Flight Night

Mussolini managed to evict Santa Claus from Italy, but he was powerless against an old lady with a flying broom. Befana, the Christmas crone. was a local phenomenon at first, bringing candy and gifts to children in the vicinity of Rome, but she eventually became a national icon.

On Epiphany Eve (January 5), so the story goes, she takes to the air on her broom, stuffing candy and gifts into the shoes and stockings of well-behaved children. The ones on the naughty list get a lump of coal, or black candy that tastes even worse.

It all began over two thousand years ago. On a day like any other, Befana was industriously sweeping her house when some distinguished guests dropped by to ask for directions. Astronomers from the East were following a newborn star, searching for a cosmic incarnation. The conversation they had is not recorded, but they invited Befana to accompany them on their journey. Perhaps they enjoyed her soup and biscotti. Perhaps she had an entertaining sense of humour. Perhaps they needed someone to do their laundry. Folk tales always leave out the details we would really like to know.

Befana wanted to come with them, but she couldn’t possibly leave until everything was spic and span. The bedding had to be aired and the firewood stacked. She had to simmer soup and bake bread and pack up her traveling gear and scrounge up gifts for the baby. The astronomers, being wise, knew that they couldn’t delay. They spent the night and departed early in the morning. She assured them she would catch up with them as soon as she could.

She finally headed out, loaded down like a donkey. She walked for many weary days, but never found the wise men or the child. When she finally retraced her steps, she distributed her gifts to every baby she saw – just in case.

Giving gifts to children became her obsession. The baby she sought grew up and met a painful death before he had the opportunity to enjoy even half of his allotted three score and ten years. Befana kept looking for him anyway. Some powerful entity must have approved, because her broom acquired the power of flight. Did she become immortal, or did she train apprentices to carry on her work? Whatever happened, she is honoured every year with festive celebrations, when children of all ages eagerly scan the sky to catch a glimpse her flying on a broom.

The more thoughtful revelers may reflect on opportunities they missed because they were too attached to their sense of duty. Was all that humdrum labour an excuse to avoid a life-altering experience? Even when we desperately wish for change, renewal and transformation, we also fear it. The problem with life-altering experiences is … they alter our lives. The trajectory of our lifeline is changed forever. Even if we go home and do everything exactly as before, we are restless. We dream differently, hope differently, love differently. Perhaps, when no one is looking, we straddle our broom and challenge it to fly.

Why is Befana still looking for a baby who died millennia ago? Because great ideas cannot be killed. Archetypical stories lodge in our collective subconscious. Sooner or later, they break free. Every baby that is born is a divine invasion of our mundane world. Each one might become a musician, an artist, a prophet, or a blood-thirsty despot. Each one is a miracle of infinite potential.

Our stories are like that. Story-tellers, honour your craft. Hone it, develop it. Use it and let it use you. One of your tales might change the world forever.
 
 
AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW
Luigi Benvenuto, a wannabe investigative reporter, happened to catch Befana in a mellow mood while she was enjoying a post-flight libation. Luigi brought a bottle of fine vintage with him, and they enjoyed it together while they chatted. Here is the transcript (as much as Luigi can remember).

LG: Are you the original Befana?

B: You must be kidding. I may look two thousand years old to a youngster like you, but I’m only 86.

LG: How long have you been doing Epiphany flights?

B: 14 years. I`ll never forget that first Epiphany eve.  I filled a bag of gifts for the neighbourhood children and was getting ready to go out, when my broom suddenly came to life and slipped between my thighs. Before I knew it, I was flying.

LG: That must have been a shock!

B: I thought it was a hallucination. I was sure I was headed for closed custody in a care home. But since that might be my last outing, I decided to relax and enjoy it.

LG: What happened next?

B: I whizzed through the air from house to house. I don’t remember how many, but it was at least a hundred. I had only a few gifts in my bag, but more kept appearing, along with a few lumps of coal. I didn’t have to decide what to do – they just jumped into my hand.

LG:  Wow.

B: When my bag was finally empty, the broom took me to La Trattoria Befana.

LG. La Trattoria Befana! I think I`ve heard of it. All the employees are elderly women, aren’t they?

B. Yes, it is owned and operated by the Befana Flyers Union to provide employment for members with inadequate financial resources. They work more slowly than the youngsters, but they are better cooks.

LG: I`ve heard that. La Trattoria closes for only two days a year – Epiphany Eve and Epiphany. 

B: We tell our customers it`s so we can make deliveries on our brooms, and everybody laughs at us. The next day, they always ask us about how our flights went. We stretch the truth a bit to make a better story, but it`s accurate for the most part.

LG: So you`re hiding in plain sight.

B: People often don’t see the obvious.

LG: So, what happened when you arrived at the Trattoria Befana that first night?

B: I was warmly welcomed by the members of the Union and assured I wasn`t crazy. I didn`t quite believe them, but I enjoyed the party. When dawn broke, the broom took me home and I slept all day. When I woke up, I thought the whole thing had been a dream, but my gift bag was empty. The same thing kept happening year after year.

LG: How was your flight tonight, Befana?

B: Long and tiresome. There seem to be more deliveries every year.

LG: How many homes did you visit?

B: 124 or 125, I think. I lost count.

LG: Only that many children believe in you? I thought there would be more. After all, there are all those festivals in your honour …

B: Oh, I’m not the only flyer. There’s no way I could handle that. There are over 500 of us. We used to call ourselves the Befana Guild, but we decided we needed more structure, so we unionized.

LG: A union of witches?

B: No. The magic is in the brooms. We have no idea where it comes from. But I don’t have to know. I don`t understand how my television works either, but I enjoy watching it.

LG: Do you ever worry about competing with Santa Claus?

B: That tired old man? He hasn’t been on a delivery for centuries.   He’s completely dependent on surrogates.  And not good ones either. Velveteen suits and artificial beards made in China, minimum wage. Those flying reindeer are pure fabrications. 
The Pope couldn’t get rid of Befana. Neither could Mussolini. I don`t think we have anything to fear from Santa. Our overseas business is expanding. We`ve recruited some active young members who use turbocharged vacuum cleaners to cross the ocean.

LG: So there it is folks – the untold story of the Befana Flyers Union. If you happen to live in North America and see someone flying on a vacuum cleaner, don`t call your psychiatrist or exorcist. You`ve been privileged to witness magic in action.
 
Unfortunately, Luigi has been unable to market his story. Even Global Blabberwocky refuses to touch it. So he is asking his social media friends to share it wherever they can.