The Night Of La Befana
by
Sierra Sutherwinds
It had been a bad day so far. Walking in the snow was not enough; now Newkirk had to brave the storm through a small forest. He was tired and chilled to the bone, and a blinding headache was slowing him down. He would have called off this mission if it were up to him. Nothing ever went as planned, ever.
Newkirk blinked, trying to clear his vision but his eyes were too teary to focus on anything. Suddenly, he saw a light that little by little took the form of a cabin. He hesitated, wondering whether he should leave the road to ask for help. Cabins in the forest never were as safe as they seemed. Of course, there was no choice, a creepy cabin in the forest was his only chance to survive a snowstorm that was growing by the minute.
His hands were so numb that he could hardly feel the door when he knocked. The door opened immediately.
"Cosa c'è? Sono di fretta."
The person at the door was blurred and the voice sounded distant, but Newkirk guessed this was a woman, not too young, not too old. He gasped. "I'm sorry… I don't understand. Speak English by any chance?"
"Poco… a little. Who are you?"
"I'm– I'm so tired…" His voice faded as his strength abandoned him altogether.
ooo
Newkirk woke up feeling warm and comfy. He was lying on a cot next to a fireplace. Someone was humming a song nearby, and there was a smell of gingerbread that soothed him. He knew he was not home, but so far this felt like the closest he had been in years. The idle moment ended when he tried to open his eyes only to realize that he was blindfolded.
"Don't si tocchi gli occhi… Eh, the eyes, don't touch." The woman's voice was nice enough to keep him calm. "Eh, it's an ice-cold cloth, for the eyes. You walked a lot in the snow?"
"All day mostly, then, the storm was–" he took a deep breath, sitting up slowly. "Anyway… thank you… You're Italian, aren't you? I didn't walk that far, surely?"
"No, you're still in Germany… I travel." He heard her place a chair next to the bed. "I visit many places. What's your name?"
"Call me Peter, and you are?"
"Call me Befana."
Newkirk had heard that name before but his mind was as blurred as his eyes. "I'm sorry I came like this, but your house was the only shelter I could find in the storm. It was almost a miracle."
She put a warm mug in his hands. "Drink. It will make you good."
"Thank you, it smells really nice." He took a sip. "How long was I unconscious?"
"Non molto, minuti."
Newkirk nodded. A few minutes was not much, but time was not on his side. The mission was still going and he was late already. "I need to go on, they're waiting for me."
"Please, don't move. Rest… They will wait for you, you'll see."
"Yeah, they always do," he chuckled and drank some more. "The Guvnor won't be too happy, though."
"Have you been good this year, Peter?"
"Beg your pardon?" He smiled at that silly question. "I don't know… that depends on who you talk to. I've never been that good, and this year? Well, it's been tough."
"Soldiers always say that." The woman stood up. "I'm sure you were a good bambino, Peter."
"That's what my mother used to say. But I'm not a boy anymore. The things I have done–" He shook his head. "Hey, how did you know I'm a soldier?" He put the mug on the floor, wondering if he had ruined his cover. "Did I talk while I was out?"
"You didn't talk. L'ho indovinato… I guessed. Young men like you don't walk alone at midnight for no reason."
Newkirk sighed. "I don't think we should talk about me anymore."
"I understand." She moved away. "Listen, you can stay as long as you need. I'm leaving now."
"Wait, you're leaving? Do you think it's wise in this weather?"
"È la vigilia dell'Epifania… Epiphany Eve, see? Children are waiting for me."
"Your children? Where are they? I'll go with you."
"No, Peter. No my children but they are everywhere."
"Everywhere?"
"Sì, everywhere." There was some rustle as if she were gathering things on a table. "Every Epiphany's Eve, I visit them with toys and candy… biscotti allo zenzero?"
"Biscotti? Oh, biscuits, gingerbread biscuits," he smiled. "But the weather… you won't get too far."
"What weather? The storm is over." He heard the door open.
Newkirk took the blindfold from his eyes and squinted. The night was clean and calm. "Blimey," he whispered. "It's a night for miracles." He put on his gloves and went to help the woman with the old wicker pannier she was packing. "Are you moving out?"
"Oh, no. It's presents and goodies for the bambini." She grabbed her broomstick and stepped outside. "You don't need to come with me. The church is not that far."
"I'm alright now, me friends can wait a bit longer." He pointed at the broomstick. "Are you going to sweep the road all the way?"
"I always take her with me," she smiled at him.
There was nothing extraordinary about this woman. If it were not for the colorful clothes, the big bag, and the broomstick, she would have blended in a crowd, and he would have never told her apart. However, there was something peculiar, or magical, about her that made her unforgettable.
She stepped outside with a small kerosene lamp, waiting for him to follow her. "Bene, let's talk while we walk." She looked at him for a moment. "Sei triste– sad… perchè?"
"Sad? No," Newkirk lifted the pannier on his shoulder. "I just– well, maybe a little. I miss home, I've been away for too long."
"E hai paura di non tornarci mai più." She nodded and translated, "You're afraid of not going back home."
Newkirk shook his head. "Every day that passes I feel more sure about that." He turned to her. "How do you know what I'm thinking? Are you guessing again?"
She smiled and kept walking. "War is not a real place. It will be over someday, like the snowstorm."
"We all hope so, I guess. Although for me, it's too late to go back home."
"Non parlare così, tu sei un bravo ragazzo."
"Would you stop saying that, you don't know me." Newkirk turned to look at the road. "Why is it so important to be good, anyway? We all do what we can… Befana…where did I hear that name before?" He stopped to look at her more carefully. The woman seemed older now, with her curly gray hair carefully gathered under a dark scarf knotted under her chin. As she leaned on her broomstick, using it as a cane to walk on the snow, she looked like a witch out of a fairytale.
Newkirk hurried to keep up with her. "I've got a friend… His name is Tony, and his father is Italian. He told me that, when he was little back in America, he didn't receive toys at Christmas like any other lad but on January 6th. There were no stories about Santa Claus and the reindeer. Instead, they talked about a witch that came at night with toys and candy for children that had been good." He turned to the woman. "Tony said the name. La Befana."
"Is that what you think I am?" She crossed the square towards the church.
Newkirk came after her. "You're not real."
The priest opened the door at that moment and welcomed the woman with a big smile.
"Benvenuta. Duvitaba que sarebbe arribata con la tempestà di neve. Sono così felice di vederla."
"E i bambini?" She went in and hugged the priest.
"Stanno già dormendo."
Newkirk put the basket on the floor, trying to understand what was going on. "Are you Italian too?"
"I am German, but I studied at the seminar in Rome. Speaking several languages is useful when we have to shelter people from different parts of Europe. The Italian children expect la Befana tonight."
"Where are they?"
"They are asleep," she smiled, opening the basket for the priest to see the toys and candy. "Ecco le caramelle, i giocattoli," then, she lifted a paper bag. "E il carbone."
"Wait, are you giving coal to the children?" Newkirk stared at the two of them.
"Oh, no. There are no mischievous children here," the priest laughed. "This is for our furnace, it's been a bitter winter."
"Of course," Newkirk smiled apologetically.
"Me ne vado adesso," she said to the priest.
"La ringrazio molto. Ci vediamo alla prossima Epifania." The priest shook hands with the woman, and then with Newkirk, and walked them to the door.
The woman adjusted her scarf and took her broomstick. "Peter, you are a good boy."
"I don't know, I used to get a lot of coal for our home in winter." He tilted his head with a mischievous grin.
She shook her head and put her hand on his shoulder to make him lean towards her. "You are a good boy," she said again and kissed him on both cheeks.
"You're not her, are you? La Befana?"
"Vai con attenzione, your friends are waiting for you."
Newkirk turned away and started to walk down the road. He dug his hands into the pockets of his coat and found that they were full of candy. He looked back, hoping the woman was still in sight, but she had already disappeared. Newkirk smiled and went on his way, biting into a gingerbread cookie.
the end.
