The Most Beautiful Gift (4 page)

“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, nothing. 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.’”

T
he 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.

I
n 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…

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…

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