The Most Beautiful Gift

by Jonathan Snow

  The boy headed for the kitchen. His parents had left a bowl of Cheerios, a jug of milk, and a note: “We’ll be home at four.” Earlier than usual, Mark thought. On the other hand, it was Christmas Eve, and offices closed early. Sitting in front of the window, Grampa Gus was examining the horizon. In his hands, he held his thriller. As he became aware of his grandson’s presence, he whirled around. “Hey, Mark, did you sleep well?”

  The boy rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, then poured the milk into his cereal bowl. “Well enough. I dreamed about an angel.”

  The old man smiled. “That’s absolutely natural. After all, today is December twenty-fourth, even if the snow doesn’t want to fall.” He sighed a long sigh. “I don’t know what I would give to see a white flake. I think I would stare at it as if it were the most precious thing on earth. In fact, Christmas without snow isn’t a real Christmas. Let’s hope that Camolino remembers to fulfill his duty.”

  Mark’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. He swallowed his milk the wrong way. He coughed for several seconds, then said, “What did you say you would do with the snowflake?”

  Grampa Gus lifted his eyes toward the sky. “I just told you: I would stare at it as if it were the most precious thing in my possession. Then I think I would throw it up high, so that it might be carried by the wind all the way to heaven, where it would remind Camolino that it was time to roll up the sleeves of his tunic.”

  The little boy didn’t make him repeat it a second time. In one leap, he was at the refrigerator. He opened the freezer door, looked inside, and … the turkey was still in its place, still gigantic, and the cranberry sauce gleamed nearby, showing off its bright red color. But the snowflake had disappeared. Actually, to tell the truth, there was only a trace of it left, a minuscule point on top of an ice cube.

  “Grampa!” Mark yelled. “My snowflake!”

  The old man got up from his seat and went over to the refrigerator. The boy was nearly in tears. “What happened?” asked Grampa Gus. “Did you lose something?”

  “Yesterday, I caught a snowflake,” Mark said between sobs. “Then I put it inside here so that it wouldn’t melt. But now …” He pointed to the ice cube with the pimple on top.

  Grampa shook his head and began to pat his grandson. “How did such an idea get into your head?”

  “I wanted to give it to the best person on earth,” continued Mark breathlessly. “So I went around asking everybody what they would do with a snowflake. But their answers were completely wrong.” A tear streamed down his cheek. “And this morning, without my even asking, you told me the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”

  The old man hugged his grandson. “Didn’t you know that the snowflake would become a chip of ice? Snow is, of course, only water.”

  “N-no,” stuttered the little boy.

  “Oh well.” Grampa shook his head. “This whole thing makes me think of an old story. I think you’d better listen to it.”

  Mark closed the freezer door, wiped his eyes, and sat down at the kitchen table. His eyes still burned, but the tears had stopped falling. Grampa sat down in front of him. His white hair was a freshly laundered cloud.

  The Story

  of the Wizard

  Buffello

  Once upon a time, in the age of princesses and dragons, there was a very skilled wizard named Buffello.

  “Well, this wizard of ours had invented everything there was to invent: the philosopher’s stone, which could transform lead into gold; the elixir of life—thanks to which, one could live three hundred or so years; Medusa’s eye, which turned flesh into stone; and a hundred love potions, a thousand remedies for gout and toothaches, as well as many other marvels. His fame extended from one end of the known earth to the other.

  “One day, he was summoned before the king. The wizard hurried to the palace, where the sovereign asked him to devise a miraculous invention: the spirit of Christmas. ‘During this season, everyone is a much better person,’ began the king. ‘The people love one another. Evil and malice do not exist. I want you to come up with a potion that will make Christmas last three hundred and sixty-five days a year.’

  “Buffello bowed to the king, returned to his laboratory, and went straight to work. He consulted his volumes on both white and black magic, but he soon realized they weren’t going to be of any help. He then began to collect herbs and other ingredients: an early fig plucked from the plant during a full moon; a mandrake root yanked from the earth on a Friday with an even-numbered date; bullfrog saliva; albino snail slime; and many other wizardly things. He threw everything into a cauldron, left it to boil for almost an entire day, and then tried out the result on himself. The first time he tasted the mixture, he turned into a pea green bat; the second time, into a Bengali tiger; the third time, into a yellow dwarf with a huge hunchback. He struggled to come up with an antidote as quickly as possible in order to return to his old self, and after several attempts, he succeeded.

  “Despite his failure, he refused to give up. He prepared another thousand potions, another hundred elixirs, but none of these produced the desired effect. On one occasion, he succeeded in ridding himself of all the calluses on his right foot—a bit of good luck, but not exactly what the king had ordered. One day, when he was feeling more desperate than usual, and was immersed in multicolored smoke and sparkling fire bursts, his grandson, Buffetto, paid him a visit. He was just a little boy, but he had a firm head on his shoulders and a tongue that could talk a mile a minute.

  “‘Grampa, what are you making?’ asked his grandson, peering into an incessantly boiling cauldron.

  “‘Leave me alone, Buffetto,’ replied the wizard as he added an azure dust to the contents of one of his test tubes. ‘If I don’t succeed in this project, the king will get very angry. He might even relieve me of my duties as court sorcerer.’

  “Buffetto took a look around him. He had never seen a laboratory in such disorder. ‘C’mon, Grampa,’ he urged. ‘What did our sovereign want you to do?’

  “‘He wanted me to create the spirit of Christmas,’ replied Buffello impatiently, ‘so that all the people will be good the whole year long, not just one day a year.’

  “Buffetto stared at his grandfather and burst out laughing. ‘Oh, but that is impossible!’

  “‘What do you mean, impossible?’ demanded the wizard, while emptying the contents of a still into a pot. ‘For me, nothing is impossible!’

  “The boy continued to laugh, then regained his breath. ‘Sure it is! It is an absurd undertaking!’

  “Buffello sat down, utterly discouraged. Maybe his grandson had a point. He had dedicated many days to his invention but—aside from curing his calluses—nothing good had come of it.

  “‘What can I do, then?’ he asked in desperation. ‘I can’t go back to the king empty-handed! He would chase me away! He might even send me into exile!’

  “Buffetto looked around him and thought about it for a few seconds. ‘There might be a way.’ He scratched his chin with the tip of his finger. ‘Now then …’

  “The next day, the wizard presented himself at the palace. He was carrying a large sack. ‘Welcome back, Buffello,’ the sovereign greeted him. ‘So, did you succeed in finding the spirit of Christmas?’

  “‘Yes, my sire, I have it right inside here,’ replied the wizard.

  “‘Good, well, what are you waiting for?’

  “Buffello nodded, clutched the sack with both hands, turned it upside down and out came … nothing! Absolutely nothing, not even a magic herb, an enchanted animal, or a chip off the philosopher’s stone.

  “‘And what does this mean?’ the king asked immediately, black in the face. Even the court chamberlain, who was near the throne, had the same dark expression. ‘Beware, if you’re playing some sort of trick on me …’

  “Buffello responded with a smile. He was thinking of the words his grandson had related to him the day before. ‘It is the spirit of Christmas, Your Majesty. In other words, nothin
g. It is something you cannot see, touch, or taste. It is something that is born here.’ He lightly tapped his chest with his forefinger. ‘In our hearts. No alchemy could create a similar marvel.’

  “‘But then …’ interjected the chamberlain. ‘Snow, mistletoe, gifts, children’s carols don’t count for anything?’

  “‘Oh yes, they count,’ replied the wizard. ‘But only on the condition that you feel happy inside. If we are not good during the year, if we behave badly, a lack of Christmas spirit is not the reason. It all depends on us, even our own happiness. A heart of ice will surely not melt in the month of December.’

  “The king remained absorbed in his thoughts for a few minutes. ‘Sire, this man has swindled us,’ whispered the chamberlain. ‘I propose that we tie him to the torture wheel, then banish him from the kingdom.’

  “‘Oh, shut up, you viper!’ the sovereign finally burst out. ‘I believe you are precisely one of those with a heart of ice.’ He lifted his scepter and rested it on the wizard’s shoulder. ‘Buffello, you have taught all of us a great lesson that we will never forget. In compensation, I command that you be given a thousand gold coins and a case of brand-new test tubes.’

  “Buffello smiled contentedly, bowed to the king, and left the palace. Back in his laboratory, he found Buffetto. ‘So, how did it go?’ asked the boy. The wizard hugged him with all his might and kissed his brow. ‘The king even gave me a reward! Naturally, we will split it.’

  “Buffetto shook his head. ‘No, Grampa, you keep it all for yourself. You deserve it. But remember: The spirit of Christmas either exists or doesn’t exist. No one will ever be able to make it out of thin air. Never ever.’”

  The

  Snow

  Comes

  The fairy tale having ended, Grampa focused his gaze on Mark. “So, did you understand?”

  The boy furrowed his brow. “Yes, I think so.”

  “That snowflake wasn’t at all important. I mean, it was important to you because it represented Christmas. But the spirit of the holiday is in your soul, and no one can steal it from you.”

  “So, it doesn’t matter if the snowflake turned to ice.”

  Grampa smiled. “Right. Just make sure that the same thing doesn’t happen to your heart. But I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  “But it was the first snowflake in December. For me, it was really important, and why I wanted to give it to the best person on earth.” Mark pointed to his grandfather. “To you, I mean.”

  “Oh, thank you, but I don’t think I am the best person of all. Everyone has their faults.”

  “Like what?” The boy was suddenly very interested.

  The old man blushed. “Now is not the time to discuss them. Only remember that no one is born without flaws. Everyone has his or her own defects. It is important that he or she also have some virtues. That’s all. People should be accepted as they are.”

  “Even the storekeeper, the doctor, and the philosophy professor?”

  “Certainly.”

  All of a sudden, Mark’s expression became sad. His eyebrows folded downward and his eyes dampened. Grampa Gus noticed immediately. “And now what’s the matter?” he asked tenderly.

  The boy took some time to reply. “I understood everything you just told me,” he finally said. “But I was hoping to keep at least one snowflake, especially since I probably won’t see any others.”

  “And who said so?”

  Mark pointed out the window to the street, the lawn, and all the trees. “Look, the sky is clear. It probably won’t snow until after Christmas. What kind of a holiday is it without snow?”

  Grampa stood up and stared at the window. “Well, if that’s all it is,” he murmured. “You know, I have something to confess. I know just a little magic myself. Perhaps I am a distant relative of Buffello.”

  Mark stared at him in astonishment.

  “Sometimes, in order to get your wish, all you need to do is concentrate and think about it very hard,” said the old man. “C’mon, let’s both give it a try.”

  “And what are we supposed to think about?” asked the little boy. His grandfather’s explanation had not been entirely clear.

  “About the snow, of course!” exclaimed the old man. “And that Camolino decides to do his job!”

  Mark bowed his head. “I pray to you, little angel,” he began to say to himself. “C’mon, let it really come down. A beautiful white blanket, covering the houses and trees, so that children can play, sliding fast on their sleds and making big snowmen with carrot noses and button eyes.”

  The sky remained clear. There wasn’t even the shadow of a snowflake.

  “See,” declared the boy, discouraged. “It doesn’t work. It will never work.”

  “Are you absolutely sure about that?” Grampa asked him. “Look a little more closely, over there, among the clouds.”

  Mark got up and pressed his nose against the windowpane. Suddenly, he thought he saw, up high, a crooked halo, then a pair of short, short wings. He rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand. It wasn’t possible. The halo continued to shine in the sky, like a morning star.

  “Grampa,” he gasped, his heart filled to the brim with surprise. “It’s Camolino!”

  “Of course, it is he,” replied Grampa Gus, putting his arm around his grandson. “He has finally decided to get to work.”

  “But how did you know? How did you reach him?”

  “It was partly your doing. Children are close to angels, because they left them only a short time ago. And so are we old people, because it’s not long until we join them again.”

  Among the clouds, there was a rapid beating of wings. A delicate, delicate wisp fell from the sky, then another, and then one after that. In a few minutes, the brown grass was covered with a sheet of bright white. And the tree branches changed from brown to marble white. The scene looked as if it had been drawn in chalk on a blackboard.

  “Do you think it will keep snowing until tomorrow?” asked Mark, his voice full of hope.

  “Yes, I do believe it will. Camolino is giving it his all.” Grampa picked up his thriller. “Why don’t you go outside and play?”

  Mark didn’t wait to hear him say it twice. Even the little voice spurred him along. “Go, go.” He didn’t even take off his pajamas. He ran to his bedroom, put on a sweater, then his windbreaker, and pulled on his boots.

  Outside, the snowflakes danced a winter dance. Mark twirled around with them, gathering them with his fingers, letting them fall all over him, tasting them with the tip of his tongue. Their flavor was of magic and faraway lands. Millions of little white jewels, one for every good person on earth.

  In the distance, he heard the echoing of bells. Christmas was arriving in great strides. Down the street, two other children were making snowballs and tossing them at each other. Mark joined them and shouted with joy.

  The silence was growing, smothering the sounds and the hurried activities of the street: the silence of Christmas Eve.

  Christmas

  In the kitchen, Grampa looked upward. “Peace on earth,” he murmured. He instinctively brought his hands together, palm against palm, in a gesture as old as the centuries but as modern as the millennium to come. “Peace on earth and good will to humankind.”

  High in the sky, from a tiny cloud, Camolino straightened his halo and winked.

  And he continued to make the snow fall silently over the rooftops, over the trees, over the lawns and streets of Spring Valley, over the entire world.

  It was the first sign of Christmas…

  Snow! Seven-year-old Mark is entranced by it! Could the snow be coming from a snow machine in the sky? Quick as you please, Mark runs outside to see. As he looks up, a tiny snowflake drifts onto his nose. It is so pretty that it must be…

  The Most Beautiful gift

  This is the wondrous tale of Mark and his snowflake. As he handles the delicate flake with extreme care, Mark is amazed by its exquisitely lacy shape. Then and there,
he decides to give it to the kindest person he can find; a gift for someone who deserves it.

  First Mark takes it to a businessman, who wants to dissect it so that he can sell the pieces for profit. Then he takes it to a doctor, but the doctor wants to cut it up for scientific reasons.

  And so Mark turns elsewhere. In his quest to do right by the snowflake, he will discover some amazing things about its magical spirit…and about the true value and meaning of Christmas.

  Enchantingly told, this charming book is the perfect holiday gift: a heartwarming fable for all ages to be treasured by young and old—parents, children, and friends alike.

  The Snowflake

  Mark turned his gaze toward the window, looking for inspiration. The sky was gray and the air seemed to stand still. Here and there, what looked like dandelion seeds floated by. But they weren’t seeds: spring was still a long time away. Christmas was already knocking at the door. There were only two days to go.

  “Snow!” yelled Mark, pushing aside his coloring book…

  from

  The Most Beautiful Gift