From the diary of Griselda Vargas-Beilschmidt

14

Sorry for the short delay

Basically Romano and Austria being bad babysitters

Gabriel stays over for the night and we have a sleepover, for which I had made sure I'd be asleep after him, and will be up tomorrow before him. The one time I didn't do that, it ended...rather unpleasantly....with a big argument between Papa and Uncle Romano while Vati and Uncle Spain tried to drag them away from each other....

Anyway, Gabe is currently deeply asleep, snoring and drooling and everything.

"I don't snore!" he says defensively every time in confront him about it. "You snore!" You know what? I'll record this and then we'll see who snores!

I'm writing this under the small night lamp. Before you start judging me - I'm not afraid of ghosts! But I am afraid of the Pasta-stealing gnome. They (Uncle Romano) say he appears in the darkness under your bed when you're sleeping, go to your kitchen and eat all the pasta!

The first time I heard about him I was three and Uncle Romano was babysitting me. I got super terrified (and, to be completely honest, peed the bed).

The next night I asked Vati to look under my bed for me to check if it was gnome-free.

"What? What gnome?"

"The Pasta-stealing gnome who will eat all my pasta!"

Vati huffed. "Who told you such nonsense?"

I was silent.

"It was Romano, wasn't it?"

"Mmaaaaybeeee?"

"Don't listen to him. There is no such thing as a Pasta gnome!" I nodded. When he was leaving, I pleaded "Vati? Just one look? Please?"

He looked annoyed, but checked under the bed nonetheless.

"No gnome."

"Really?"

"Really. You're safe. And the pasta is too - well, until your Papa decides to have a midnight snack, that is." He smiled - a tiny smile, but it was there. I felt safe instantly. I smiled back.

 "Grazie, grazie, grazie!"

He kissed me on the forehead.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you and Papa from any mean gnome!"

"I know."

Well now you know. To this day I check under my bed before I go to sleep..not that I'm scared, but...just in case....

The snow is slowly melting outside...

Melting

What a word.

Snow can melt, ice cream can melt, chocolate can melt-hmmmm! Hot chocolate! That reminds me of another story!

Two weeks before Christmas, Vienna.

A man is rushing after two children, catching his breath, frantically looking around. He spots them at a nearby bench, peacefully sipping hot chocolate and eating churros. When they notice him, the boy says something to the girl, which makes both of them burst into maniacal laughter. The man, confused as hell, approaches them and gives them a piece of his mind about good manners and running away, but the children are too busy laughing at him.

Twenty minutes earlier

"Alright kids, have a good time and be nice to Mr Austria! We'll see you in an hour!" says Uncle Spain cheerfully. I nod, but Gabriel is too busy watching the snow. It's one of the first shows in this entire life, so he can't be bothered with his father's advices.

The two couples disappear into the crowd.

"Alright, so where would you children like to go?" asks Mr Austria. I elbow my oblivious cousin.

"W-what?"

Mr Austria sighs. "I asked where would you like to-" His question is interrupted by Gabriel sniffing the air. Sniff, sniff, sniff. Mr Austria stares, confused.

Gabe's pupils widen. This could only mean-

"I smell churros."

Gabriel then grabs my hand and runs away into the crowd of people around. Poor Austria didn't even have enough time to process what was happening before we were standing at the Churro shop with the Balearian digging in his pockets for the money his parents had given him. He approaches the lady selling them.

"I'd like two of those-" But the poor lady only stares, as he's speaking in his native language. Too late seems Gabe to recognise his mistake. I raise my eyebrow. He hands me the money with an insulted look.

"Hello, I am sorry. We'd like..." After I make the order, I wink at the lady.

"I'm sorry about him - he's a bit..." I make a rotary move with my finger, indicating "he's a bit crazy". The lady laughs. Gabe glares.

We then find an unoccupied (!) bench and eat our snack. Mr Austria finds us about ten minutes later, painting and breathless.

"He sounds like a squeaky chicken toy for dogs," Gabe observes. We look at one another and burst out laughing while Mr Austria yells about good manners.

"Holy, even the country looks like a chicken leg!" Gabe screams and I wheeze, mentally clapping at his geniality.

Mr Austria has understood none of this as we were speaking in italian and spanish.

"You're by far the worst children I have ever been acquaintaned with!"

"Hell yes we are," replied Gabe after I translated it for him.

Hell yes.