“My sweet children, do you hear the wolves howling in the distance of the night? Their hoarse, breathy roars? Her cries pierce the foliage from the depths of our forest.” A woman dressed in rags, her face covered in soot, waves her hands in an attempt to prove that the howls were coming from the depths of the forest. “If you are brave and follow the red lines delicately drawn in the snow you will reach a beautiful meadow. Home of the wolves. Resting place of the fallen.”
The mother watches them while the bonfire crackles in the background, its smoke staining the roof of the humble cabin, gradually plunging it into darkness. Her merging the night outside with the walls of her home.
“Place,” she says as her voice breaks, “that you should never know. The darkness of it is the sweet call of death. Its lines, which you have traced with so much curiosity, are the bloody footprints of those who came before us. And you, you don't want to repeat it.”
Three pairs of little eyes look at her as she tells her story. Her bodies, covered by the same threadbare blanket, tremble from the cold that enters through the holes in the walls. It was the only hut they found after wandering through the snow for weeks. It was a miracle that it was still sustained by the snowfall that had fallen. Their land was turning white and red. Without a helping hand…There was no hope.
The mother knows it like this. She still whispers sweet lies to soothe her hurting heart. Thinking about the loneliness they were in, the nothingness they found themselves in and the scarcity of food... It would only bitter her spirit.
Her children need her. They need a strong and serene mother. To a kind and present mother. So she immerses herself in small routines. She makes up stories and draws on the walls.
The wind roars with greater brilliance, threatening to knock them down. The fire sparks. She stands up, her dress stirs and raises the dust from the floor making one of her little ones cough. Her heart breaks a little again.
She tries to keep the fire alive with the few branches he has left. She quickly realizes that it is futile so, resigned, she sighs and gives them a smile. She must be strong for them. It's Christmas after all.
“Remember that the wolf is always watching us. She looks at us all with her bright yellow eyes, as mysterious as the moon she howls at every night. She's hungry, his legs are heavy, she's spent too much energy building his roads. Therefore, even if her gaze pursues us, her body does not respond. Do not fear for he resides in his shelter, immobilized by the cold, waiting for the ignorant. You are not because you know his story. Also,” the woman winks at them and stands up. “Your mother is strong,” she points to her dangerously thin arm, “even if this body lacks a hot meal, she is overflowing with will. If the wolf comes, I will scare him away.”
“But mom, if you scare him away... won't the wolf go hunt others? “Can’t we defeat him?” She asks her boy with blue eyes, clear like her mother's while she looks at him tenderly.
She wants to tell them that there are times when one must escape to preserve her life. Even if it means others will lose their lives. That other mothers will lose their children. She... she refused.
“No, my moon,” she brushes the hair from his face, “all mothers know very well the danger that wolves pose to our clan. And all of us, without exception, will give our lives to maintain yours. We are mothers and you are our jewels. Plus, it's Christmas. Even with nightmares she has to rest at some point. Let's hope that this last night of the year we can all rest easy..."
A kind gift of fate. That's the only thing I ask of you now, enough... you have taken this year from us.
Another hand holds the hem of his sleeve and a small voice that resembles the chirping of sparrows rises.
“Mom,” her youngest daughter is looking at her distressed, “mom...next year can we... can we have a house? A house…with the family?” She shudders with the roars of the night, tremblingly pressing against her brothers. “I don't want to be scared anymore.” Her eyes are teary. “I'm tired of being scared.”
Oh. And there her mother's heart finally broke into a thousand pieces. The weight on her heart turned out to be unbearable. The only thing she could do is cry.
“My girl,” she hugs her, “As long as I'm still standing, no wolf will cross our path again.” Her lips tremble, she knows the odds are against her. Whispering to her that at this rate they will die from the cold, from hunger or... from her family. “And we must have faith, this new year will surely bring us countless miracles. You are mine. There is no doubt about that.”
Her mother shakes her head in an attempt to clear away those thoughts. They should be celebrating. She has a family, they're all still alive, that's the important thing. They are together, together, together...
And they will be in all the years they have left.
She sighs.
She covers her children, touches her nose with hers and fills them with kisses.
“Sleep my moons,” the mother whispers to them when she sees that they are already asleep, “I will protect you from this infernal cold.”
As soon as he says it, he retires to the worn chair. She sits and watches the dwindling fire. She needs more wood. She is scared. It's winter, her hands are shaking, her dry lips are chapped from the cold. She knows that if she wants her children to be able to dream she will have to stay up all night.
She about her blanket to her body. She rubs her hands, looks at her little ones to remember the reason for her joy, and throws a branch into the fire. She feels helpless, she knows that keeping them warm one more night is the only thing she can do. She has a long night ahead but at least the wolves are away from her and her children are away from her.
Watching.
For the wolves howling in the distance.
