Rufino's Christmas Story (Christmas Special) - Klaus Fernández

 

🟥🟨🟥Spanish version

RUFINO'S CHRISTMAS STORY

"On Christmas Eve there are more ghosts in my house than in the cemeteries".

    A miserly, stingy, lonely and selfish man called Ebenezer Scrooge doesn't feel like celebrating Christmas. It's an invention of Harrods, I think he says. On a cold, dreary Christmas night he has a terrible nightmare. In it he is visited by ghosts and is transported to his past, present and future, seeing that the outlook is very unflattering. When he wakes up, he becomes a generous and kind man, who celebrates Christmas and helps those around him with his heart. And also, because he has seen the wolves coming, what the hell.

    And that's what I wanted to get to.

    This happened to me one Christmas Eve when I was more cooked than the prawns in a paella and I told it to that Dickens fellow, a little hack writer, who shamelessly appropriated the story of sleepless night for his novel. He misrepresented it all with a very bad art and a great deal of malice. A load of claptrap. If this is what I get for being nicer than rice pudding and more tender than a mother's embrace.

    I will now tell you what really happened that night.

    On the night of the event, I was in a terrible state. In the morning, my friend the hunter had stopped by my house and persuaded me to patrol the forest.

    -You have to make sure everything is in its place -he said, winking at me.

    I jumped out of bed, put on my dungarees still in the air and went with him. What can I say, I'm very solicitous. After checking in just 20 minutes that all was well in the forest, that none of the trees had moved and that the nearby flock was not missing any of the 14, sorry 12 sheep (hehe), we set to work with our elbows.

    Consequence. After 3 hours we were staggering along, quite damaged, on the thin border that separates reality from memories, where we didn't give a damn about what people might say, singing duets of great hits such as Asturias Patria Querida, La copa rota version José Feliciano, Torito guapo, La rica de la cabra; those kind of songs, you know what I mean. Before I lost any more of my (little) dignity and behaviour, I excused myself to what was remaining of my friend and went home. It wasn't far. Ten meters away.

    I rushed over the couch in my library. I faintly remembered that the next day, Christmas, I had arranged to have lunch at my sister Margarita's house. There I would celebrate with my brother-in-law Isidrín, the demons of my nephews and my toothless mother. Right now I felt like zero or nothing. Like every year. I don't go at all, I don't like Christmas. I'm a lone wolf. At her house I'd probably be forced to wear a red Christmas jumper, sing Christmas carols, listen to Mariah Carey (All I Want for Christmas Is You) and eat turkey. I wouldn't go this year either. I'd find another excuse. That I had been poisoned. My body was like a wreck.

PART 1

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PAST

    At midnight, while half dozing/dying in my armchair at home, I heard a tapping on the window. Colourful vapours were pouring through the window sill. I was totally drunk, I thought with a chuckle. Suddenly, the window opened and a black crow flew into the room, circled around and landed on a bust I own of grandfather Barbaloba. From its lively look, the bird seemed to possess a certain intelligence. With one sweep of the broom I chased it out of my house while the ugly bird fleeing recited nothing but nonsense such as: "Never again", "Tonight you will be visited by three ghosts", "I am offended" or "Take advantage of the Black Friday offers". I didn't was on the mood for birds of a feather. Nor was I surprised that the bird could talk. Crawling back to my chair, I found it occupied by a spectral being. It was grandfather pirate Barbaloba. I was about to give him another broom, when he said in a dull, cavernous voice:

    -I am your grandfather and the ghost of Christmas past.

    The truth is that we had never ascertained that grandfather had passed away. He was very given to faking his death to escape the taxman. Anyway, the last time we heard from him, he was lost at sea, with a knife in his teeth, and was being eaten by a Kraken.

    -I've come to show you a passage from your past to teach you a lesson for your future. All this I said as I rummaged through my minibar for hard liquor and threw it over my shoulder after a few seconds' scrutiny. Shame, there's only brews for freshwater grunts in here. Well, anyway, I haven't come from the depths of the sea to question your taste in booze... though I should. There's nothing in here but a few vinasse. Not a spirit. Three generations lost just like that...

    The comment offended me to the highest degree. I am a great wine lover and a good cook. I usually cook with wine and sometimes even add it to my food.

    Soft snowflakes began to fall from the roof. In a matter of seconds they covered the entire floor and the furniture in the room. As I turned to touch the odd flake the whole room disappeared and I found myself in the snowy outdoors watching a small wolf cub trapped in a snare. Lord, this was one hell of binge. Not only was I seeing my supposedly deceased grandfather, but I was also in the middle of a snowy forest instead of in my house. I'd drunk a lot before but this time I was in over my head. I was worse than Amy Winehouse.

    -That helpless creature is you as a child -the drunken grandfather confirmed.

    If it was me, I didn't remember being so small. I thought I'd always been five feet tall, with the body of a titan and a full head of hair blowing in the wind as if I rode a horse all the time. I am a daily temptation. I'm like chocolate, they want to have me all the time. But when I was a kid, all I could see were teeth and ears.

    -At this time of your life you were very fond of Christmas. You celebrated it a lot and spent the whole year looking forward to it. Not like now. One cold Christmas, when you saw that it was snowing so much, you thought that Santa Claus wouldn't come to your house, that he would get lost on the way, and you decided to go outside to show him your house. But you got lost in the forest and got caught in a wolf trap. All you could think about was that the chubby one was not going to get to your house and that your family would not receive any presents that day. Well, you've seen enough, we must get back to the present. Back to that mini-bar full of vinegars. To have to come back from beyond the grave and find I can't even pour a grog down my gullet.... My work here, for today, is done.

    -But what work? You haven't done anything... -I replied indignantly.

    My grandfather was never known for being a hard worker, he was rather lazy. Well, actually he was more lazier than the tailor from Tarzan. His favourite saying was "Laziness is the mother of all vices, and as a mother... you have to respect it".

    The window flew open and grandfather floated out of the room like a vampire. Not to like my wine collection, he was carrying two bottles under his arm. The window slammed shut behind him and then, with a creak from beyond the grave, the door opened. More colourful vapours poured out of it. This was like a show where celebrities come out amidst different and vividly coloured fumes. Coughing, another ghost entered. It was the raccoon Louis.

    -What am I doing here? -he said, his eyes red with fumes. I'm not even dead.

    Oh my God, it just kept getting better and better....

PART 2

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS PRESENT

    The raccoon spent a good five minutes coughing and rubbing his eyes. I offered him a glass of water, which he refused. He was not a duck, he said very dignified. The scoundrel preferred a glass of wine. I gave it to him and he downed it in one gulp. He gestured with his hand for me to refill his glass. And not to be so stingy with the quantity. Three fingers, he said. He finished it too in one gulp and wiped his nose with a handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it, RL (Raccoon Louis). Coming from so far away, apparently, he was terribly thirsty. He asked again the reason for his presence before me.

    -Perhaps the reason is that you have always been a pretender, a ghostly one? -I replied very seriously.

    -Meh, at any rate, I've always been pretender, but a classy one. They gave me this crumpled piece of paper without further explanation and I was to follow its instructions to the letter on pain of horrible calamities.... -said the raccoon, viciously draining the last drops of my bottle of "Lobos al monte", an excellent Crianza aged 18 months in French oak barrels.

    Louis read the note, scratching the top of his head, while my room began to spin, again, in a dizzying way. I wasn't too surprised by the situation, not unlike one in which I'd found myself worse off and in less desirable company at an after party on Halloween. It was a riot, I dressed up as a werewolf for the occasion. You can't believe how successful it was. There is nothing that strikes more terror into the hearts and souls of the weak of the Great Forest than dressing up as a man. So, all the staff came to buy me shots. They were so happy to buy me and I was so happy to drink them. Shot here, shot there. Result. To the dance floor to dance a twist. I gave a master class in seduction and art. Many fell down in a swoon at the sight of me. When I got tired, I threw my last shot on the floor and left like a marquis. The next day, when I regained consciousness and saw some photos from the night before, I didn't recognise myself. As I danced around in a very unrhythmic and pathetic way, I punched people in the face, threw all the bottles, and to top it all off, I set the place on fire by throwing a shot against a candle next to some curtains. With so much alcohol per m² it took only a few seconds for the place to burn. Then there are other snapshots of me being dragged out of the burning place as if I had been run over. A great party. Next year I'll do it again.  

    But back to the present. Everything in the room was spinning around us, the bed, the paintings, the minibar. It was like a blender. In one of the many twists and turns, the walls vanished and we appeared on top of a lighthouse. A few metres up the hill, a small house and two richly decorated Christmas fir trees were visible.

    -Let's see what's still on this note.... -said Louis. Ah, yes, for your next life lesson, you must look at that little house. It belongs to an old lighthouse keeper who had completely lost the spirit of Christmas until he received a visitor who suddenly restored all his illusion, as if he had been hit by a goods train. Since then he has been living happily, decorating (together with his cat Zarpitas) and lighting the fir tree every year, which, together with the real lighthouse, helps people to reach a safe harbour. That's corny, isn't it? What a load of rubbish.

    He didn't tell me about the little fir tree shining next to the big one. He didn't need to, I already knew the story.

    Everything spun around again and we appeared at the front door of a humble house in another snowy spot. The door opened and laughing children ran out of the door ready to run us over. They didn't. They ran through us like the ghosts we were. The house had a delicious smell of coffee and freshly baked chocolate sponge cake.

    -The person who lives in this house, when she was a little girl, was blind but a miracle happened at Christmas and she regained her sight. It also says that a clumsy little devil had something to do with it. The same one as the little fir tree before. His name is half erased and it is quite long. I can also read that miracles always happen when hearts are pure. Do I really have to read this? -said a resigned Louis looking up at the sky.

    A warm woman leaned out of the door and dismissed the wild children who were already trotting off in the direction of their homes.

    -We must go now -said the raccoon after reviewing the note.

    More turns and we were out of there. The woman was still waving goodbye. In the distance I thought I heard her say, strangely enough, "See you later, Rufino". I fell plummeting back into my house. Louis was gone. Only his note remained. I read it. It read: "I just wanted you to know that someone cares about you. I don't, but someone does." What a night I was having with my binge. Never again, I said to myself, knowing it was a vile lie.

PART 3

THE GHOST OF CHRISTMAS FUTURE

    I was curious to know who would be the third spectre to visit me that night: would he also arrive wrapped in vapours, flying, absent-minded or drinking my wines? I wasn't getting anything out of it either. The visits were supposed to teach me some kind of lesson. But at the moment I don't know what the point was. I wasn't more receptive, nor was my chakras more open, nor did I want to hug trees or anything else. The only thing I was starting to feel was a tremendous hunger. Why do you think they make money selling sandwiches outside discos? According to a serious study, excessive alcohol intake makes the brain believe that the body is starving. I read it somewhere. In a cultured place. A bar.

    -Hello Rufino -said a voice behind me.

    There's a terrible phrase that nobody wants to say when they're on a good bender, and I had to say it at that moment. Especially not to a dead man.

    -Hello Dad.

    My father, Ramonchu, had been dead since I was a wolf cub. I always remembered him making jokes and dressing up as Santa Claus at Christmas. He was one of a kind. Always in a good mood. I remembered with special fondness how he would climb on his knee, Margarita and me, and tell us with great solemnity that all this would one day be ours. He would always point to a wall and laugh his head off. Also how my mother would scold him when she caught him sneaking his paw into the chocolate cake. He would defend himself by saying that he was being restrained like a wolf. Denying him his basic rights. He was a bit exaggerated, kicking and throwing himself on the floor and everything. Then he would sneak us a little piece and wink at us.

Since he passed away, I haven't celebrated Christmas anymore.

    -Rufi, please come with me -said my father.

    -Is this all going to turn around again? -Right now, I don't know if I can make it through another ride on this particular train of the witch's.

    -No, we can go out the door -he replied as he made his way to the door, which was slowly opening as we approached.

    As we left my house, she escorted me to a lonely grave. There, in front of us, two meters from the door of my house, someone had set up a graveyard with a low mist that looked quite fake. He pointed to the grave surrounded by flowers and candles, with messages on papers that people had placed on it. It looked like Jim Morrison's grave. It was super cool. The name inscribed on it didn't show up well. My dad instructed me to push the dry leaves aside and read it. I did. It wasn't Jim's, it said... MISTER SO-AND-SO.

    -Dad, what does this mean? -I said, pointing to the name inscribed clearly on the stone, since it had been covered with chorizo red lipstick.

    -Ah, sorry son, sorry, -said my father, ashamed of his mistake. Come, it's next door.

    He took me tenderly by the arm and, with his eyes lowered, pointed to a gloomy grave decorated with garlands of flowers, blood and so much rubbish on it that it looked like someone had performed a voodoo ritual.

    -Dad, I'm sorry, but who is Nelson Smith? -With a stick I removed a garland of flowers that covered the name on the gravestone.

    -It can't be, it can't be -my father muttered under his breath, rather irritated and eating his hat.

    After checking the name on several graves in the vicinity, he led me to a rather dirty, ugly and cracked one.

    On the tombstone was written a familiar name. RUFINO. I almost fainted. I knelt down cursing the extreme ugliness of the gravestone, the poor style of that tomb and, finally, my ill-fated destiny. I thought I was immortal. I cried out to heaven swearing that I could not be overthrown, I would survive, and when it was all over, I would never go hungry again, neither I nor any of my people. Even if I had to lie, steal, beg, or kill, as God was my witness, I would never go hungry again! OK, this sentence doesn't fit here, but I've always wanted to say it. I heard someone approaching. It was some teenage wolves. I recognised them immediately. They were my nephews. Isidrín 1 and the other Isidrín, Margarita 1, 2 and 3.

    They were all grown up, good wolves and she-wolves. Excellent bearing. They had come out to me without a doubt. My poor brother-in-law is a very nice guy but a bit of a brat.

Isidrín 1 approached my grave and placed a bottle of wine next to a small picture. The others looked on sadly, I was not surprised, the wine was of the usual quality, and they began to sing a Christmas carol. When they finished, they hugged each other, wiped their tears and said goodbye until next year. They were sorry I hadn't spent more time with them. They had loved me dearly even though I was a fifteen percent scratch.

    -All the events you have witnessed tonight have been preparing you for this, Rufi -my father explained -You can still avoid this fatal outcome.

    -Can I be immortal?

    -What? No... you donkey! You can avoid not having enjoyed your family! Spend your time with them! What the previous ghosts have reminded you of is the spirit of Christmas. You can wake up now, son. I know that since I passed away you don't want to celebrate Christmas at all, but you have a family that loves you. Cut the crap and go to your sister's house. They've been waiting for you for years.

    I looked at the bottle, bad vintage. And the picture. It was a picture of the wall of my parents' house. For the first time, I noticed that the wall wasn't empty. On it was a picture of my family drawn by me and my sister. When my father said that all this would be ours, he didn't mean a bare wall, it was something more important. He meant us.

    Tears welled up in my eyes. I told my father that sand had gotten into me. Yeah, yeah, he replied. He hugged me for a long time. I missed my father and I missed the happy days at Christmas. My father let go of me, kissed me on the forehead and gave me a suit. It looked like his Santa suit.

    -You know what you have to do, son. I'll stick around for a while.

    I took the suit, I didn't remember it being so big and worn, and changed behind a tree. I didn't want my father, dead though he was, to see me hopping around trying to put my foot in my mouth and cursing in Aramaic. You don't grow up when you get your first grey hair or when everything creaks when you get out of bed. Nooooo. You grow up when you can't put on a pair of trousers standing up, putting first one leg in and then the other, without falling down. When I finally managed to put them on, I went out and there was neither my father, nor the grave, nor the wine, nor anything else. I was back in my house and completely sober. I left my home in a flash and as I passed a parked sleigh, I borrowed several gifts that I had placed in it. Within half an hour I was banging on the door of Margarita's house, my heart swelling with joy. Ho Ho Ho!

    My surprised and pregnant sister opened the door. Pregnant again? Since when? She was more pregnant than a rabbit. Well, whatever. I walked in handing out presents and laughing like I was Oprah Winfrey. My brother-in-law Isidrin meanwhile was trying to put on my father's Father Christmas suit, prancing around. So whose suit was it that I was wearing? Well, it didn't matter too. All my nieces and nephews ran to hug me, the youngest, Jacinta, grabbed hold of my paw, declared her conquered ground and didn't let go of it all night. My mother Ana, sitting in a rocking chair, dressed in my Christmas jumper, nodded with great delight at the whole spectacle. By the way, I know the names of all my nieces and nephews, I'm not a heartless beast. Let's see, how was this... Ah, yes. Ernesto, Santiago, Marina, Alba and Jacinta. And the last one, who got her name that last night... Rufina.

    That night changed my destiny. Remember that in my vision of the future there was no little Rufina. We danced, we sang (All I Want for Christmas Is You, Happy Xmas-War is over) and we drank. My promise not to drink didn't last long. I'm weak, okay?

Since then there is no Christmas that I don't spend with the greatest treasure a wolf can have. His family. And every night we feel that a wolf is watching and guarding us from the sky.

    Ah, funny things. The first Christmas I wore the suit, a certain fat bearded man had to hand out presents in his underwear. Hehe, my father is a beast.

END.