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that sense of worthlessness that
humans have
for the needs of nature and life,
Mary Jane burst into tears and sobs that joined the strong ones of the newborn. Fortunately the barn was far enough away from the house inhabited
by the farmer.
STOP IT! We have to work tomorrow!
A big voice thundered.
A voice from darkness and nowhere, in the bottom of the barn where there were the cows.
Is anyone there? Is anyone down there?
The little girl’s trembling and tearful voice whispered.
More than anyone! We are a herd!
Don’t you see?
The booming voice from the darkness said.
No sir, I do not see anyone! It's dark down there!
That baby is crying because he is hungry and cold! Bring him here to us!
No! And who are you?
The blonde girl
asked curious and courageous.
There was an infinite moment of darkness and silence, while still snowing outside,
at that moment also Jean Baptiste
suddenly fell silent.
The two small hearts beat fearful and in sync, as one big heart.
I am Hélène the cow,
the white one with black spots.
I am Antonin the bay horse.
I am Fabien the black horse.
I am Geneviève the chicken.
I am Ernest the pig.
I am Faust the sheepdog.
I am Jean-Marc the rooster.
I am Cècile the black cow.
I am Geraldine the brown cow.
I am Basil the pony.
I am Ismael the bull.
I am Eloise the owl.
I am Bernhard the mouse.
I am Thomas the cat.
Stop it... Stop it! Please, I'm going crazy!!!
Mary Jane said, holding her head tight in her hands,
and her palms over her ears.
Get that baby down here, come on!
Hurry up, Mary Jane!
The cow’s gruff voice continued;
she knew the girl’s name.
The night passed in the animals’ warmth that fed Jean Baptiste and the young Mary Jane.
It fed them like puppies of the she-wolf, with the same udders of a same, single mother.
Warming them in that warmth much more than family.
That warmth called: Mother Nature!
They slept on the cows’ bellies and their huge and warm udders.
They fell asleep together,
like two newborn calves.
So that white night just before
Christmas, spent in the animal warmth and
under the starlight, it marked as a line drawn on the ground, like a street in the snow, the new life and the living path of the two innocent little hearts.
The Moon, enlightened for a quarter,
came out to a split in the stable wood, on the side where the two children were sleeping. Its clear light, like a comet star, radiated their redemptive faces.
Christmas was by now!
But the animals did not seem very interested. For them, the next morning,
it would be one morning like every other one, with the usual things of all time.
2
Meanwhile, in the luxurious Ladurée House.
Little Mary Jane’s Missing family former home, now owned by her mother’s stepsister and now adoptive stepmother... That is: Madame Tussauds,
the Gendarmerie had come,
commanded by Commissioner C. Monet.
What a something' to happen to me, a few days before Christmas,
Oh my God!
What are the neighbors going to think? What will they say about this absurd story? Damnable!
The wicked and sour Madame Tussauds, was babbling and begging loudly
to be heard by Commissioner Monet
and by Reverend Dumas.
Do you have any idea, Madame, where the children could've gone to find refuge?
Does Mary Jane have friends or relatives where she might be hiding?
Commissioner C. Monet
asked with a blank look on his face,
as if he were following one of his thoughts.
No, I have no idea! The little girl has no family or friends in the world!
Nobody’s going to stand that ungrateful little brat! If it weren’t for her poor unfortunate mother!
Madame Tussauds sighed continuing her painful recitation. Then she slowly started to talk again.
Ah! I’m too kind-hearted... I should have left her at the orphanage!
So she would have learned what
the hand feeding you means.
Then? Mary Jane is not your daughter; and whose? If I may ask?
the Commissioner inquired, attentively, following the movements of all
in the room around him.
She is the daughter of my stepsister and her husband, the infamous Count Ladurée.
My sister died of a strange and unknown debilitating illness.
Her beauty faded day by day,
she slowly went out,
as if carried away by the wind.
About the Count, I guess, you well know
the story of his diabolical madness.
The Little Girl was brought to the orphanage.
I still did not live here and when I came back, I immediately had the good heart to take the baby with me.
Madame Tussauds said, while Reverend Dumas nodded with his hands clasped in a monotonous prayer.
I'm not completely informed about this nasty story, please Madame, would you tell it to me?
And so saying the commissioner C. Monet
moved his chair and sat in wait
to hear this strange story.
- It all began with the slow death
of my adoptive stepsister.
