One May afternoon, an unusual stir filled an apartment in Rome.
An indiscreet ear would have heard shouts, laughter, singing. Perhaps it would have been startled—laughter is not a sound that often fills this house. Perhaps, annoyed, it would have complained against people who don't respect their neighbors' peace.
A sharp eye would have noticed young people coming and going, their arms laden with trinkets. One of them even carrying a guitar.
That eye would have seen a group of happy people together. It would have been very surprised: it didn't know that adults, children, and young people could be so gentle with one another. But above all, it didn't know that a child could be a King.
Truly strange folk indeed!
An ear, an eye... what's left but a mouth? And so the news made its way from apartment to apartment, floor by floor: "Did you hear? They're singing... laughing. I think it's one of the children's party... Yes, the little girl's."
But if that eye, that ear, that mouth had possessed a heart, they would have seen at once the joy, the simplicity, and the love that bound that circle of friends together. Together they would have carried the news. Together they would have cried out, as those friends did, that friendship, love, and joy are possible—that there is no barrier of age, circumstance, or background; that there are no great or small actions, only a desire to share the same joy and the same love.
Finally the arms, the legs, the head would have joined with that eye, those ears, that mouth, and that heart... and new ears would have heard their cries and their laughter... new eyes would have watched young people coming and going with their arms full of trinkets... new hearts would have grasped the importance of love... new arms... new legs...
Fairy tale or reality? No matter how small, the most beautiful actions always carry the scent of a fairy tale.
Once upon a time—or rather, today—there is Fernanda, 12 years old, and her five little siblings (Paola, Giulio, Teo, Eros, and Vanessa), who live with their grandmother, their young mother... and...
Pierre Debergé, 1978