Danielus Arianicus: A Play in Three Acts

Act 1

Back in Basel upon first meeting shy David, one of the first things I suggested to him was that we play with the baskets full of legos in the boys' playroom. As a nanny, I love legos, especially for little boys. The male sex seems to take special pleasure in entropy at work and this inclination for destruction begins well before the age of reason. Luckily at this point in their development any harm done is a on a very small scale and there is no love lost. Legos are perfect for this purpose. I cannot express how manty hours I spent in Basel building towers of blocks only to watch Daniel and David knock them down with glee. And because of this, whenever I arrived at his flat, David usual greeting was not "Ciao!" but, "Play Lego?"

In a terrible oversight, I failed to make sure some legos were brought with us to Sestri. David's ever-present question to me had to be answered each time with "I'm sorry David, but we don't have any legos here." His facial expression reminded me of those times when my family vacationed at the shore when my father prevented my younger brother from destroying the sandcastles I had just spent hours laboring over - that is, utter dissapointment. Except this time, I feel badly.

Act 2

Wednesday however, was David's birthday, It was a joyous occaision and both sets of his grandparents celebrated with us (which made for another extrememly interesting linguistic experience as neither set of grandparents knows English, the parents' common language). David recieved a book from me, shoes from his Italian grandparents, a puzzle from his parents, and ecco! a set of legos--enough to build a small train, conductor included--from his German grandparents. He held the box high above his head and yelled "Susie! Susie! Play lego!" It was a triumphant moment for the young boy.

Later that day, after repasso, David wanted to 'play lego'. I of course obliged, but was also preoccupied watching Daniel the Arian destroyer. Fulfilling his duties as a younger brother, Daniel only wanted to play with David's new legos and not any of the plethora of other toys I placed in front of him. David finally decided to placate the "pest" (his word, not mine) by giving him the conductor to the train. None of us could scarcely guess his fate.

Daniel, finally appeased, was playing quietly within my eyesight so I turned my attention to David - it was his birthday after all. While I was figuring out which side of the lego train car to place the lego whistle on to make the model look exactly the same as its counterpart pictured on the packaging, I heard a distinctive crack. I looked at Daniel: his lips were pursed together and he had the distinctive look of risibility on his face that only comes with a naughty act (incidentally, the Italians have a word for this that I like very much: furbo. It translates as 'clever', and has devilish undertones, but its connotation remains positive). I began to look around for what the young child had broken.

And then, I saw him.

The headless body of lego-man-train-conductor gripped by Daniel's right hand.

Nanny instincts kicked in and I quickly removed the aforementioned's head from the mouth of the young Arian. David, understandably so, was not happy. "Don't worry, I can fix this," I assured him and retrieved superglue from one of the kitchen drawers. After a small operation and a minute of recovery time lego-man-train-conductor was revived and peace remained between the two brothers.

Act 3

Thursday morning I awoke and found David playing with his legos, in which he genially invited me to participate. To his credit, he had again given his brother lego-man-train-conductor; perhaps all had been forgiven or forgotten. In any case, all was well as I began to make myself some coffee.

It was a beautiful day and as such the boys' mother had the doors that lead out to the small balcony of our second storey flat wide open. The balcony has a grate around it with spaces between the bars large enough to allow my hand through, but not anything larger. The boys like to go out and watch the sea so when Daniel wandered out I thought nothing of it.

I really should learn from my mistakes.

Just as the caffeine was kicking in and the fog lifting from my mind, I hear Daniel yelling and pointing at something on the street below. I crossed the room to the balcony, looked below and just barely saw a little piece of yellow plastic with a face on it. I squinted and saw that the yellow plastic face also has an orange conductor's hat. Then I saw a red torso with one arm attached . . . and then another arm . . . and then black plastic legs. Lego-man-train-conductor had been quartered. His crime, the same as mine--trusting an 18th month old Arian--but his punishment, well beyond what I will have to pay.

The worst of my transgressions though remained yet to come. I did not collect what left of lego-man-train-conductor as I saw the street cleaning crew approaching. He had a nameless mass burial with countless other fallen toys.

Last of all, I have not informed David of his loss. He remains, to my knowledge, blissfully unaware. I shall keep Daniel's secret forever with me and now pass it on to you.