A Little Girl In The Middle Of Nowhere Lost Her Happy Thought

Coincidentally, the useless person doing an odd job is the one to ensure that eventually, the street lights on the road beneath that window are turned off. Where far away, he - maybe he’s the only one - can see the shape and face

of the beautiful and sad Mary Jane.

So, the last light in Paris remains lit on the landing full of snow

beyond Ladurée’s backyard...

Then there is only night and few stars in the sky.

You can make out a stealthy shadow, fast in the little and only light on. Maybe a thief beyond the gate? ... After an imperceptible second, the shadow vanishes into thin air, and

in the dark of the deep night.

To Mary Jane’s misted eyes it seemed to have bent like a caress or a kiss; she was still motionless in her strong melancholy, watching the snow falling.

Then there was only night and few fragile stars in the sky.

So, the last light in Paris remained lit on the landing full of snow, in

Ladurée’s backyard. Where now there was a cradle at the large gate, lightly resting on the soft

blanket of snow.

Inside the cradle, under a big blanket of heavy wool,

there is a child who screams, cries and

despairs; on the edge of the cradle there’s a name,

written with the painters’ bloody red:

Jane Baptiste.

The sharp crying of the newborn is like a magic flute, like an ultrasonic fluctuating and invisible call.

Lights up and awakens the other houses in the neighborhood.

It’s creating a small gathering of useless and curious people who want to know.

Even Mary Jane comes down and the guy comes up; he who switches off the street lamps with its long iron

now abandoned on the ground.

Oh God! How little is he!

Mary Jane shouted astonished, bringing her little hands on her cheeks.

Surely he was abandoned; let's get him out of the cold into the house!

Mary Jane’s stepmother falsely

ordered the housekeeper.

While she invited the priest to enter the house, looking at him with watchful and vile eyes.

Leaving out the rest of nosy neighbors.

The snow kept falling in large flakes.

Now, in the enlightened hall of the villa there were three people plus the priest and the little cradle.

They were all standing still, waiting for someone to start speaking, a task that was quickly acquitted by Madam Tussauds, resourceful and dictator, but also very scenic and theatrical.

- Insolent peasants! They creep even into

our homes to bring the evil fruit

of their sins! It’s incredible!

Isn’t it, Reverend? They have fun and then

they wash their hands!

Good lord! ... Peasants and poor people are convinced that your money can free them from their mortal sin!

Rev. Dumas said with his hands clasped in a vain prayer.

Mary Jane became all red with anger.

Don’t you think that poor people, the peasants

are just hungry? And they hope that here we could nourish and grow their son?

And who knows why and how much pain they had on abandoning him!

Mary Jane blurted out, nearly in tears,

imploring her stepmother with shining eyes,

who, however, was absorbed by a silent whisper with the priest and had not seen

nor heard the words of her stupid and hated niece, now her

little desired adoptive daughter.

In the meantime, outside it was getting snowed

stronger and the snow was coming down like a white blanket around the chatter of the curious...