b\u0103 sclipitoare. Toat\u0103 lumea era \u00eenc\u0103 \u00een cas\u0103, poate sub p\u0103turi c\u0103lduroase, \u00eemp\u0103r\u021bind z\u00e2mbete \u0219i cadouri \u0219i cre\u00e2nd amintiri noi \u00eempreun\u0103 cu cei dragi. \u00cen timp ce aici, pe pragul unei case prea mari pentru un suflet, \u0219i acela singur, \u0219i al unei dimine\u021bi \u00eensorite, dar a naibii de geroase, st\u0103teau doi oameni, fiecare la fel de singur, \u0219i fiecare dorindu-\u0219i s\u0103 \u00eempart\u0103 ziua de Cr\u0103ciun cu cineva.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar se trase de-o parte \u0219i \u00eel pofti pe Cutie \u00een\u0103untru. Figura cea sl\u0103b\u0103noag\u0103 f\u0103cu un pas, unul mic c\u00e2t s\u0103 treac\u0103 peste prag, apoi p\u0103ru s\u0103 \u00eenghe\u021be pe loc cu umerii tra\u0219i \u00een el, \u0219i ochii mari c\u00e2t farfuriile. Un sc\u00e2ncet abia de se f\u0103cu auzit. Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar se uit\u0103 la el, \u00eentreb\u0103tor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eV\u0103 mul\u021bumesc. V\u0103 mul\u021bumesc,\u201d era tot ce Cutie putea \u00eeng\u0103ima. Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar \u00eel \u00eencuraj\u0103 pe musafir \u0219i \u00eel pofti la mas\u0103. \u00cen schimb, Cutie se opri l\u00e2ng\u0103 calorifer, \u00eentinz\u00e2ndu-\u0219i m\u00e2inile deasupra \u0219i frec\u00e2ndu-le zgomotos. Zgomotul \u00eei aminti lui Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar de un ziar uscat, f\u0103cut ghemotoc. \u00cencetul cu \u00eencetul un abur \u00eencepu a se ridica din paltonul \u00eenghe\u021bat al lui Cutie. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar ridic\u0103 un \u0219al de pe pat. \u00cel sim\u021bi moale \u0219i parfumat. Violete. De c\u00e2te ori m\u00e2ng\u00e2ia \u0219alul i se p\u0103rea c\u0103 mai atinge o dat\u0103 m\u00e2na so\u021biei sale. \u0218i \u00eenca o data. \u0218i c\u0103 mai simte m\u00e2na ei m\u00e2ng\u00e2nindu-i obrazul. Dar azi, \u00een loc s\u0103 str\u00e2ng\u0103 \u0219alul \u00een bra\u021be, \u00eel a\u0219ez\u0103 u\u0219urel peste umerii musafirului lui. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Umbra de om fu zguduit\u0103 de un hohot \u00een\u0103bu\u0219it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eV\u0103 mul\u021bumesc,\u201d zise Cutie din nou. \u201eN-am mai fost invitat \u00eentr-o cas\u0103 de foarte, foarte mult timp.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eDar e\u0219ti aici, acum,\u201d z\u00e2mbi Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Ceaiul fu gata \u00een cur\u00e2nd \u0219i o can\u0103 aburind\u0103, cu doua felii de l\u0103m\u00e2ie \u0219i mult\u0103 miere, era \u021binut\u0103 str\u00e2ns, aproape de pieptul cu o respira\u021bie \u0219uier\u0103toare, ca o armonic\u0103, al musafirului. Felii groase de cozonac cu un strat generos de unt \u00eei umpleau farfuria c\u00e2nd un alt zgomot veni dinspre u\u0219a de la intrare. Parc\u0103 ceva se izbise de ea. Ceva mic. O pas\u0103re? Cand, deodat\u0103, se auzi \u0219i un sc\u00e2ncet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar \u00ee\u0219i puse m\u00e2inile pe genunchi \u0219i se ajut\u0103 s\u0103 se ridice, \u00een timp ce ochii \u00eei fugir\u0103 spre fereastra magazinului. Oare de data aceasta ce s\u0103 fie? Doar el nu a\u0219tepta pe nimeni de Cr\u0103ciun. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Cutie se oferi s\u0103 arunce o privire afar\u0103, dar Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar \u00eei mul\u021bumi cu un simplu gest, pun\u00e2ndu-\u0219i m\u00e2na pe um\u0103rul musafirului. \u201eStai. Man\u00e2nc\u0103,\u201d zise el cu un z\u00e2mbet, dar sub m\u00e2n\u0103 sim\u021bi oasele mici \u0219i fragile care parc\u0103 st\u0103teau s\u0103 se sfar\u00e2me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar z\u00e2mbi \u0219i deschise u\u0219a. Oricine o fi, are s\u0103 \u00eel pofteasc\u0103 \u00een casa. La mas\u0103. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Un curent rece \u00eel apuc\u0103 de glezne \u0219i i se \u00eencol\u0103ci \u00een jurul piciorelor \u0219i parc\u0103 \u00eei trase \u0219i o palm\u0103.<\/p>\n\n\n\n La \u00eenceput, Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar vazu doar strada pustie, luminile vesele de Cr\u0103ciun de-a lungul str\u0103zii \u0219i z\u0103pada str\u0103lucitoare. Un om de z\u0103pad\u0103 cu un fular \u00een jurul g\u00e2tului \u00eei f\u0103cu cu m\u00e2na de peste drum. Apoi z\u0103ri o umbr\u0103, a\u0219a, cu coada ochiului. Aproape ascuns\u0103 de catul u\u0219ii. O copil\u0103 mic\u0103, nu mult peste cotul lui, se sprijinea de zid, o boccelu\u021b\u0103 str\u00e2ns\u0103 la piept. <\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eCura\u021b. Sp\u0103l. Cos,\u201d \u0219opti \u0219i un firicel de abur abia de se ridic\u0103 de pe buzele ei vinete. Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar trebui s\u0103 se aplece s\u0103 \u00eenteleag\u0103 ce \u0219opte\u0219te copila mai departe. \u201ePentru o can\u0103 de lapte, pentru copila\u0219ul meu.\u201d Abia atunci Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar observ\u0103 pruncul \u00eenvelit \u00eentr-un \u0219al zdren\u021b\u0103ros. T\u00e2n\u0103ra se prelinse parc\u0103 de-a lungul peretelui \u0219i p\u0103ru c\u0103 \u00eei ofer\u0103 lui Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar, cu ultimele puteri, pruncul ei. Ochii ei \u00eel priveau cu at\u00e2ta triste\u021be, la fel ca ochii statuii Fecioarei Maria din biseric\u0103. De cate ori nu se uitase el in ochii Preacuratei, c\u0103ut\u00e2nd-\u0219i lini\u0219tea dup\u0103 plecarea copiilor lui ? Dup\u0103 moartea so\u021biei lui iubite ?<\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar \u00eei oferi fetei bra\u021bul lui puternic, ajut\u00e2nd-o peste prag. De abia ce ajunser\u0103 \u00eenauntru c\u00e2nd fata se \u0219i pr\u0103bu\u0219i, Cutie ajung\u00e2nd la timp s\u0103 prind\u0103 pruncul pe care \u00eel \u0219i \u00eenf\u0103\u0219\u0103 \u00een \u0219alul care \u00eei \u021binuse lui de cald.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eAm s\u0103 \u00eenc\u0103lzesc lapte pentru prunc,\u201d zise Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar imediat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201eAm sa-i dau ceaiul meu copilei,\u201d zise Cutie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u0218i deodat\u0103 camera zumz\u0103ia, plin\u0103 de acitvitate, plin\u0103 de parfumuri \u0219i zgomote. Revenea la via\u021b\u0103, sclipind cum o f\u0103cuse de at\u00e2tea ori \u00een trecut. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Soarele, acum ceva mai sus pe cer, p\u0103trundea prin geamurile mari poleindu-l pe Cutie, aflat \u00een genunchi \u00een fa\u021ba scaunului, \u0219i pe t\u00e2n\u0103ra mam\u0103 a\u0219ezat\u0103 pe el, cu un \u0219al peste umeri. \u0218i pe prunc, aflat \u00een bra\u021bele puternice ale lui Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Soarele sc\u0103ld\u0103 \u00eentr-o lumin\u0103 cald\u0103 fa\u021ba mic\u0103 \u0219i rotund\u0103, \u0219i m\u00e2ng\u00e2ie cu o raz\u0103 de lumin\u0103 obr\u0103jorii roz. \u0218i atunci, \u00eenc\u0103 adormit \u0219i cald \u00een bratele b\u0103tr\u00e2nului, pruncul z\u00e2mbi la un g\u00e2nd care \u00eel amuz\u0103. O g\u00e2dil\u0103tur\u0103 l\u0103untric\u0103, dar la fel de inocent\u0103 ca \u0219i f\u0103\u021buca-i adormit\u0103. Poate c\u0103 se sim\u021bea \u00een siguran\u021b\u0103, sau poate c\u0103 era doar parfumul dulce al laptelui de pe aragaz. <\/p>\n\n\n\n Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar \u00ee\u0219i sim\u021bi obrajii \u00eentinz\u00e2ndu-se cum nu o mai f\u0103cuser\u0103 de mult timp. Un sentiment cald i se r\u0103spandi \u00een jurul pieptului \u0219i parc\u0103 \u00ee\u0219i sim\u021bi inima cresc\u00e2nd. Privirea i se aburi \u0219i col\u021burile gurii i se ridicar\u0103 \u00een timp ce se uita de jur \u00eemprejur, la t\u00e2n\u0103ra mam\u0103 care \u00eei adusese acest nea\u0219teptat cadou de Craciun, al bucuriei pure, \u0219i la Cutie, care \u0219i el \u00eei adusese surpriza companiei umane. Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar se sim\u021bi recunosc\u0103tor pentru acest neb\u0103nuit, dar mult dorit dar de Cr\u0103ciun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Atunci, Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar lu\u0103 cutia de lemn de pe raftul ei \u0219i, din\u0103nuntru, boto\u0219eii tricota\u021bi. \u00cencet, cu gesturi de mult timp uitate, trase boto\u0219ii de l\u00e2n\u0103 peste picioru\u0219ele pruncului.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Pruncul, at\u00e2t de mic, dar at\u00e2t de aproape de Creator, mult mai aproape dec\u00e2t oricare dintre ei s-a aflat de forte mult timp, \u0219i atunci doar prin rug\u0103ciune, i-a adus pe to\u021bi \u00eempreun\u0103 prin puterea z\u00e2mbetului lui pur \u0219i prin nevoia lui de protec\u021bie \u2013 din partea tuturor celor din jurul lui. Ca ei, \u00eempreun\u0103, s\u0103 poat\u0103 f\u0103uri \u0219i \u00eemp\u0103r\u021bi noi amintiri.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Z\u00e2mbetul pruncului se r\u0103sp\u00e2ndi ca o minune \u00een jurul vechii pr\u0103v\u0103lii \u00een acea dimine\u021b\u0103 de Cr\u0103ciun, \u00een timp ce pe raft amintirile vechi, un m\u0103nunchi de scrisori \u0219i un tradafir uscat, dormeau \u00eentr-o cutie din lemn decorat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Copyright \u00a9 Patricia Furstenberg. All Rights Reserved.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\nUn Dar Nea\u015fteptat de Cr\u0103ciun<\/h2>\n\n\n\n
1 \u2013 Ajun de Cr\u0103ciun<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
2 \u2013 Un Dar pentru Pruncul Iisus<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
3 \u2013 Diminea\u021ba de Cr\u0103ciun a lui Mo\u0219 T\u00e2mplar<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
4 \u2013 Un Cadou Nea<\/strong>\u015f<\/strong>teptat de Cr\u0103ciun<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
I translated and adopted this Christmas tale into Romanian for Masticadores Rumania.<\/h2>\n\n\n\n