Il-Knisja Kattolika ma tridx li l-fidili jmorru għand min jaqra x-xorti. Dan imur kontra l-fidi u l-fiduċja f’Alla, u jagħmel ħsara spiritwali.
Il-futur jinsab f’idejn Alla. Meta persuna tmur għand min jaqra x-xorti, tkun qed tfittex tweġibiet jew sigurtà minn sorsi oħra minflok mingħand Alla.
Il-prattiċi okkulti: qari tax-xorti, tarot, astrologija, spiritiżmu, u affarijiet simili huma tentattivi biex jinkiseb għarfien jew qawwa “moħbija” li mhux ġejjin minn Alla.
Skont it-tagħlim tal-Knisja, dawn il-prattiki jiftħu l-bieb għal influwenzi u perikli spiritwali negattivi u joħolqu biża’, dipendenza, u / jew konfużjoni.
Il-Knisja temmen li Alla tagħna l-libertà, u jistedinna nagħmlu għażliet tajba. Il-qari tax-xorti jagħti l-impressjoni hemm destin li fih kollox hu diġà determinat, u dan imur kontra r-responsabbiltà personali li nagħżlu t-rtajjeb mill-ħażin.
Il-Katekiżmu tal-Knisja Kattolika hu ċar f’dan; ma jħallix dubju [2116], li dawn il-prattiki huma pprojbiti. Il-Knisja minflok tinkoraġġixxi: it-talb; il-fiduċja f’Alla; parir għaqli (minn qassis, psikologu, jew persuni ta’ fiduċja); dixxerniment biex tieħu deċiżjonijiet tajbin. Li tfittex l-għajnuna mhux nuqqas ta’ fidi, iżda hu att ta’ maturità.
Uħud imorru l-Knisja u xorta jfittxu dawn l-affarijiet bħala ‘bonus’, u bi tbissima jgħidulek, “mhux għax vera nemmen fihom, tafx”. Mela għalfejn imorru?
Hemm il-biża’ mill-futur meta persuna tkun għaddejja minn inċertezza (relazzjonijiet, xogħol, flus, saħħa), u trid lil xi ħadd li għandu “setgħa paranormali” jgħidilha x’ser jiġri.
Imorru għall-kurżità, biex jgħaddu siegħa żmien, u biex jaraq jolqtux il-likk, dawn il-bassara, mingħajr ma tgħaddilhom minn moħħom li dan ser iħawwadhom u probabbli jkollu konsegwenzi spiritwali.
Meta jħossuhom mitlufa jew waħedhom, għax ma jsibux min jismagħhom jew jiggwidahom, xi nies ifittxu tweġibiet kullimkien, saħansitra meta jafu li ma jkunux qed jagħmlu sewwa.
Kultant, ikun hemm pressjoni kulturali, jew familjari, ferm ‘l hinn milli tidħaq daħqa għax taqra l-Oroskopju. F’ċerti ambjenti, il-qari tax-xorti jitqies ‘normali’ jew “tradizzjoni ta’ għeluq sninek”.
Min jaqra x-xorti spiss juża kliem ġenerali li japplika għal kulħadd, u dan jagħmel lin-nies jaħsbu li hu veru, għax għalihom, it-tweġibiet jidhru preċiżi, għall-każ tagħhom. Jużew ħafna tejatrini, u ħwejjeġ, u ġojjellerija, u rwejjaħ, u statwi, u illużżjonijiet, biex jimpressjonaw. Barraminhekk, spiss jgħidu affarijiet vagi jew negattivi għax: il-biża’ żżomm lin-nies jerġgħu jmorru, u jafu li l-moħħ uman jagħti piż żejjed lill-affarijiet negattivi, milli lil dawk sbieħ.
Il-Knisja tgħallem li Alla jitkellem permezz tat-talb, permezz tal-Kelma Tiegħu (il-Bibbja), permezz tal-paċi jew inkwiet fil-qalb, u żgur mhux bil-maġija.
Id-dixxerniment ifisser li: int tisma’ x’qed jiġri ġewwa fik; tagħraf x’inhu ġid u x’jista’ jagħmillek ħsara; u tieħu deċiżjonijiet li jwasslu għal aktar mħabba, paċi u verità.
Is-sagramenti huma importanti: b’mod speċjali, ir-Rikonċiljazzjoni għax jgħin biex ifejjaq il-qalb, u l-Ewkaristija, li tagħti saħħa u dawl.
Il-Knisja toffri fiduċja, relazzjoni u mixja. Tgħallem li għandna nafdaw lil Alla pass pass, u naċċettaw il-misterju tal-futur.
Jiġri li meta tmur ‘taqra x-xorti’ toħroġ imbeżżgħa u b’qalbek maqtugħa, u mimlija dubji jew ikollok bidu ta’ ossessjoni dwar xi ħaġa jew xi ħadd. Iktar minn li ksibt ħelsien, tkun dħalt f’morsa [‘erġa’ ejja ġimgħ’oħra ha naraw…’].
Alla qatt ma jmexxi bil-biża’. Alla jmexxi bil-paċi, anke meta jsejjaħ għall-bidla. Il-Bibbja tgħid: “Mill-frott tagħhom tagħrfuhom.”
Mela jekk il-“messaġġ”: qed joħloq paniku u twerwir; qed iġiegħel lil persuna taħseb li m’hemmx tama; qed jagħmilha dipendenti fuq “tbassir”… ovvjament, mhux ġej minn Alla. Mela ħalli kollox f’idejn Alla, anki jekk il-fidi tkun dgħajfa, flok tisparpalja ħinek, il-paċi ta’ qalbek, u flusek… tibqa’ tħammem fuq li qalulek, torqod ħażin, u qed tiżviluppa ansjetà jew dipressjoni.
Irridu nifhmu li dak li jgħidu l-bassara m’għandux setgħa fuqna, għax il-kliem ta’ xi ħadd ma jidditerminax il-futur. Alla hu akbar minn kull biża’. Din hija affermazzjoni ta’ libertà, mhux ritwal.
Il-Knisja mkien ma tgħid li min jaqra x-xorti għandu “don minn Alla”. jew li “qed jaqra s-sinjali biss”. Il-persuna li ‘tbassar’ qed tippretendi li għandha għarfien li ma jappartjenix lill-bniedem. Qed tqiegħed ruħha f’post li għandu jkun ta’ Alla, u ta’ Alla biss. Irrispettivament jekk ħaditx flus jew le, din il-persuna m’għandux awtorità fuq il-ħajja ta’ dak li jkun.
Hawn min isostni li l-“erwieħ” li jidhru huma spirti ħżiena, għax dawn ukoll ikunu jafu d-dettalji li jkun hemm bżonn, biex jipperswaduna li huma min qed jgħidu li huma. Il-Knisja tgħallem li f’ħafna każi dan hu suġġeriment psikoloġiku, immaġinazzjoni msaħħa bil-biża’, u memorji u kliem li jibqa’ jdur fil-moħħ, u għldaqstant, mhux neċessarjament attività spiritwali ħażina diretta.
Min jagħti parir qatt ma jibda bil-“spirti ħżiena”, imma bil-paċi. Alla huwa Missier, mhux theddida. Anki jekk il-kliem ikun “teoloġikament korrett”, jekk iżid il-biża’, ma jkunx għen.
Ġesù iża ħafna l-kelma “Tibżax.” Mela ma niffokawx fuq x’qal min qara x-xorti, imma fuq x’jagħti paċi llum. “Il-Mulej hu r-ragħaj tiegħi, xejn ma jonqosni.”
Il-ħsara ma tiġix mill-kurżità imma mill-biża’. Il-fejqan ma jiġix mit-theddid u l-insinwazzjoinijiet, imma mill-paċi.
In the film Breakfast at Tiffany’s, the Cat does not have a name. I used to, but I forgot what it was, because the person I own has dementia, and she has forgotten too.
Her children, if and when they visit, refuse to use it, because that would give me the pleasure of knowing they acknowledge my existence; I’ve heard them say this a zillion times. But do I care? Oh no. It is a well-known fact that dogs have owners, and we cats have staff as well as Cat-ittude!
Dogs come when they’re called; and we cats take a message and get back to you when we’re good and ready. There is a time for everything – but most of it can be procrastinated if it’s time for the aptly named catnap. We are charming, we are soft, we are devious. And it works on humans, subliminally. We have come a long way from our humble beginnings in the Fertile Crescent.
Dogs are silly; they dirty their paws in order to dig holes for bones. As if I’d sink to that. I wail when the bottom of my bowl is visible.
I am not clean… I am covered in cat-spit; but humans don’t realise that. However, to me, this means I am spotlessly clean – because any loose fur or foreign objects are caught and deposited squarely in hairballs… usually in the middle of the corridor or on a freshly vacuumed carpet, or in the shoes of visitors who would have aimed a kick at me when they knew the woman I own was not looking.
Stray cats make sure to remember what the humans call them, because the humans think that’s cute. They flock toward the Feeder… because there is competition amongst them as to who will get the first chunks of fish. I don’t like fish, and I am Queen of my Castle, so I don’t have to answer to a name, and neither do I have to compete with anyone else for food.
Despite their invitations, I never run away, not even when the person I own forgets to close the door after the milkman or the postman have been. I push the door shut, for her – our- safety.
Some strays [ferals, more likely] are courageous enough walk in, eat, and walk out again. I don’t mind, as long as they don’t think they can take up residence with me and the woman I own. Joseph Wood Krutch put it in a nutshell when he said that cats seem to go on the principle that it never does any harm to ask for what you want. False modesty and reticence never did anyone any good. I know what I want, so there’s that. As the song says, I wants it all, and I want it now.
I know the children of the woman I own do not like me. They can see me giving them the side-eye, and they hiss at me. I hiss back, and spit, to boot.
I have free run of the house. One of the daughters says she does not visit because she has a cat allergy… she insisted that the woman I own locks me up when she visits. No way. This woman is not really allergic to cats [I saw cat fur on her clothes when she came the last time ever].
In fact, I was lying down behind the sofa where she sat, throughout her visit, and nary a sniffle came out of her nose.
So, there you are. I could teach humans a Cat-alogue of things.
It began with an ordinary Saturday evening, or so Fleur and Lee thought. Miss Marija had set a science challenge about the Moon, and the twins were on the roof of the apartment block where Nanna Kitty lives, sketching the grey and silver craters through the telescope.
Lee adjusted the focus. “Look, Fleur! Doesn’t that ridge look like a doorway?” he said. Fleur peered through, frowning. “Lee, every time you see a shadow, you imagine a mystery.”
But even she gasped when the telescope shimmered, as if the lens itself had turned to liquid light. For an instant they saw their reflections; then they weren’t looking through the telescope anymore. They were inside the light.
When their feet touched the ground again, the surface beneath them wasn’t perlato tiles. It was soft grey dust. The air shimmered with a silver haze. The twins realised that they could breathe properly, although they didn’t have any apparatus.
“Hey there!” said a familiar voice. Two figures approached; the same twins children they’d met on the roof of their house in Fleur de Lys, months before. The were not wearing their bubble suits and helmets. The air between the two pairs of twins hummed gently, as if it, too, recognised the reunion.
“Lyra! Orin!” Fleur cried. “We thought we’d never see you again.”
Lee grinned. “Nice neighbourhood. Bit far from Malta, though.”
The alien twins laughed, the sound like wind chimes. “We wanted to show you our new home,” said Lyra. “Come. It’s not what humans think the Moon is.”
They led the way toward what looked like a crater. A beam of light scanned them, and then the dust dissolved beneath their feet, revealing a vast staircase spiralling downward.
The inside of the Moon glowed with its own sunless radiance. Great silver caverns opened up, filled with gardens of pale trees and streams that glittered as if made of starlight. The air smelled faintly of salt and rain.
And there, in the middle of a huge plaza, resting like ancient relics, stood replicas of four familiar shapes. Fleur recognised them immediately. “Wow, she said, “The Soviet Luna, the Apollo Eagle, the Chinese Rover, and the Indian Chandrayaan Lander.”
Lyra nodded. “We honour every visitor who came to our sky. These machines remind us that curiosity can cross space.”
Orin touched a wall. Tiny symbols danced across its surface; constellations Fleur only half-recognised, merging into others she had never seen. “Long ago,” he said softly, “our ancestors came from far beyond your stars. Some of them chose to live here, hidden beneath this shell of stone and dust. When humans came, they didn’t disturb us. They only brought hope.”
Fleur and Lee stood side by side, silent. For once, Lee didn’t fidget.
“Do you travel much?” Fleur asked.
“This is our Base,” said Lyra. “Sometimes we travel between galaxies. Maybe one day, you’ll do the same.”
A low hum filled the cavern. “It’s time,” said Orin. “You have to go, before the telescope closes.”
There was a ripple of silvern light. Fleur and Lee felt cold, and then hot, and suddenly, they were back on the roof in Valletta, with stardust on their shoes, and starlight in their hair.
My friend collects antiques – specifically, anything that looks like a tea-caddy, preferably made of glass, china, ceramic or pottery (but if it’s a gift she will also accept wood and metal).
The other day, as I was on my way to the dentist (oh, joy!) out of the corner of my eye I saw the smaller version of one that I had already given her.
The owner of the shop was sitting behind a desk, telephone receiver in hand, drumming the fingers of the other on his mouse-pad. His feet were stretched out as far as they would go. I waited for about half a minute to make sure I was not interrupting a conversation. When it was obvious that there was nobody at the other end of the line, I pointed to the lidded jar and rubbed my thumb against my index and middle fingers – hoping he would understand I was asking for its price.
Before I could even open my mouth to add words to my action, he made a shooing gesture at me with his free hand, and then pointed towards the receiver.
I thought that this was an incredibly rude way to treat a customer who, for all he knew, was about to purchase all the objects in the shop-window.
Since he did not signal me to wait, I assumed he did not want my custom; so I left.
Six months later, I see that the caddy is still there – but, as may be ascertained from the amount of dusty envelopes between the accordion grille and the glass ante-door, the shop has been closed for quite some time. I shouldn’t wonder – if the man treated all his potential clients the way he treated me.
It is used to be that the customer was always right – but this adage has fallen by the wayside as have lots of others.
My friend, wanting something “nice” for Christmas, walked into a shop and asked for an outfit in Size 20. The salesperson took one step back, frowned, and said “Are you sure? I would say you need 24, or at least 22.” My friend turned on her heel and left the shop.
And how many times have you walked into a shop to find the person who is supposed to see to your needs, sitting nonchalantly behind a counter, filing her nails and studiously ignoring customers?
I asked whether anyone had similar tales to recount – and I was flooded with enough responses to reassure me that if anything can go wrong, it will.
It is quite one thing finding a mobile telephony worker hoisting up a ladder in your front porch to fix someone else’s internet or landline connection, and another being treated like a simpleton when you call to complain about an error in the billing.
A friend of mine told me how she called a television / mobile telephony company and asked them to downgrade her service from full to basic. Almost two years later, they have just comprehended what she wanted done, despite the fact that each time she received a bill, the latest ones of which amounted to hundreds of Euro, she lodged a report. Whenever she phoned, she was given the run-around, to no avail. All that they could agree upon with her was that “the was a mistake in the bill”.
To give him his due, when the affair reached the Manager, he amended the amount – yet when she went to pay, she was told that there was an error in the total, and she could not pay before the amount outstanding was settled. This rigmarole was only settled recently, after yet another letter setting out all the facts chronologically. Later, another erroneous bill was also sent to my friend’s grandmother, and it was only because by happenstance, there was an angel in disguise called Anthea, that the problem was solved immediately.
Another person said that she has three television sets – two of which have a basic reception package and one digital set. So when the workmen came to change the service from the old analog to digital, it stands to reason that they ought to have changed the billing accordingly.
Yet, bills were sent for both services. The icing on the cake was that when she called to complain, she was told by the Customer Care Officer that a check would be made of the original phone call (where she had applied for the digital service), in order to determine what the original instructions of the client had been. The result would be relayed to the client within two working days. Needless to say, the return phone call was never made – and my friend awaits her next bill with bated breath.
Don’t do that. Stop that. Enough. Stop. Put that book away or you’ll throw up. How naughty you are. Push back your hair. That’s not nice. Stop fidgeting. Hold your bag properly. Stop playing with your hair. Close your mouth when you chew. Stop picking your nose. Drink some water. Stop moving your legs. Stop making faces. I will call your parents. Go to the Quiet Corner.
Can you tell she used to be a teacher, at a time when children were supposed to be seen and not heard?
This litany went on and on, most of the time when she was awake; she only stopped when she was bathing or eating… and then, not always, either.
I wonder how much the students enjoyed their lessons with her. But time does funny things to the mind. Dementia’s a bitch.
Her nagging and grumbling riled the orderlies and the nurses. They gave her short shrift, and mostly ignored her when she rang for them. They forgot that she could have been their grandmother.
The new Head Nurse was the proverbial new broom that swept clean. She was not in it for the money, and her mission was rehabilitation inasmuch as it was possible, for the Residents of the Home. When they told her about Aïda, she said this was her “broken record” method of communication, and asked to see her file. She was impressed.
She went to see her, to suss out if there was anything she could do to help her. But as soon as Aïda saw her, she held out her arms and said ‘Eileen, is that you?’ and the nurse froze, because Eileen was the name of her mother, who, as it turned out, has been a classmate of Aïda’s.
Looking around the room, she was stunned to see that the staff allowed Aïda to use the chairs for a wardrobe, ‘because otherwise she throws a hissy fit’. There was no reading material available, ‘because she has forgotten how to read’… and inevitably, Laura found that this was the case in some other Residents’ rooms, too.
Laura used her training in psychology and advertising to implement a system that, ironically, bore Aïda’s name – the AÏDA Model: Attention, Interest, Desire, and Action.
Within the week, all the rooms were neat and tidy; there were children’s picture books for the elders to peruse, and, most importantly, each Resident had a radio, if they hated watching television in the Common Room.
Dementia, the Long Goodbye, is not reversible… but its consequences can be alleviated with some tender loving care.
Fl-aħħar kienet reġgħet waslet il-fiera tal-Artiġjanat tal-Imdina. Fleur u Lee kienu ilhom jafu biha, u li n-Nanna Kitty kienet sejra mal-grupp ta’ Mrs Marie… u li jekk ilestu l-ħomework kollu sal-Ġimgħa filgħaxija, imorru magħha. Għal xi ħaġa hekk, Lee ma kienex jitnikker sal-aħħar minuta.
Is-Sibt filgħodu, sebħu joqomsu bl-eċitament. Missierhom wassalhom sal-Barrakka t’Isfel, u bil-mod il-mod bdew jinġabru dawk kollha li kienu applikaw biex imorru.
Tal-minibus waqqafhom fid-daħla tal-Imdina, u bdew mixjin ‘l ġewwa. Kien hemm atmosfera tassew sabiħ; geġwiġija ta’ nies, banadar ikkuluriti, u tilari mimlija xogħol imprezzabbli, kollox magħmul bl-idejn. Ħafna minn dawk li kien hemm armati kienu qegħdin jaħdmu x-xogħol tagħhom dak il-ħin stess.
Imma din id-darba l-arja donnha kienet differenti. Fl-arja kien hemm riħa ta’ rand u bużbież taqsamlek qalbek, qisu xi ħadd qed isajjar il-patata l-forn.
Quddiem il-Kattidral ta’ San Pawl kien hemm xwejħa qegħda taħdem il-biżżilla. “Qishiex dik il-mara li ngħidulha z-Zija Stella?” staqsa Lee lil Fleur.
“Kos, Vera!” wieġbetu.
Ix-xiħa semgħethom, u tbissmet. “Kumbinazzjoni, jien Stella jisimni. Dak isem tal-familja, għax anki ommi, u n-nanna, u l-bużnanna, u iżjed ‘l hinn, kollha Stella jisimna…”
Għajnen ix-xiħa kienu jleqqu bħalma jleqqu l-ħjut tal-ħarir taħt il-bozza tal-elf. “Se titgħallmu xi ħaġa illum,” qalet, b’leħen ħlejju, filwaqt li ħarset lejn it-tewmin u lejn in-nies l-oħra li kienu qegħdin jinġabru madwarha.
Kollha kemm huma resqu iżjed qrib, jaraw iċ-ċombini jilgħabu fuq it-trajbu, iċekċku b’melodija ħelwa. “Dawn huma l-għodda tiegħi,” kompliet hi, “flimkien mal-imħabba, l-paċenzja, u l-ħjut, u t-trajbu. Din li qed nagħmel jien m’għandiex x’taqsam mall-bizzilla tal-magni tal-lum; dik tidħaq bin-nies, għax tixtriha bil-metru, tgħassadha fl-ilma, u mbagħad idub it-tessut ta’ madwarha, u tiġi bizzilla. Sabiħa kemm tridha, imma bla ruħ.”
Fleur għamlet sinjal lejn is-sett taċ-ċombini. “U dawn, nanna… għaliex qishom kollha differenti?”
Il-mara tbissmet. “Dawk magħmula bit-torn, skont il-fantasija ta’ min jagħmilhom. Ġeneralment ikunu mill-injam tas-siġar tal-frott, jew, forsi, jekk ikunu antiki ħafna, tal-ivorju jew tal-għadam.”
Qabdet erbgħa ċombini, u wriethom kif jinqabdu bejn il-swaba’ u jdawru l-ħajt biex jifforma d-disinn ħelu ħelu. “F’kull tarf ta’ linja, tpoġġi labra, biex tibqa’ soda l-bizzilla.
Il-bizzilla Maltija hija unika għax ittewwem il-preċiżjoni ta’ qafas ġeometriku ma’ disinn organiku, u jistgħu jinħolqu xeni ta’ storja u stejjer ta’ kultura Maltija.”
Lee beda jdawwar subgħajh fl-arja, qisu qed jaħdem il-bizzilla. Fleur bdiet iċċaqlaq rasha mar-ritmu taċ-ċombini, qisha qed tisma’ l-mużika. Stella bdiet tgħanni bil-mod, hi u tħaddem iċ-ċombini. Waqfet, u qalet, “Bilħaqq… metru kwadru bizzilla jieħu aktar minn 200 siegħa biex jitlesta. Il-bizzilla trid il-ħin u l-paċenzja. Trid tkun moħħok hemm, lim ma tmurx tinduna b’xi żball kwarta wara li tkun għamiltu…’
Semmiet lil Lady Hamilton Chichester, u kif kienet ġabet magħha il-Ġenoviżi biex jgħallmu t-teknika tal-bizzilla, u ftaħret li l-Maltin addattawha għal Malta; żiedu s-salib ta’ tmien ponot, iż-żbul tal-qamħ, li jirrapreżentaw l-abbundanza, u ħwejjeġ oħra li jagħmlu l-bizzilla tabilħaqq Maltija. “Il-bizzilla hija Malta, u Malta hija bizzilla…” Ħarset lejn Fleur u Lee. “Intom tewmin, żgur mhux forsi. Ara, ħa ntikom tifkira ċkejkna tal-lum…” Gerfxet fil-basket u tathom tliet ċombini kull wieħed.
X’ħin qabduhom f’idehom, ir-riħa tar-rand u bużbież f’daqqa waħda saret iżjed qawwija, u t-tfal sabu ruħhom bi ħwejjeg differenti, u quddiem mara li kellha t-trajbu mimdud, mhux wieqaf.
“Ara Fleur u Lee, hawn. Kont qed nistenniekom. Jien Stella, il-bużnanna ta’ Stella…”
Bla kliem, Fleur urietha ċ-ċombini li kienet għadha kif tatha Stella l-oħra. Din tbissmet, imma ma qalet xejn. Lee kemmex wiċċu u qal, “Dawn il-ħwejjeġ riħa ta’ boċċi tal-kamla.”
Fleur u x-xiħa daħqu bil-qalb, u Stella l-antika qaltilhom, “Ara, dawn l-istess ċombini ta’ Stella l-ġdida, imma kif qed tarawm għadhom ġodda… Nimmaġina li Stella qaltilkom li l-insiġ tal-bizzilla mhuwiex biss xogħol tal-idejn li jrid dedikazzjoni inkredibbli għad-dettall, iżda xogħol ta’ mħabba u identità kulturali…
Fi żmien il-Kavallieri, kien hawn domanda kbira għall-bizzilla… Fl-1851, il-bizzilla tagħna kienet esebita Great Exhibition ta’ Londra, u affaxxinat l-udjenzi internazzjonali, minn Londra sa Vienna… saħansitra fl-istatwa tar-Reġina Victoria li hemm il-belt, tidher liebsa xalla tal-bizzilla ta’ Malta. Kellha ħamsa minnhom, fil-fatt. Naf x’nagħmel… ħa ntikom tliet ċombini jien ukoll, biex ikollkom nofs tużżana kull wieħed…”
U hemm kif newwlu idhom għaċ-ċombini, Flerur u Lee reġgħu sabu ruħhom l-Imdina, quddiem Stella l-ġdida. Bla kliem, Fleur urietha ċ-ċombini li kienet għadha kif tatha Stella l-oħra. Din tbissmet, imma ma qalet xejn…
Is there a link between school shootings and domestic violence? Or school shootings and ethnic backgrounds? The jury is still out, but I am, thinking the verdicts will be a resounding ‘yes’ to the former and ‘no’ to the latter questions.
Many researchers and practitioners have pointed out significant connections between domestic violence (DV) and school shootings.
There isn’t a single cause of school shootings; however, domestic violence frequently appears as a risk factor.
A significant number of school shooters have had prior exposure to domestic violence, either as victims, witnesses, or perpetrators. Violence learned, or normalised, can shape how someone understands conflict and power.
Many mass attackers show a trajectory of escalating violence: threats, stalking, animal abuse, domestic violence, or assaults, precede larger acts of violence. School shootings often represent escalation, not a sudden collapse.
Domestic violence and mass shootings often share psychological themes: a desire for control; grievance-based thinking (“I’ve been wronged”); externalizing blame; and rigid ideas about dominance, entitlement, masculinity, or retaliation.
In both DV and school shootings, perpetrators often signal intent beforehand, through threats, writings, online posts, or prior incidents that were dismissed as one-offs, or handled in isolation, rather than viewed as warning signs.
It must be stressed, however, that most people exposed to domestic violence do not become violent; DV is a risk factor, not a predictor, and not all school shooters come from violent homes. Treating domestic violence seriously can, however, interrupt pathways to broader violence.
Other factors must be considered; mental health distress, social isolation, access to firearms, ideological extremism, and community response failures. Recognising this overlap through better coordination between schools, courts, and social services helps with prevention. It is important to put into practice threat-assessment models that look at behaviour patterns across home, school, and online spaces, rather than one-off incidents. “Most likely to be a school-shooter” is not a joke.
Domestic violence and school shootings are two different phenomena, but they often arise from shared dynamics of power, grievance, and unresolved violence. Addressing violence early, especially in the home, can reduce the risk of more public, catastrophic harm later.
Discuss prevention strategies that have evidence behind them is important, but it is worrying that, all too often, the narrative when a white shooter acts, he is a ‘lone wolf’; but when a black shooter acts, he is a ‘gangster’. This, again, is a very real and well-documented concern; it matters deeply for both justice and effective prevention. The way violence is framed shapes policy, public fear, and who gets punished versus who gets helped, or even a pass. Racialised narratives distort prevention.
The most important and effective prevention strategy that has evidence behind it is the BTA – Behavioural Threat Assessment (BTA).
Multidisciplinary teams (educators, counsellors, administrators, and sometimes law enforcement) assess behaviours, not profiles or identities. This focuses on what someone does, not who they are. It looks for leakage, grievances, fixation on violence, and access to weapons. It provides support and intervention, not routine punishment.
But BTA works only when it rejects stereotypes. Research shows that profiling by race or background makes threat assessment worse, not better.
Then there is domestic violence intervention and firearm removal. Enforcing restraining orders and firearm relinquishment does reduce homicide and mass violence risk. Many shooters, across the board, have had prior DV or credible threats that were minimised.
There is a bias problem. DV by white perpetrators is more likely to be framed as “family trouble”, whereas while DV in Black communities is often criminalised, rather than treated as a warning sign.
Not enough attention is given to safe firearm storage and temporary transfer laws. Laws allowing temporary removal during crisis (often called extreme risk protection orders) reduce suicide, as well as violent escalation; evidence shows this is most effective when paired with due process protections. When applied unevenly, these laws can deepen racial disparities; therefore, implementation matters as much as the law itself.
School-based mental health supports are not as readily available as they ought to be. Counsellors, social workers, and trauma-informed care all reduce violent outcomes. They are more effective when framed as support, not surveillance.
It is important to note that policing schools more heavily does not reduce shootings, and it actually increases harm to Black students, because of the racialised narrative problem obtaining.
A White shooter is usually described as a “lone wolf”, “troubled”, and / or “mentally ill”. On the other hand, a Black shooter is a “gang member”, and “thug” product of the “criminal culture”. This framing narrative is not accidental, and it has consequences, not the least of which is that it distorts reality. White violence is individualised, and leads to therapy, manifestos, and excuses. Black violence is collectivized, and leads to policing, punishment, and stigma. Same behaviours are interpreted differently, based on race.
The consequences are dire: warning signs in white perpetrators are often missed, or minimised, and black youth are more likely to be punished for behaviours that should trigger support. Both scenarios undermine prevention. Racism makes the entire population less safe.
Racialised narratives divert resources toward policing instead of prevention; they encourage profiling instead of behaviour analysis; they create mistrust, making people less likely to report concerns; they mask structural factors like poverty, trauma, and access to care.
Without racial bias, evidence-based prevention focus on behaviour, not identity. Attention must be paid to threats, fixation, leakage, and escalation; not race, neighbourhood, clothing, tattoos, jewellery worn or patois spoken. There must be universal supports, and targeted interventions, with everyone having access to mental health and conflict resolution. Extra help is given because of behaviour, not background. Violence must be seen as a public health issue. Violence is rarely senseless; it is often ignored until it explodes.
The same logic used for domestic violence, suicide prevention, and substance abuse, must be used with regard to school shootings; interrupt cycles early, before criminalisation.
There must be accountability without dehumanization. Consequences should exist; but so should dignity. Prevention fails when people are labelled as “monsters” or “gangsters”. This is not about being politically correct; it is about effective violence prevention.
When we racialise violence, we automatically excuse some perpetrators and over-punish others, missing the warning signs that could save lives. Fair, behaviour-based, and trauma-informed approaches work better than fear-based, or racially-coded narratives.
Evidence-informed, ethical media practices reduce harm, avoid racialised narratives, and still meet journalistic standards.
Language choices that shape public meaning; identity-based shorthand created problematic framing – “Lone wolf”; “Gang-related”; “Troubled teen”; “Loser”; “Monster”; “Mentally ill shooter”… all these labels racialize violence implicitly, excuse or demonize instead of explain, and obscure warning signs and accountability.
There are far better alternatives: “The suspect acted alone” is factual, not a mythic supposition; “Police are investigating motive; no verified gang affiliation at this time” puts paid to that theory; “Prior threats and behavioural warnings had been reported” indicates that this could be an ongoing issue with the person, not his ethnicity / background; “A pattern of escalating violence [stalking, DV, school discipline, online posts]” confirms this.
Media should focus on what happened, not the ‘identity mythology’. The key must be behaviour-first reporting. Evidence from threat-assessment research is clear: behaviour predicts violence; identity does not.
Access to weapons and institutional responses or failures shift the narrative from “who he was” to “what was missed”, and attempts to avoid the racial double standard in motive framing. If the motive is unknown, one must not hazard guesses and make them theories. Do not fill the vacuum with racialised tropes and speculations.
Self-censorship is in order: would the same language have been used, if the shooter were a different race? Why is a White shooter “radicalized online”, whereas a Black shooter is “gang-influenced”?
There is strong evidence that perpetrator-centred coverage increases copycat risk. The shooter’s name and photo must be used as rarely as possible. “No Notoriety” means that if you mention a person by his nickname, it gives him cult status, but if you say his name and surname, he is a common person.
This idea is well-supported by research, media ethics, and social psychology, even if it’s often dismissed as “just wording.” Using a nickname can elevate a perpetrator into a symbol or cult figure, while using a full legal name (or minimizing name use altogether) keeps the person grounded as an ordinary individual accountable for his actions, and does not make him a mythologised hero for wannabes.
Nicknames function like brands; they are memorable, and carry emotional or symbolic meaning. They travel easily on social media, and invite repetition. This is well-known by extremist movements, gangs, and online subcultures, that intentionally use nicknames to create identity and legend. Media repetition unintentionally perfects that process.
Moreover, nicknames detach the act from accountability; they separate the person from family, history, and man-in-the-street ordinariness. They make an individual an archetype who “performs” violence, rather than commits it. A full name reattaches the act to a real, accountable human being who lived in a real community. The more “iconic” the perpetrator appears, the greater the contagion effect, because it fosters fascination, which is dangerous.
The use of a nickname create a legacy the perpetrator is after; therefore, calling them by their full name, or even just their surname, denies that reward.
Full names de-mythologise, restore proportionality by keeping the focus on the act and its consequences, not on the persona, and, given the state of social media, limit meme-ification. Full names don’t travel as easily as nicknames, and that friction reduces spread.
Language isn’t semantics. It doesn’t just describe violence; it participates in it. Manifestos and / or social media rants must never be published in full. The emphasis must always be on the victims, the impact on the community, and prevention gaps. This is harm reduction, similar to reporting guidelines for suicides.
The sources and authorities cited must always be trusted ones. Rumours are not facts. The opinions of educators, DV advocates, and trauma experts are important. When covering acts of violence, language is never neutral. The words journalists choose can either inform the public responsibly, or unintentionally amplify harm.
How violence is reported influences public understanding, policy responses, and community safety. Scooping the competition b y repeating salacious, unconfirmed details [“we can always do a retraction later”] is a temptation every journalist must avoid.
The Bechdel Test is frequently invoked in popular and academic discourse, as a shorthand measure of gender representation in film. While widely acknowledged as limited in scope, it continues to provoke debate because of how persistently mainstream cinema struggles to meet even its minimal criteria.
This article argues that the ongoing relevance of the Bechdel Test lies less in its capacity to measure feminist success, than in its ability to expose patterns of narrative compliance, whereby films technically satisfy the test whilst maintaining male-centred storytelling structures. Through an examination of recurring cinematic scenarios and selected case studies, I will demonstrate how the test’s criteria are often met in ways that are incidental, marginal, narratively inconsequential, or even ludicrous.
The Bechdel Test proposes three simple conditions for evaluating women’s presence in a work of fiction: i. the narrative must include at least two named female characters; ii. those characters must engage in dialogue with one another; and iii. their conversation must concern a topic other than a man.
First articulated in a 1985 instalment of Alison Bechdel’s comic strip Dykes to Watch Out For, and attributed within the strip to Liz Wallace, the test was never intended as a comprehensive theory of representation. Rather, it functioned as an observational prompt, highlighting how rarely women were positioned as narrative subjects independent of male characters.
Despite, or perhaps because of, its simplicity, the Bechdel Test has endured. It is frequently criticised for measuring presence instead of quality, and for being unable to account for intersectionality, narrative depth, or character development. These limitations are well-documented. Nevertheless, the test remains useful as a diagnostic tool, particularly in revealing how often women’s relationships, conversations, and interior lives are marginalised within dominant storytelling conventions.
The low threshold required to pass the Bechdel Test, ironically, is central to both its appeal and its controversy. The test does not require that female characters be protagonists, that they demonstrate agency, or that their dialogue be substantive. It merely requires that women exist in relation to one another in a manner that is not defined by men. That this remains a notable achievement in many films suggests the persistence of deeply-gendered narrative norms.
Genres such as war films, historical epics, science fiction, and action television and cinema have traditionally foregrounded male protagonists and conflicts. However, even films that include prominent female characters frequently frame those characters’ interactions through romantic, familial, or professional relationships to men. As a result, the absence identified by the Bechdel Test is not accidental, but structural.
As awareness of the Bechdel Test has grown, so too has the tendency for films and television series to satisfy its criteria through technicalities. Several recurring patterns can be identified.
One such pattern is the incidental exchange: a brief conversation between two named female characters that is spatially and narratively detached from the central plot. These exchanges often concern neutral or functional topics, such as workplace logistics, minor disputes, or everyday observations, and have no subsequent impact on the story.
A related pattern is the functional dialogue, in which female characters speak to one another solely to convey basic information necessary for plot progression. While such exchanges technically meet the test’s criteria, they position women as conduits, rather than as narrative agents with distinct perspectives or relationships.
A third pattern involves what might be termed inserted moments: short scenes that appear to have been added to satisfy representational expectations without altering the narrative’s gendered focus. These moments are typically brief, isolated, and thematically disconnected from the film’s emotional or thematic core.
A number of widely recognised films illustrate how the Bechdel Test can be passed without meaningfully centring female relationships. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers passes the test only in its extended edition, through a short exchange between Éowyn and a young girl about food preparation. The theatrical release fails the test entirely. The exchange in question is incidental and has no bearing on the narrative trajectory.
Similarly, The Avengers (2012) meets the criteria through extremely brief interactions between Natasha Romanoff and Maria Hill, or between Hill and a female council member. These moments are fragmentary and embedded within an overwhelmingly male-driven ensemble narrative.
In Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: Part 2, the test is satisfied by a fleeting tactical exchange between Professor McGonagall and Molly Weasley during the Battle of Hogwarts. While both characters are significant within the franchise, their interaction is brief, and subordinate, to the surrounding action.
Comparable examples can be found in Skyfall (2012), which passes through a short procedural conversation involving Moneypenny, and Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015), which narrowly qualifies due to a brief exchange between Rey and Maz Kanata. In each case, the films’ emotional and narrative centres remain oriented around male characters and relationships.
It is important to note that failing the Bechdel Test does not render a film artistically deficient, or ideologically regressive, by default. Many critically acclaimed works, including Blade Runner, Jaws, Gravity, Oppenheimer, TheSocial Network, and the original Star Wars trilogy, fail the test for reasons related to narrative focus rather than overt misogyny.
However, when such failures are considered collectively, they reveal a consistent pattern in which women’s interactions are deemed narratively unnecessary or even extraneous. The value of the Bechdel Test lies in making this pattern visible, rather than in offering a definitive evaluative judgment.
The Bechdel Test was never designed to serve as a comprehensive measure of feminist representation in film; its limitations are well understood. Its continued relevance lies in its diagnostic function: it exposes the persistence of narrative structures that marginalise women’s relationships and conversations. Films that pass the test only incidentally or technically underscore the very problem the test was intended to highlight.
Rather than asking whether a film passes or fails the Bechdel Test, the more productive question may be what such outcomes reveal about entrenched storytelling habits.
As long as women’s interactions remain peripheral to mainstream narratives, the Bechdel Test will retain its critical force: not as a marker of success, but as an index of absence.
Here are more than two score films that famously fail the Bechdel test, for one reason or another:
Kikkri simili imma differenti li jirrakuntaw l-istess storja.
Mela darba kien hemm mara li kienet iġġemma’ il-kikkri u plattini antiki. Ftit minnhom kienu jiswew ftit ċenteżmi, iżda kellha uħud li kienu jiswew il-mijiet ta’ €wro.
Kull meta tara Charity Shop, jew ħanut tal-antikitajiet, jew House Sale, kienet tmur tara issibx xi kikkra – imma jekk ma jkollhiex il-plattina pariġġ, ma toħodhiex!
Kienet waslet biex tagħlaq il-ħamsin sena, u qalet li la issa ilha f’din id-dinja nofs seklu, kien ħaqqha xi ħaġa speċjali. Qabdet tal-linja u daħlet il-Belt. Marret dritt fuq wieħed mit-tilari tal-Fiera li kien hemm fit-Terminus, għax lemħet xi fajjenza.
Għanejha bdew jilmaw x’ħin rat ringiela kikkri bil-plattini, waħda isbaħ mill-oħra. Iż-żewġ tfajliet li kienu qed ibiegħu indunaw li kienet interessata f’dak li kellhom, u ħajruha biex tixtri billi qalulha li jekk tixtri iżjed minn oġġett wieħed, jirranġawlha fil-prezz.
Kien hemm minn fejn tagħżel, u kieku setgħet, kienet tixtrihom kollha kemm huma. Imma kellha spejjeż oħra; id-dawl u ilma, u l-kera, u riedet tmur għand tal-merċa, wkoll.
Wara li damet nofs siegħa biex tiddeċiedi, spiċċat xtrat disgħa, kollha differenti imma kollha bl-istess disinn, il-Willow Pattern, li tant kienet tħobb,. Għal xejn il-bejjiegħa l-oħrajn sejħulha biex tmur għandhom ukoll, għax qaltilhom li ma kienx baqalha flus x’tonfoq, tant li dawwret denbha u reġgħet qabdet tal-linja u marret lura d-dar.
Billi diġa kellha sitta oħra bl-istess tema, ħasbet biex tagħmel xkaffa għall-Willow Pattern biss.
Darba minnhom, wara nofsinhar, tisma’ xi ħsejjes ġejjin mill-kamra tal-pranzu. Ħasbet li jew il-qattusa kienet qabdet xi wirdiena, jew li kien daħlilha xi ħadd. Waqfet tissemma’, qabel ma ċċempel lill-pulizija, u semgħet ilħna helwin, qishom tat-tfal ċkejknin, u xi ċekċik. Possibbli li kienet ħalliet it-television mixgħul, u kien beda’ l-programm tat-tfal?
Niżlet inkiss inkiss, lesta li tlebbet lura ‘l fuq biex iċċempel lill-Pulizija jekk ikun hemm il-bżonn.
Skantat mhux ftit meta rat lit-tnax il-kikkra u plattina tal-Willow Pattern, f’ċirku mal-art, qishom qed jagħmlu diskussjoni.
“Ara Irene!” qalet waħda minnhom. Irene baqgħet iċċassata. Dan kif kienu jitkellmu? U iżjed u iżjed, kif kienu jafu x’jisimha? Qisha f’ħolma, qagħdet bilqgħeda ħdejhom.
“Dawn x’affarijiet huma?” staqsiethom.
“Għandek tkun taf li dan id-disinn, li ġej miċ-Ċina antika, huwa wieħed maġiku, u nixtiequk tikteb storja dwarna, biex tagħti tagħlima lit-tfal,” qalet waħda mill-kikkri.
“Iva,” qabżet oħra. “Għidilhom li aħna, ħafna żmien qabeln ma sirna kif qed tarana llum, konna biss tafal ordinarju, u għaddejna minn ħafna proċeessi biex sirna kina sabiħa; tiżbit u tidwir u sħana tal-fran, u rwejjaħ ta’ żebgħa…”
U t-tielet waħda qalet, “Għidilhom li l-ħajja qatt ma tkun mingħajr dwejjaq u problemi, imma bil-mod il-mod, niġu f’tagħna…”
Minn bejn ix-xquq tal-blinds kien beda’ dieħel id-dawl tal-għabex. Iżda t-tewmin kienu ilhom imqajma, għax illum kienet ġurnata speċjali. Kienu diġa ħadu tazza ħalib u sandwich. Il-jum ta’ qabel kienu marru jġarrbu l-ħwejjeġ li kienu ser jilbsu għar-reċta tal-Milied, u llum kellhom imorru jiġbruhom.
Kien ser isir presepju ħaj fil-ground tal-football ta’ Fleur de Lys, u huma kienu ntagħżlu bħala paġġi tas-Slaten Maġi. Kemm kienu ferħanin u kburin biha din-il ħatra.
Fis-sala fejn kien hemm il-ħajjata u l-atturi, kien hemm storju sħiħ. Kpiepel, mantelli, ilbiesi ta’ kull kulur, xwabel, korazzi taż-żwiemel, tunellati ta’ deheb u ġojjelli foloz, eċċ eċċ.
Fleur u Lee kienu lesti, imma xorta ma marrux id-dar, għax kienu qed jieħdu gost jissindikaw lill-oħrajn. Immaġinaw li qegħdin f’nofs xi ġbid ta’ film. Ippruvaw iżommu wiċċhom serju kemm setgħu, għax beżgħu li jekk jiċċaċċraw b’dak li kienu qed jaraw, ikeċċuhom ‘l hinn. Dak eċitament!
“Xi dwejjaq kieku kelna nilbsu hekk il-ħin kollu, dawn il-ħwejjeġ kollha!” qalet Fleur, li, biex inkunu għedna kollox, kienet taf li jixirqilha ċ-ċelesti.
Kif l-arloġġ daqq is-sitta, it-tfal qabżu minn fuq is-siġġijiet, u marru fil-kmamar tagħhom biex ibiddlu. Eżatt kif libsu, id-dawl ta’ barra għeb għal ftit sekondi, qisu xi ħadd tefa’ s-swiċċ.
Fleur u Lee ħarġu mill-kmamar tagħhom, u ltaqgħu fil-kuritur. Bilkemm laħqu lemħu lil xulxin, li bla ebda twissija, id-dinja bdiet iddur, u kien waqa’ dlam ċappa. Kulħadd jgħid li dawn l-affarijiet jiġru “f’tebqa t’għajn” imma għal Fleur u Lee, dawn il-ftit sekondi dehru qishom eternità żgħira.
Meta d-dawl ġie lura, id-dar tagħhom kienet sparixxiet. Sabu ruħhom f’nofs deżert, bir-ramel jaħraq taħt is-sandli li mn’alla kellu l-pettijiet hoxnin. Kien hemm riħ ħafif, mimli trab fin u misterji antiki. U mhux hekk bis: quddiemhom, fuq tliet iġmla sbieħ, kien hemm… huma. Melchior, Caspar, u Balthasar, u l-bqija tan-nies ta’ madwarhom.
Il-Maġi ħarsu lejhom, mhux bi skantament, iżda bi tbissima, donnhom kienu qed jistennewhom. “Ara, wasaltu fl-aħħar,” qal Melchior b’vuċi hoxna qisu bumbardun. “Mela nistgħu nitilqu, għax intom biss kien jonqos.”
Lee ħares madwaru. “Aħna… ehm… ma nistax nifhem. Aħna suppost sejrin fil-ground tal-football għall-aħħar provi…”
Caspar ħa nifs twil. “Tibdiex tafx. Dawn l-istejjer tiegħek ma jagħmlux sens…” Fleur tatu daqqa bil-minkeb lil huha, u siket.
Balthasar qal, “Kollox sew. Tlaqna. Issa fit-triq nirrakuntaw ftit mill-istejjer tagħna, biex il-paġġi u n-nies ta’ kull Sultan iknunu jafu tat-tnejn l-oħra.”
Bdew iterrqu lejn l-oriżżont, u Fleur innotat li ġemel minnhom ma kienx qed iġib ruħu sew, u l-ħin kollu jipprova jagħti daqqiet b’rasu lil dak ta’ ħdejh. “Dak ma tantx għandu burdata tajba llum,” qalet.
“Hux!” daħak Balthasar. “Dak Rummienu… dejjem jurik meta ma togħġbux xi ħaġa. Imma għandu qalbu tad-deheb. Eżatt bħan-nies.”
Il-vjaġġ kompla b’ritmu kwiet. Melchior beda jirrakkonta kif kien ilu ġimgħat isegwi id-dawl ilellex tal-stilla li qatt qabel ma kien ra bħalha. Caspar qalilhom kif dejjem kien jitlob lill-Alla biex jurih it-triq, u f’daqqa waħda kien fehem li kien wasal iż-żmien li jibda’ l-vjaġġ. Balthasar, li ma kienx serju bħall-oħrajn, qal storja kemmxejn umoristika: kif il-ġemel tiegħu dar ħames darbiet madwar l-istess oasi, u mbagħad telaq għal għonq it-triq, għax hekk fettillu, fejn hu iltaqa’ maż-żewġ Slaten l-oħra.
Fleur u Lee semgħu dan kollu b’widnejhom miftuħa beraħ. It-tfal kienu issa draw jivvjaġġaw fiż-żmien, imma dejjem kienet tkun sorpriża ħelwa l-avventura li jkollhom.
Imbagħad ġara li Rummienu dehrlu li kellhom jieqfu biex jixorbu, u ħassu rrabjat għax ma waqfux mill-ewwel. Baxxa rasu u qabad lil wieħed mill-paġġi minn driegħu, u għollih.
“Ajmaaa!” werżaq dan.
Lee ħares lejh. “Weġġgħek?”
“Ma tistax timmaġina x’ħassejt,” weġbu dan.
Fleur, b’qalbha ttaqtaq, avviċinat lir-Rummienu. “Ejja, ġemel sabiħ,” qaltlu bil-leħen ħlejju li tuża meta titkellem ma’ Jeremy, il-kelb tal-ġara. “M’għandekx għalfejn tirrabja. Issa nieqfu.” Dehrilha li Rummienu xengel rasu biex qisu jgħid “Orrajt!”
Caspar ħares lejha, iċċassat. “Int għandek don speċjali, naħseb… Rummienu mhux soltu jisma’ minn ħadd, għajr minni!” Fleur tbissmet, ferħana.
Waqfu biex jieklu u jixorbu, u wara komplew jimxu, jimxu, jimxu.
F’daqqa waħda, it-tewmin qishom ħassew li dik it-tirq ġielu kienu għaddew minnha. Id-dawl issa ma kienx biss tax-xemx, iżda wkoll tal-spotlights tal-ground tal-football tar-raħal. Ir-ramel tad-deżert kien sar ħamrija.
U f’daqqa waħda…
…sabu ruħom fil-ground, quddiem ix-xena enormi tal-presepju ħaj.
Kienu tilfu ġurnata, għax kienet il-lejla tal-prestazzjoni. Il-voluntiera kollha kienu hemm, min jagħmel l-aħħar irtokki, oħrajn jittestjaw il-mikrofoni. Kien hemm ukoll għadd ta’ nies liebsin il-kostumi, jbiegħu oġġetti tal-injam, ħobż, għasel, bizzilla eċċ, u l-qliegħ kien ser ikun kollu għall-karita.
Is-Slaten Maġi u n-nies l-oħra kollha kienu għebu. L-iġmla kienu sparixxew, u flokhom kien hemm tlieta tal-kartapesta. L-organiżżatur, ovvjament, tektek fuq l-arloġġ ta’ idejh, u ħares lejhom kemmxejn biċ-ċiera.
“Fl-aħħar wasaltu!” qal b’tbissima naqra mġebbda. “Kemm domtu!”
Fleur u Lee ħarsu lejn xulxin, b’dik il-ħarsa li tgħid, “Imma jekk ngħidulu x’ġara, jemminna?”
“Ħeqq… ġejna mill-bogħod, u taf int, it-traffiku…” qal Lee, hu u jipprova ma jidħakx.
Is-Sindku għolla huġbejh. “It-traffiku! Dejjem it-traffiku jeħel. Minn tletin metru ‘l bogħod, hux? Mela mhux bil-mixi ġejtu?”
Meta mxew eqreb lejn il-bqija tal-grupp, indunaw li l-atturi li kienu suppost is-Slaten Maġi, kienu liebsin l-istess ħwejjeġ eżatt, bħal dawk li kienu iltaqgħu maghhom fil-avventura tagħhom.
It-tewmin ħarsu lejn xulxin.
“X’kull waħda!” qalet Fleur.
“Min jaf Rummienu!” wieġeb Lee.
U hekk kif beda r-rakkont, l-atturi u l-udjenza daħlu fl-ispirtu, u saltnet paċi kbira. Fleur u Lee fehmu għal darb’oħra li mhux dejjem il-ġrajjiet għandhom jinftiehmu mill-bidu sal-aħħar. Xi drabi biżżejjed tagħżel li temmen li l-Milied iġib miegħu mirakli żgħar… u ħafna ramel mid-deżert fil-but tal-kostum.
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