Tick, tock, tick, tock. The clock in the living room seemed to walk on snail paws that night. It was Christmas Eve on Dogavios, and Pigúiça could not fall asleep.
She had already rolled to the right. Rolled to the left. Counted to a hundred, twice. Nothing. Her blue eyes stayed wide open, like two little moons.
And all because Santa Claus was going to fly over Dogavios that very night. Pigúiça wanted, very, very, very much, to see his sleigh.
She tiptoed to Fofuxo's room. “Fofuxo, are you awake?” He opened one golden eye. “I am now,” he said, yawning. “What's the matter, Pigúiça?”
“Christmas is taking too long,” she grumbled. “I want tomorrow to be here right now.” Fofuxo chuckled softly. “Tomorrow only comes when we sleep. That's just how it works.”
“Then I'll stay awake until it comes,” said Pigúiça. “And I'll see Santa Claus!” Fofuxo thought for a little while. Then he got up, fetched his plaid blanket, and said, “Deal. But let's wait the right way.”
The two of them went to the living room window. Fofuxo spread the blanket on the floor, nice and fluffy, and Pigúiça lay down beside him. Outside, the pink sky had darkened into a deep pink, full of stars.
“Waiting is a job too,” Fofuxo explained. “First, we count the stars that twinkle.” They counted. Pigúiça got to twelve and lost track, because she was blinking right along with them.
“Second, we listen.” They listened. The stones in the garden hummed a very soft hmmm. A smiling cloud drifted by slowly and said good night.
“Third,” said Fofuxo, “we let the waiting get heavy and good, like a blanket.” Pigúiça didn't quite understand. But she rested her head on his warm tummy, just to try it out.
Fofuxo's tummy rose and fell, slowly. Up. Down. It was like waiting on top of a tiny wave.
“Fofuxo,” whispered Pigúiça, “what if Santa Claus comes and my eyes are closed?” “Then he'll know you waited a long time,” said Fofuxo. “And he'll leave your present with an extra bit of love.”
Pigúiça smiled. It was getting hard to keep her eyelids open. She looked at one star. Then another. Then just one blurry little light.
Far away, very far away, something tinkled. Ding-dong, ding-dong, little bells. Or maybe it was a singing stone? Pigúiça couldn't tell anymore.
She smiled with her eyes closed, snuggled in the blanket, and waited for Christmas in the coziest way there is: sleeping.
