By Pieter Thomassen

Slowly the growing darkness encroaches on the world outside. The classroom windows become mirrors and Axel sees himself biting the tip of his tongue in order to create elegant scribbles in ink to make his letter to Saint Nicholas and Black Peter the most beautiful of his class, well before the school bell rings. Deep in the night, Black Peter will come to read all letters by bright moonlight, and he will recognise that Axel’s letter is the most treasured and reward him with a special, precious gift.
      The next morning, the carrot in his shoe is untouched, maybe because he has called his mother a scoundrel, it’s a word he has picked up in the schoolyard, and he has thrown it away at random. Never before has the hand which has ruffled his hair so often, hit him this hard. On the school desks, the small gingerbread men glow in the dreary sunrise.
      On Sunday afternoon, during the arts programme, mama lifts Axel onto her lap, to tell him that he’s now old enough to know that Saint Nicholas doesn’t exist, and that the holy man on whose lap he has sat many times, is no one but granny Reuser in a hired outfit. That evening, when he looks up at the roofs from his bedroom window, the stars remain hidden by a mass of dirty-yellow clouds.

© Pieter Thomassen
© Translation Holland Park Press

Axel 15 – Axel 14 – Axel 13 – Axel 12 – Axel 11 – Axel 10 – Axel 9 – Axel 8 – Axel 7 – Axel 6 – Axel 5 – Axel 4 – Axel 3 – Axel 2 – Axel 1