He wandered even further, searching. God seemed to become ever rarer, and those who owned a little did not want to give any away (but in the very same instant in which they said no, God disappeared, moving progressively further away).
At long last, Don Valentino was at the edge of a vast plain, and far away, right on the horizon, God shone softly, like an oblong cloud. Uncomprehending, the priest fell on his knees in the snow.
“Wait for me, o Lord” he begged, “ by my fault the archbishop has remained alone, and it is Christmas Eve!”
His feet were frozen, he set off in the fog, sank in up to his knees, occasionally he fell face down to the ground. How long would he endure?
Finally he heard an ample, touching choir, angels’ voices, a ray of light filtered through the fog. He opened a small wooden door: there was an enormous church and in the middle, surrounded by a few small oil lamps, a priest was praying. And the church was filled with paradise.
“Brother”, groaned Don Valentino, at the end of his tether, stiff with ice “have mercy on me. By my fault my archbishop is alone and he needs God. Give me a little, I beg you.”
Slowly the praying man turned around. And Don Valentino, recognising him, became, if possible, even paler.
“A Merry Christmas to you, Don Valentino” exclaimed the archbishop walking towards him, all surrounded by God. “My good boy, where on earth have you been? May I ask what you have gone looking for out there in this foul night?”