O Poveste cu Mos Craciun

(click here for the English version)


Povestea a inceput intr-o zi de sambata. Ma dusesem sa vad bradul de Craciun din fata Casei Albe. Ca intotdeauna era inconjurat de trenulete care alergau pe sine, iar copii erau pretutindeni, galagiosi si fericiti.
Evident ca primul gand care mi-a venit in cap a fost sa incerc sa fac un video, numai ca soarele imi juca feste, asa ca filmuletul a iesit asa si asa, mai ales asa decat asa, insa nimeni nu e perfect.

Un pic mai departe era ceva ce arata ca o coliba. iar in fata ei statea o pustoaica, imbracata destul de curios. Am intrebat-o care era treaba.

Mi-a raspuns ca era nepoata lui Mos Craciun si ca pazea intrarea in coliba, iar aceasta coliba era de fapt atelierul lui Mos Craciun.

Ei bine, asta m-a facut curios, voiam sa il vad si eu pe Mosul, mai ales ca ii dusesem dorul un an intreg, asa ca m-am asezat la coada, impreuna cu copii, parinti si bunici. Ma gandeam in timpul asta la nepoatele mele, care erau intr-o vacanta undeva departe, intr-un loc in care iarna nu era deloc diferita de vara.

Pana la urma am intrat inauntru si l-am vazut pe Mos, avea o barba alba, o burta respectabila si un zambet blajin, semana perfect cu Adrian, un prieten din Toronto. De fapt nu am avut niciodata ocazia sa ma intalnesc in carne si oase cu Adrian, insa l-am vazut in poze: barba alba, burta respectabila, zambet blajin. Asa ca aveam argumente puternice sa il aseman cu Mos Craciun.

Ei bine, ca si la Adrian, barba Mosului nu era numai alba, era si adevarata! Pana atunci vazusem numai Mosi cu barba de vata, asa ca eram impresionat.

A doua zi, duminica, eram prin Georgetown, un cartier foarte chic al Washingtonului, si am intrat intr-un Starbucks. M-am asezat la coada sa imi iau o cafea, iar in fata mea era insusi Mos Craciun. De data asta era imbracat in civil, insa barba alba si burta respectabila il tradau. Sa fi fost totusi Adrian?

Nu, imposibil, Adrian era in Toronto, iar masinile care te muta instantaneu in spatiu-timp inca nu sunt disponibile. Asa ca nu putea fi decat Mosul.

L-am intrebat, Esti Mos Craciun?

Mi-a raspuns pe loc, Da, si trebuie sa imi dai bani sa le cumpar copiilor jucarii.

Bun, daca imi raspunsese astfel, putea de fapt foarte bine sa fie Adrian, dar nu eram sigur. Am mormait ceva si am zambit. Mi-a zambit si el.

Peste vreo ora m-am intalnit cu el din nou, pe strada.

Iarasi dau de tine? m-a intrebat el.

I-am zis, Domle, ieri am fost la Casa Alba si Mos Craciun era acolo intr-o coliba. Esti dumneata Mosul sau nu, sa stiu cum te iau.

Daca sunt sau nu Mos Craciun? Poti sa spui si asa, mi-a raspuns.

Pe urma m-a intebat, De unde esti, ca ai un accent ciudat si destul de caraghios.

I-am zis, Pai daca esti Mos Craciun, poti sa ghicesti singur.

Din Germania? m-a intrebat.

Si crezi ca daca traiam in Germania mai era nevoie sa ma mut aici?

Elvetia?

Hai ca esti departe, i-am zis.

Austria?

Nu, Romania.

Mi-a zis, Omule, sunt batran si am vazut o gramada de lucruri ciudate in viata, dar asa ceva nu mi s-a mai intamplat, sa vad un roman!

Odata si odata tot trebuia sa se intample, am raspuns.

L-a pufnit rasul, Bai, tu chiar ai crezut ca sunt Mos Craciun?

Mi-am dat atunci seama, era Adrian.

A Story with Santa Claus

(click here for the Romanian version)


It was Saturday. I had come to see the Christmas Tree near the White House. As always, it was surrounded by lots of railroads, and it was fun, and the kids were noisy and happy.

I tried to record a video, and it was difficult, as the sun was playing games with my camera. I succeeded somehow, not a particularly great video, but nobody's perfect.




There was a small wooden shack a bit further, with a very young lady in front. As she was dressed somehow peculiarly, I asked her what the matter was.



She said to me that she was the niece of Santa and the gatekeeper there: the small shack was Santa Klaus Workshop.

Well, this made me curios, I wanted to see Santa, I had been missing him for a whole year. So I stayed in line there, along with kids and parents and grand parents, thinking at my two granddaughters, who were in a vacation in some distant place where winter is not very different from summer.

I went inside and here he was, Santa Claus, with a gorgeous white beard, with a respectable belly, and with a nice smile. He looked very much like my friend from Toronto, Adrian.

Actually I haven't met Adrian yet, we are only pen pals, but I saw him in a photo. He is very old, with a respectable belly and a huge beard, so the comparison with Santa has strong evidence behind.




Well, the beard of Santa was not only white, it was real! I was amazed: it was the first time in my life that Santa was wearing a real beard. Each time I had seen him before, the beard was from cotton.

All this happened last Saturday. Next day I was in Georgetown and I entered the Starbucks on the M Street. There was a line, and in front of me was Santa himself! Of course, now he was dressed in civilian clothes, like everybody, but the same very real, very white beard (huge and gorgeous, too) and the same respectable belly. Or was it Adrian?

No, Adrian was in Toronto. Had he come suddenly here, just to enjoy a cup of coffee at Starbucks? Impossible. Or, who knows?

I asked him, are you Santa?

Yes, he said, and you should give me money: I need to buy toys for the kids.

Okay, based on this answer he could have been very well Adrian, too.

I didn't know what to say. I mumbled something and I smiled. He returned my smile.

After one hour or so I met him again, on the street.

Here you are again, he said.

I said, yesterday I was at the White House and Santa was nearby in a wooden shack. Are you that guy or not?

You could say so, was the answer.

Then he asked me, where are you from? You have a special accent.

You should guess, I said.

Germany?

You think I would have moved here from Germany?

He tried again, Switzerland?

No.

Austria?

No, Romania.

He looked at me amazed, man, I am old and I witnessed strange events in my long life. But it's the first time I am in front of a Romanian!

Nobody's perfect, I said.

Suddenly he started to laugh, and you were believing I was Santa, is it?

I realized now who he was! Adrian, you are incorrigible!


(Washington, District of Columbia)