La Befana and the Royal Child of Light
A tale for the Winter Solstice, in honor of the light within all children.
BY: Told by Carolyn McVickar Edwards
Excerpted from "The Return of the Light," with permission from Marlowe & Company.
La Befana is a tall old woman with a red shawl and a bent branch broom that goes sweep-swep-sweep. She lives in a thin wooden house with a round-topped door in the shadows of the dark purple mulberry trees. La Befana sweeps the mulberry leaves, sweep-swep-sweep, into piles. Crunch-crackle-crunch.
La Befana has a long nose and a hump on her back. Her hands are speckled with pale chocolate. She pins the white billow of her hair with bone combs. Befana's kitchen shelves are libraries of jars and tins. Honey, almonds, hazelnuts, and the skins of lemons and tangerines. Cloves, vanilla beans, and cinnamon. Hills of sugar and silky flours, with chipped china teacups for scoops.
Up until the winter of our story, La Befana had swept and baked for no one but herself. Sweep-swep-sweep went her broom, year after day, day after year. Spicy, doughy smells curled out of her windows as she baked: beat-bet-beat, knead-knod-knead went her hands. Clack-drack-clack went the sticks for her stove.
La Befana never spoke. People heard her noises, but they never heard her voice. At least, people could not remember the last time they had.
But one year in wintertime, when the leaves dried in yellow-brown piles, Befana had a conversation. Everyone heard her. And then, La Befana's story changed forever.
One fine morning, a strange parade marched down the mulberry street. Everyone watched, shouting and crowding at the edges of the procession. La Befana stayed inside, but she parted her curtains and stared.
She saw enormous, clopping brown beasts with knobbed knees and bumps on their backs. Cases carved with suns and crescents thumped the sides of the brown giants with each huge mincing step they took. Jewel-colored flags. Old man in red turban at the front; a younger, head in a pillow of purple, at the middle; and a third, robes green as orange tree leaves, at the rear. A boy jigging to the song of a stringed box, another shaking a belled stick with red ribbons.
La Befana is a tall old woman with a red shawl and a bent branch broom that goes sweep-swep-sweep. She lives in a thin wooden house with a round-topped door in the shadows of the dark purple mulberry trees. La Befana sweeps the mulberry leaves, sweep-swep-sweep, into piles. Crunch-crackle-crunch.
La Befana has a long nose and a hump on her back. Her hands are speckled with pale chocolate. She pins the white billow of her hair with bone combs. Befana's kitchen shelves are libraries of jars and tins. Honey, almonds, hazelnuts, and the skins of lemons and tangerines. Cloves, vanilla beans, and cinnamon. Hills of sugar and silky flours, with chipped china teacups for scoops.
Up until the winter of our story, La Befana had swept and baked for no one but herself. Sweep-swep-sweep went her broom, year after day, day after year. Spicy, doughy smells curled out of her windows as she baked: beat-bet-beat, knead-knod-knead went her hands. Clack-drack-clack went the sticks for her stove.
La Befana never spoke. People heard her noises, but they never heard her voice. At least, people could not remember the last time they had.
But one year in wintertime, when the leaves dried in yellow-brown piles, Befana had a conversation. Everyone heard her. And then, La Befana's story changed forever.
One fine morning, a strange parade marched down the mulberry street. Everyone watched, shouting and crowding at the edges of the procession. La Befana stayed inside, but she parted her curtains and stared.
She saw enormous, clopping brown beasts with knobbed knees and bumps on their backs. Cases carved with suns and crescents thumped the sides of the brown giants with each huge mincing step they took. Jewel-colored flags. Old man in red turban at the front; a younger, head in a pillow of purple, at the middle; and a third, robes green as orange tree leaves, at the rear. A boy jigging to the song of a stringed box, another shaking a belled stick with red ribbons.
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