LITMIR.BIZ

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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...

      It was coming down on the heads and hats of people asking information to the coachmen of the parked cab,

      in that rough night out, near Ladurée House.

      In the meantime in the glittering salon,

      Madame Tussauds and Rev. Dumas

      had already decided on where and how

      little Jean Baptiste

      would spend his first Christmas.

      - The orphanage?! ... Oh my God, Madame! ... And you, Mr. Reverend! ... Christ! ... That's a terrible place!

      Mary Jane had so voiced her anger, which was now unstoppable.

       You should tell your daughter she ought to not use the Lord's name in vain!

      Rev. Dumas promptly replied with

      this catchphrase.

        And you, Reverend Father... Shouldn’t you do good deeds?

      The beautiful and brave little girl said with a trembling and fearful voice.

       Mary Jane, shut up! Go to your room! Nooooow!!!

      Madame Tussauds blurted out, possibly becoming more

      ugly than usual and red as a pepper.

      Mary Jane, although little, was well acquainted with the nastiness and pettiness of the adoptive Stepmother...

      So in a heartbeat, she grabbed the cradle

      and ran out!

      She ran breathless as fast as she could,

      towards the light of the Full Moon.

      She ran a long time, without knowing

      where to go and not knowing what to do,

      nor why she had done

      that gesture so clumsy and stupid.

      The snow was still falling in white and quilted big flakes, as dancers for a music box overturned in the sky.

      Dancers who, with their skirts, cover and swell

      of a kind of bridal white

      all the roofs and the streets of Paris.

      So, in this story, in this long night,

      there are still white flakes of white snow falling incessantly and creating an unbreakable and inexplicable connection

      between Mary Jane’s and

      Jane Baptist’s hearts.

      Exactly this connection, which arises from

      a past lived at the orphanage for her,

      and a future snatched to the orphanage for Jean Baptiste.

      Exactly this connection set out

      under the light snowflakes

      shortly before Christmas in Paris.

      This unique and unspoken connection,

      this embrace as fugitives.

      Like a flake

      tightened in this strange story,

      it was author of a great little miracle.

      On that night like two fugitives,

      they found shelter in a barn, a stable,

      among cows and lots of animals.

      Clear is that the little girl did not know what to do. For the cold and for feeding the little Jean Baptiste, but above all she did not know how to make him stop crying and screaming!

      So, a bit for the cold and a bit for

      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

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