No Lucifer.
His own steam, then.
As he was about to lift off and head home, flashes of hollyberry red shone through the trees in a rustle and burst of exuberance. “It’s you!” exclaimed Wendy, kicking up snow as she came on. “I thought so. I followed Mommy’s and Anya’s boot prints.”
“Yes, I—”
She rushed into an enthusiastic hug, which he awkwardly returned. Then she stepped back. “I just had to tell you. I peeked in on Jamie Stratton and his family, just to see how they were doing? Well, they’re fine. They’re astounded at how the world has changed, as well they might be. But what I wanted to say was that Jamie told them he wanted a little sister and they said they would see what they could do about that but not to get his hopes up because getting pregnant wasn’t always easy.”
“Unless a certain—”
“Exactly! I knew about your magic nose thing, and I was hoping that maybe you could, you know....”
“Well I don’t see why I couldn't.” His spirits brightened considerably. “I’ll drop in on them as soon as all the stars, urges, and hormones are properly aligned. No more than two or three months, at the outside.”
“Great! So what’s this tent all about, and stuff?”
“Oh well, your mother wanted to thank me for...well I’ll let her tell you herself. But the upshot is that I’ll be leaving Easter baskets at the North Pole again.”
“That’s super!”
“Dear me, I’ve got to be off. You take care now, sweet pea.”
“You too. And don’t forget the Strattons.”
“I won’t.” He gratefully accepted her parting hug, then waved a paw, flew up, and shot away southward, much relieved his visit hadn’t been as dreadful as he had feared.
Easter baskets? Next year, Wendy and the others would receive the finest ones he, his hens, and his machines were able to produce!
* * *
Rachel heard Wendy’s voice piping animatedly outside. Then into the tent she burst, kicked off her shiny red boots, and ran across the carpet onto Rachel’s lap.
“Well, aren’t you the enthusiastic one?”
“I sure am. Hi, Anya. So what’s with the Easter Bunny’s visit? And this tent? Neat! Oh, Mom, I told him about Jamie Stratton, just like I wanted to. And he said he would do it. He’s going to make his nose twitch at just the right moment to bless Jamie’s mom and dad with a little girl.”
Rachel loved her childish enthusiasm. “Well, dear, he did so many good deeds for us and Santa, I thought I’d thank him in a special way. He appreciated it, I think.”
“Yeah, but why not in the commons in front of everybody? Give him a medal and a kiss, or something?”
“Um,” said Rachel. “Oh, he’s the modest sort. Shy and self-effacing to a fault. I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. Public adulation sometimes does that, even to the worthiest soul.”
Wendy said, “Great,” and told her how much she had missed having candy at Easter, even though the day meant so much more than that, in terms of Christ and salvation and stuff. But Rachel only half heard her, her mind teemed with such conflicting emotions. She felt as if she had been caught in a secret, which indeed she had, telling white lies—something she hated doing—and that any moment now, her daughter was going to turn all solemn and say, “Mom, level with me,” and the whole sorry rape would come out, right there in the soft sad orange glow of the tent; and Wendy, in that knowledge, would be unalterably changed. Nevermore would girlish glee irrepressibly erupt from her, as now it did.
But Wendy never went there.
Instead she looked about and laughed and said, “We really have it great, Mom, don’t we?”
Rachel, relieved, smiled. “Yes, we do.”
“It’s super, being immortal. And I don’t care—though of course I regret it, heavens, who wouldn’t?—that I’ll never have a grown-up body nor any kids of my own. But what I do have are perfect health, the companionship of elves in abundance, the wonder of the workshop, and Santa reading me bedtime stories. He’s the greatest reader. I can see and hear all the characters as if they were standing right in front of me. And now, Santa and I get to change some mortals’ lives, or do our best anyway. That’s so amazingly cool!”
Rachel agreed that it was, thinking about the withering violence inflicted on them by the Tooth Fairy and her imps, but she wasn’t about to bring that up. “We are indeed blessed,” she said. “Never aging, never dying, never getting sick—there’s much to be said for immortality. I’d say you can’t get much closer to heaven on earth.”
“Yep, and I’ll tell you something else. If that terrible fairy tries anything again, I know now I can fight her right back. Not that I like fighting. I don’t. But I’ll protect myself and my loved ones, you can count on it.”
“I doubt she’ll bother us again.”
“Why is she so mean, Mommy?”
Rachel demurred. “That’s a long story, sweetie. Another time, perhaps.”
“Okay.” Wendy was so fired up with happiness, she hugged and kissed Rachel, then raced over to Anya and leaped into her lap, causing her to drop a stitch. But Anya just tilted her head back and laughed in that old-lady way she had, hugged her stepdaughter in return, and said, “You dear sweet girl.”
Then Rachel announced it was time they headed home, so the elves could strike the tent and life resume its normal routine.
And so they did.
Chapter 44. Santa Among the Elves
SINCE HIS RESURRECTION, Santa had been learning to embrace himself in all his contradictory dimensions. He felt relief that Wendy had accepted his confession with such good grace. His fear of her rejection had proven groundless. All he needed was to be open, moment by moment, trusting in her nonjudgmental response.
No longer did he avoid observing grown-up mortals. As always, he kept lists of naughty and nice children. But now he began a few new ones—considered compilations of naughty and nice adults, primarily to help Wendy decide which households to visit on Thanksgiving Eve.
Some grown-ups were very nice indeed, a seasoning and maturation of the good children they had been. Others hadn’t been so nice as kids, but had reformed by some means or other and struggled daily to embrace virtue. But many of them were very naughty indeed (he was forced to invent sublists for nasty, psychopathic, and beyond the pale), a far larger group and one that made Santa Claus very unhappy indeed. So much potential for goodness wasted; so many lives frittered away; so much love never expressed, indeed never felt, for the fear or low self-esteem that concealed it.
Santa sighed. He and Wendy had much work to do. And with only three households to visit each year, they would have to choose wisely for maximum impact on the human race. Michael hadn’t said it would be easy. But Santa relished the challenge. He would be sure to adjust Wendy’s expectations before they began. Then they would barrel in, full force, spiritual guns blazing.
A week after Easter, Santa called the elves into his office one by one. Wrapping their conversation in magic time, he told them he had changed and felt the need to reacquaint himself with his helpers. He also wanted to assess the community’s health after the recent brouhaha over Gregor’s misguided condemnation of nosepicking.
Chuff he summoned early in the game, so as to assure the imp that he was a highly prized addition to the community. Because he excelled at heavy lifting, Chuff had become a free-roving assistant to any elves who dealt with outsized, bulky, or otherwise heavy and unwieldy toys: ping-pong tables, swing sets, tree houses, and the like. Santa had heard many of his helpers remark how cheery and helpful the imp was, and how undyingly grateful to have escaped his torment on the Tooth Fairy’s island. Indeed it was all Santa could do, when came Chuff’s turn, to keep him from kissing his boots.
“No, no, Chuff,” he laughed, “that isn’t necessary. Sit there, lad, and tell me how things are going.”
He gave the imp an extra hour, delighting in what he had to say and how he said it. “Chuff’s little
friends are so good to him,” said Chuff. “His skull fills more every day with smarts and barrels of joy. Might be the air, I betcha.”
“Any regrets?”
At first, Chuff shook his head. Then he managed through tears, “I miss my mommy. I wish I could make her and my brothers as happy as I am.” At Santa’s invitation, he pillowed his ungainly head on Santa’s belly, his tears as wet and slobbery as the dewlap drool of a purebred boxer.
“There, there,” said Santa.
At last the imp composed himself and regained the stool.
“Chuff, I hate to bring this up. But I’ve recently learned to accept, and so diminish, the power of my naughty side. We’ve both undergone a transformation recently, though yours was the more extreme. I know your former self was very nasty to bad little boys and girls, even to the point of ending their lives. But eating the Divine Mother’s chocolate egg has utterly changed you. Of that I have no doubt. Still, I wonder how you feel about your past deeds.”
There was a knowing look in the imp’s eye. Santa was pleased to see it there. Better a well-rounded helper than one acquainted only with his own veneer. “They were very bad. But Chuff has waked from the bad dream. I was the best of my mommy’s sons, but that’s no help. The pain I put on rotten kids I carry inside me, here.” He thumped his chest. “They cry. I see them and my new eyes cry too, though their pain cannot be cried away. Then I turn to my present joys and hug them tight. I could never turn my back on those. Not when I feel your heart and my elf sibs’ hearts go thump like mine.”
“Good, Chuff,” said Santa. “Carry on then, and know that everyone here loves you without reserve.”
Chuff left all aglow.
Santa made a point to bring in Gregor early too. To the gruff fellow, who huffed and grunted his way onto the tall wooden stool opposite, Santa said, “Let’s get to the point, Gregor. I don’t ask you to stop being judgmental. As well ask the sun to douse its fire. Being judgmental gives you your charm. But I do ask that you refrain from amplifying your prejudices, and that you do nothing to prevent consenting elves from expressing their love and affection in whatever way they choose. And that goes for you too.”
“Disgusting,” muttered Gregor.
“I could barely hear that. Good. Now try it without moving your lips.”
Gregor scowled.
“Perfect! Well, I believe we’re done.”
Santa was pleased to see that his elves bore no ill will toward Gregor and his brothers. Indeed, Josef and Engelbert had decided to continue bedding down in the dorm. Though Gregor huffed that that was perfectly fine with him, his loneliness was palpable. Santa prudently left that tender subject alone.
Into weeks of magic time the queue of helpers stretched. Santa saved his favorite elf for last. Red-haired, gap-toothed Fritz took to the stool with gusto, a broad grin carved into his face.
“Why so happy?” asked Santa, basking in Fritz’s joy.
“Life is grand. Our once-compromised craftsmanship is as precise as before. You’re alive again, and more astounding than ever. For the past eight years, something’s been distracting you. I could feel it. But since your brush with death, you seem, I don’t know, more complete, more yourself, than you’ve been in a long time.”
“Very observant, Fritz. Someday, you and I will speak of that, how things have shifted for me in the best possible way. But today, I’m taking a sounding of each of you to confirm that no sour notes, no strident chords, are being struck just out of earshot.”
“None that I’m aware of, Santa,” said Fritz thoughtfully.
“Good. As for Gregor, he well deserved what all of you have had of him—a good-natured ribbing. I wanted to make sure that the ribbing has stopped. You nod. That’s good. For our recent fall-off in toy manufacture, instead of blaming his own browbeating, Gregor scapegoated the nosepickers among us. He has, in his own gruff way, repented. He mustn’t be scapegoated in return, not even years in the future, through festering resentment.”
Fritz waved it away. “I truly believe we have put that behind us. Gregor’s Gregor. He got a little bit out of hand. But now he’s back to being a simple grump, and everyone accepts and loves him for that.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “By the way, sir. Congratulations on your promotion.”
“My promotion?”
“You know. The thing with you and Wendy and the night before Thanksgivings to come. I think that’s grand.”
Santa laughed uproariously. “It will do us good, me and Wendy. May it do humankind some good as well.”
“Amen to that.”
“Oh and one more thing. I shamed you and your bunkmates at the replicas last November. Please accept my apologies. I’ve spoken to Max and Karlheinz already.”
“Apology unnecessary, but gratefully accepted!”
“Wonderful,” said Santa. He placed his hands on his favorite’s shoulders, then gathered him into a warm embrace. “Had I a son, Fritz, I could wish for no better son than you.”
“And you, a father, to me.”
Arm in arm, they walked out into the workshop. With the lift of his hand, Santa halted the workbench racket and clatter. “Lads, a wondrous consult all. It draws us closer. I’m proud to work side-by-side with each one of you and pleased to observe the restored integrity of your toymaking. Industry in a worthy cause does a body good. And what cause more worthy than bringing a smile to the lips of a child? Happy little boys and girls, given the proper mix of responsibility and pride in their endeavors, become happy grown-ups. But you know that, and I’ll keep you no longer from your nimble-fingered handiwork. Carry on!”
And so they did, but not before they rose and cheered and clapped so vociferously that Santa jollied up a shake-belly of laughter, coyly curled his snow-white mustaches, and winked in genial conspiracy. At length, he waved away their applause and regained his office, closing the door to mute the joyful noise outside. When it died down, he gave a contented sigh and sat at his desk with an exceedingly warm glow in his heart.
* * *
Shortly before dusk, Gregor brushed Galatea down, the burnished sunlight splashing odd-angled slats and rhomboids on the stable walls. His brothers, though their spying had ended with Gregor’s humiliation in the Chapel, had retired to the dorm, where they had elected to keep their beds.
“Just as well,” he said to the doe. “It lets me give full voice to my thoughts when they’re not by, my expendable brothers, the lack of whose company I could give half a withered sugarplum about. Not that I mind audiences. They amplify my grumpiness. But there’s plenty to be grumpy about without amplification, even in this demi-paradise. I’ll tell you something, Galatea. They’re too happy, this lot. Is there not one burr up their scrawny little butts? Make toys, adulate Santa Claus, take Christmas Day off every year to indulge in skating and snowball fights. Bah! There’s no depth to them.”
Galatea’s nose cast its limelight everywhere. If she had been a cat, she would have purred. “Take my railings. I admit I may have overstepped, even veered into hypocrisy, I confess it. But they came alive then, those I tormented and lorded it over, more alive than I’ve seen them in ages. Chastise me as they might, it takes conflict to bring out the high and low terrain in every creature’s soul. And I gave it to them in spades. Nosepicking is wrong, no two ways about it. I don’t give a good goddamn that I too indulge in the filthy habit from time to time. Had it no allure, it wouldn’t deserve the name of sin.
“But I’ll bide my time, little doe. Keep you eye on that imp, that Chuff fellow. There’s a heap of bone-dry tinder lying about that one’s heart. He’ll flare up one day. And there are plenty of leaks waiting to be sprung in this community’s supposedly tight-caulked hull. Santa admitted there are many things in our past that we’ve forgotten. Well, I mean to probe into those things. Not content with ignorance shall Gregor live out his days.” Damned if he would!
“I’ll let you in on a little secret, Galatea. This ferret-eyed old grouch believes in inertia. Elasticity has
its limits. Stretch a rubber band and it eventually snaps back. Consider the mortals whose image the archangel showed us, whose altered hearts led to the egg-seed. Impressed was I, and impressed I remain. I was sure that Santa and Wendy would find it impossible to pull humankind free of the muck of their antediluvian prejudices. And they proved me wrong. Ah, but time works deterioration, even upon what seems an irreversible success. Here’s another secret, my white-furred doe, just between you and me. A near blasphemy. I don’t even put much store in the Divine Mother’s chocolate eggs. Mortals are far too nasty to embrace goodness in one area of behavior but resist their natural impulse toward wickedness in every other arena they enter. I doubt this change will hold. And when things revert, look out for the wrath of the Almighty. He’s taken a huge gamble up there. Muck with creation, and it’ll bite you on your divine posterior every time. That’s Gregor’s credo.
“But no one listens to me. They hear what they want to hear. They laugh me off. Well, Gregor will have the last laugh, see if he doesn’t. By hook or by crook, Gregor will whip his elfin brethren into shape, relieve Santa of his burden of command, and restore our memories of times past. You can bet your glowing nose on that!”
Galatea whinnied a soft protest.
“Am I bearing down too hard? I’ll lighten my stroke.”
And on Gregor babbled as daylight waned, scowling and muttering, brooding upon Chuff and how malleable he might prove. There was depth there, and nastiness not all that far from the surface.
Chuff.
Much might be made of him.
* * *
Just before bedtime, Wendy sat on Santa’s lap in the living room by the cozy narrative glow of a floor lamp. From a great old book of tales bound in cracked leather and redolent of ancient times, he read stories about werewolves, and mutilation, and dark woods filled with creepy ghosts, but always eventual redemption and turnabout, the bad folks punished, the good rewarded. His belly provided a soft cushion. His low baritone boomed out terror, and fear, and the assurance, at long last, of a happy ending.
Santa Claus Conquers the Homophobes Page 33