From the Children’s Friend, December 1960 –

The Christmas Pinata

By D.P. Barnhouse

When the sun dipped behind the western edge of the Sierras, Juan drove the goats down into the valley. Lupe, the white goat, wore a leather collar hung with copper bells. They made a pleasant tinkling sound when she moved.

It reminded Juan of the coins in his pocket. Without looking, he knew that they added up to less than four pesos. He had been saving ever since his father said that they must do without a Christmas pinata this year.

Now Mexican children do not have a Christmas tree. Instead, they hang from the ceiling a colorful human or animal figure fashioned from crepe paper. Inside the figure is concealed an earthenware pot filled with treats. On Christmas day, each child is blindfolded in turn and given a stick with which to try to break the pinata.

This year there had been little rain and the corn was shriveled in the fields. He knew that things were hard for his parents, but the thought of Christmas without a pinata made him feel sad. He had looked through the market many times and he knew that even the smallest one cost much more than four pesos … and Christmas was only three days away!

Lupe nuzzled his sleeve. He patted her absently. Then she tugged at it – hard. He was about to scold her when he heard a faint bleating. There, just off the path, in the shade of an organ cactus, stood a thin little goat. It seemed very weak. Its legs buckled when it tried to walk. “The poor thing is lost,” he thought, “and probably very hungry.” He picked it up gently, and then went on down the path toward the village.

By the time he reached home. his arms were aching from holding the little goat so carefully. A plan was forming in his mind. He did not know what price a goat would fetch in the market – but surely enough to buy a pinata.

While he was feeding it, his mother came out to milk the goats.

“Well,” she said, “what have you there, Juan?”

He told her how he came to find it, and what he meant to do.

“But it is not yours to sell,” she said.

“Why not, Mamacita? Had I not found it, it would surely have died.”

“At the fountain yesterday, the Senora Mendez spoke of a lost goat. Is it not likely that it belongs to her?”

Juan did not answer.

“Somewhere it has an owner. That is sure … goats do not drop from the sky, my son.”

Juan’s eyes filled with angry tears. He did not like the Senora Mendez. She was fat and she talked loud, like a man. In the plaza on Sundays, her big voice boomed above all the others.

“No,” he said stubbornly. “The little goat is mine. I found it and I carried it down the mountain – it is mine!”

His mother looked at him quietly for a moment. “Enough, Juan,” she said. “Have your supper now … then straight to bed. be sure to say your prayers. We will talk more of it in the morning.”

Juan got into bed without saying his prayers. He knew that his mother was displeased with him. Through his window, he saw the last of the light fade behind the Sierra Madres, and the evening star take its place. How bright was this first star that hung so low in the sky. Was it perhaps the same one that shone over the stable at Bethlehem?

Just then he heard the little goat’s bleating in the courtyard. It had a sad, lonely sound. The candle by his bed flickered gently in its glass case. He tossed and turned, but sleep would not come. Perhaps if he got up and said his prayers … but when he did, not a single thought came into his head.

He dressed quickly and slipped out the window. In the courtyard the little goat nuzzled against him. He picked it up and tucked it under his serape.

The cobbled street was quiet, except down by the plaza where the town band was playing Christmas music. He paused before the carved street door of the Senora Mendez. He wondered what it would be like inside. He knocked loudly so he could not change his mind. Presently she opened it and peered out. He jumped at the sound of her voice. It was louder than ever because she had to shout over the noise of the band.

“What does a boy want here, eh? … bothering me at this hour of the night!~” In her hands she held a white paper lamb on which she’d been fastening a garland of bright blossoms. It was made of layer on layer of white tissue. The fur was cut and curled until it was fluffier than any lamb he’d ever seen. It’s eyes were two blue buttons that shone in the light as though they were alive.

“Ha, muchacho … you like my pinata? Is it not a handsome sheep? Come … I show you something to make your eyes bug out.” She led him to a shop at the rear of the patio. There, strong on a long line, were turtles, bright birds, flowers, butterflies … the most wonderful pinatas he’d ever seen.

“Go ahead and look, boy. They are not so fine as those I once made for the family of the governor, but they are still the best pinatas to bad had in San Luis.”

“I have found a little goat,” Juan said. “I think perhaps it is yours.” He lifted his serape and showed her the animal. She scratched its neck and looked searchingly at Juan.

“Well, now,” she said, “my old Paco, who has grown blind and careless, did lose one of my goats in the hills … black it was too, like this one. But then, there are many black goats in Mexico. What would you do if you could not find the owner, eh?”

“I’d sell him,” Juan said, “so I could buy a Christmas pinata.”

“And what kind would you buy if you had the money?”

“One just like that,” Juan breathed, and reached out his hand to touch the woolly sheep.

“In that case, it seems to me we can save ourselves a lot of trouble by settling the business right now. You have a goat … I have a sheep. Let us make a trade.” She put the kid in her lap and thrust the pinata into Juan’s arms.

“:But Senora …” he began, his eyes shining.

“Enough chit-chat,” she boomed. “I like life to be simple. Besides, I am a busy woman. Now be off with you!”

Juan walked through the crowds in the plaza. Many stopped him to admire the pinata. He felt very proud. As he passed the post office, he saw that they’d put up the big banner which said in Spanish, “Feliz Navidad,” and in English, “Merry Christmas.” The band music followed him down the street. He began to feel that strange smothery feeling you get when Christmas is a little over two days away. He thought of his cousins and how surprised they’d be, and of the Christmas fiesta and the fireworks.

Suddenly he couldn’t wait to show them the Christmas pinata. He hugged it to him, but carefully, so as not to crush it, and when he turned the corner and saw the lights of his own house, he began to run.