Santa Claus The Movie

by Joan D. Vinge

  Another room was given over to the comfortable chairs and great oak desk of Dooley’s private study, warmed by a blaze in a vast stone fireplace. And in the center of that room, on a raised pedestal, stood a large telescope. Dooley stood beside it now, peering into its sight as he aimed it upward through an opening in the roof. “Coming closer now . . .” he murmured to himself as he worked, “. . . not just yet . . . two more degrees north by northwest . . .”

  He had the telescope trained on the North Star. Through the scope’s eye he could follow its progress as it moved slowly through the heavens, almost directly above the elf compound. He stopped mumbling, and almost stopped breathing, as it moved ever-so-slightly farther toward . . . “Now!” Dooley shouted.

  The two elves standing high in the rafters of the Great Hall, eagerly awaiting his command, began to haul on heavy ropes, setting the large wooden pulley up above them into motion. Ropes and lines grew taut as the pulley began to move, and with a great creaking and ratcheting, something overhead began to part. The two elves hauling on the lines looked up at the ceiling, as all the other elves were already doing, to see the center of the roof high overhead begin to open slowly, like a flower. As the midnight sky was revealed little by little, a radiant, magical light began to beam down through the opening, suffusing the hall and the breathless watchers below with a wondrous glow. The North Star stood directly overhead, shining its light upon them as though a heavenly sigh were being given.

  “Season’s Greetings!!!” Patch shouted ecstatically at the top of his lungs. The other elves echoed his shout, until the Great Hall and the entire compound rang with their joyful cries of celebration. Claus and Anya looked at each other, smiling in spite of themselves, moved and amazed by the spectacle, although still having no idea whatsoever of what these cries of “Season’s Greetings” meant, to the elves or to themselves.

  Claus had thought that the elves were tireless workers, but in the days and weeks that followed, their level of activity seemed to increase a hundredfold. The compound was an endless hubbub of frantic preparation as Christmas Eve drew near; its corridors and halls rang with hammering and talking—and music.

  Patch, being only a stablehand, had no official role to play in the toymaking. But, never at a loss for ideas, and determined to make himself visible, he had decided that everyone worked more happily and efficiently to music. He loved music and played the organ well, if he did say so himself. He gathered together a small band of other elves who were equally musically inclined, and set about making music while the others worked.

  He sat playing the large pipe organ in the Great Hall, a remarkable instrument whose pipes were topped by tiny castles, and whose keys were guarded by toy soldiers; the organ was pumped by two other elves standing on bellows at each side, playing on flutes as they pumped. They were surrounded by a zither player, another elf on mandolin, one who played a trumpet, and two who, together, managed an enormous cello. All their instruments looked familiar to Claus, as he and Anya looked down from their balcony, their feet tapping in time . . . and yet the instruments were also unique in odd ways, made from wood and brightly colored in what he had come to think of as elf-style: beautifully functional music-makers which managed to look charmingly, deceptively like simple toys.

  The band played day in and day out, its musicians varying according to their work schedules, but always with someone playing to fill the air with a bright holiday spirit while finishing touches were put on countless toys. Venerable elfish painters—the last practitioners of an art that had long ago been lost in the outer world—dipped their specially tended beards into pots of paint and painted happy faces on wooden dolls, bright manes and saddles on horses, and intricate, colorful designs on toys and blocks. Other elves carried vast loads of finished toys on their backs to the toy tunnel, where they would be carefully stored until Christmas Eve. In the sewing department, gaily printed cloth flowed off of bolts and through the hands of the industrious stitchers, becoming stuffed rag dolls and animals, or bright-colored doll clothes.

  Meanwhile Groot and his assistants worked overtime in the kitchen to feed the hungry workers. Two elves pumped the pair of enormous bellows that fanned the cooking fire from each side, day and night: Between the two bellows was a seesawlike contraption that Groot had devised, and the two elves perched on its ends. As each rode up and down in turn, they squeezed the air from one of the bellows, fanning the flames high. An almost constant train of elves carried enormous round loaves of fresh-baked bread away from the oven, balanced skillfully on their heads. And above the flames hung the great, fire-blackened cauldron where Groot cooked endless batches of his hearty and filling but—as even Anya secretly admitted to herself—bland stew.

  At last one day Anya arrived on the cook’s platform to stand beside Groot, watching him and six of his assistants pass the great stirring spoon around from hand to hand, mixing the contents of the cauldron. She held a crock of dill in her hands, and she glanced inquiringly at the skeptical-looking Groot, awaiting his final nod of approval. She was determined to make herself into a useful part of this community, having grown restless with nothing official to do while Claus oversaw the making of toys; as far as she could tell, the greatest need the elves had for a skill of hers was in their kitchen. She had been known back in the village as an excellent cook and baker, and although she did not wish to offend the elves’ kindly chef, she was certain she could only improve on his stews.

  Groot nodded somewhat reluctantly, and Anya stepped forward to dump the large pot of herbs into the cauldron. The elves stirred obediently. Groot ladled himself out a spoonful, sipping at it cautiously, and his eyes widened. Much to his amazement, the flavor was excellent. He smiled broadly, and gave Anya the ages-old raised thumb of approval. Anya beamed, content at last.

  The success of Patch’s music in improving the elves’ productivity brought him new attention and many compliments, especially from Claus—and from the other elves, when they saw that Claus approved. The elves respected Claus greatly: for his knowledge about toy-making, and because he was their long-awaited messenger to the world outside. They had made it very plain that he was indeed their new boss, that they looked up to him for guidance and leadership. And they had never had a Season’s Greetings like this before, one with such an ambitious goal at its end.

  So, with Claus’s approval, the elves began to initiate more of Patch’s efficiency-oriented innovations. At his suggestion, the elves began working round-the-clock shifts, and in their dormitory he installed his new invention, the alarm clock. Patch had taken a classic hand-carved cuckoo clock and redesigned its works so that its tiny toy figures marched out and chimed the hour as the time arrived for every shift change. The night-shift elves sleeping soundly in their beds would wake promptly, yawning and stretching, just as the weary day shift began to file in to get some much-needed sleep. The freshly awakened, well-rested elves hurried toward the newly installed sliding poles at the far end of the room, and slid down through the new openings in the floor like eager firemen, to begin their night shift in the factory below.

  Gone were the days of relaxed, easygoing toymaking. The elves now had to sleep in shifts to keep up with the workload. And gone too were separate beds with each elf’s name carved at the foot. Now the tired elves reached down as they stood ready to slide under the covers, and turned a knob on the footboard, changing the occupant’s name like a bus driver changing the sign for its destination. Then the exhausted elves dropped into their beds in unison, and within moments they were asleep and snoring.

  As a result of his successful efficiency projects, and because of Claus’s respect for his skill, Patch was also given the plum project of designing a new sleigh to carry the toys on their Christmas journey. Patch had argued that Claus’s old sleigh was much too small, and hopelessly outdated, and Claus had rather wistfully agreed. With Claus’s go-ahead, Patch called Boog, Honka, and Vout together and got to work on a new sleigh that he already knew would be a work of art as wel
l as a marvel of technological expertise. He had long ago drawn up plans, and now he oversaw the crash project of making his dream into a reality. He was busier, and happier, than he had ever been in his life, now that his creativity had a positive outlet.

  At last Christmas Eve arrived, and the final preparations for the Great Event began. An elf stood above a vast conveyor belt and, under Patch’s careful supervision, poured the contents of a mysterious bag into a sieve, grinning with anticipation. As the contents spilled out and down into the sieve, they appeared to be pure glittering stardust.

  Below Patch, looking up, another elf loaded ordinary reindeer feed—a mixture of grain and moss—onto a lower level of the conveyor belt. Between the two levels, a third elf began to shake the star-filled sieve. Stardust drifted down through the sieve and settled into the moving pile of feed, which began to glow and twinkle as if it were somehow transformed by the touch of magic. A small amount of the glittering dust remained when all the feed was treated; Patch scooped up the precious residue and put it back into a bag for storage. The leftover stardust regenerated magically, so that the supply never ran low.

  Claus strolled through the toy factory with a smile, looking over busy shoulders, making final adjustments: correcting a painting error here, fixing a joining there. Everywhere he nodded his approval and open admiration at a tremendous job well done.

  He stopped along the way to watch an elf with a bucket of stardust, who stood before a wide sheet of paper that had been dyed green to brighten up the dreary season of winter. The elf reached into the bucket, grabbed a handful of stardust, and flung it at the paper. As it touched its surface the stardust seemed to fuse there, becoming one with the paper, adhering in graceful patterns of red and gold snowflakes to delight the eye, a symbol of winter’s own beauty. This was the wrapping paper that would transform gifts into a bright surprise to be opened on Christmas morning by happy children everywhere.

  Back in the stables, Patch and his assistants groomed the reindeer with extra care as the animals ate their ration of specially treated feed. After Patch and his comrades finished grooming each reindeer, polishing every hoof and horn, Patch held his antler-framed mirror up before them so that they could admire themselves. They were special and fortunate creatures indeed, and well-loved, and he wanted them all to know it. The reindeer snorted softly, nosing at their reflections as if they approved of, and appreciated, the splendid effect. Then they were led from their stalls to be harnessed up in their new, perfectly fitted traces of red and green leather, decorated with their names and covered with merrily jingling sleigh bells.

  Inside the toy tunnel the elves stood on high catwalks and began to take down the countless toys suspended from the ceiling and lining the walls, attaching them to pulleys and sending them down to the tunnel floor. A large canvas sack lay there, gaily decorated with green Christmas trees on a background of red felt, and edged with bright brass bells. No matter how many toys the waiting elves dropped into the sack, its capacity seemed endless, and it never was completely filled.

  Claus went back to his waiting house and patient wife as the day of Christmas Eve drew to a close. Anya fed him a hot hearty meal to keep him warm and give him energy on his historic journey. After dinner he went into the bedroom to change. For the first time he put on the new suit that had been presented to him earlier that day by the elves.

  “Northwest crosswind, point left of land. Southeast crosswind, point right . . .” he murmured, hardly seeing his reflection as he firmly pulled on his new fur-trimmed hat to keep it safe from the wind. But no matter how often he thought about it, he still found it difficult to believe that he was actually going to be flying a sleigh tonight.

  Anya stood in the doorway, smiling, wearing her own new holiday outfit, which the elves had presented, to her delight, along with Claus’s. She wore a bright red jacket over a ruffled blouse and apron of canary yellow with green polka dots, and a black skirt striped with yellow ribbons. She loved bright colors, and this was far finer than even her best holiday clothes had ever been. She wore a cap of red and green with trailing ribbons over her neatly wrapped blond braids. She moved to stand before Claus, beaming as she gazed at the results of the elves’ sewing skills and her own good taste. “You look wonderful,” she said.

  Claus stood back from the mirror, studying himself full length now that his outfitting was complete. He smiled in spite of his nervousness. The figure who stood reflected before him was undeniably impressive: His full white beard was magnificently displayed against an eye-stopping bright red coat and pants trimmed with white fur, and a wide black belt and leather boots. “It does suit me, doesn’t it?” he murmured.

  Standing beside him, Anya folded her hands before her. “A handsome man looks good in anything,” she said, her eyes filled with love. She came over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m so proud of you.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Claus looked up, all his nervousness instantly back again. The door opened, and Dooley stepped into the room, his normally cheerful face wearing a very serious expression. “It’s time, sir.”

  “Oh,” Claus said, swallowing the lump in his throat. He stood rooted where he was.

  “They’re waiting,” Dooley said, and gestured encouragingly toward the front door.

  Claus nodded. “Right, right, coming . . .” He started out of the house with a strained smile on his face. Anya took his arm as they crossed the Great Hall below, reassuring him.

  Waiting inside the echoingly empty toy tunnel were all of the elves who had worked so long and hard to make this moment happen. They had lined up in rows along each side of the tunnel—not murmuring or chattering as he glanced in through the vast door, but only looking on, hushed with an almost reverent expectation. An atmosphere of great seriousness hung over the hall, as if a coronation were about to begin.

  Claus barely had time to be surprised at the size of the gathering before his eyes settled on something which lay waiting for him in the empty center of the tunnel. In the middle of the strangely vacant space sat the magnificent sleigh that Patch had lovingly designed for him, covered with exquisitely hand-carved holiday decorations—toys and trees and holly, all painted with the reds and yellows and greens and blues the elves loved so much. The eight reindeer stood in line before it, proudly wearing their newly made harnesses and looking about expectantly.

  As Claus entered the tunnel with Anya and Dooley, a murmur spread through the crowd of waiting elves.

  “He looks wonderful!” Puffy exclaimed.

  Gooba, who had personally overseen the sewing of the outfit, preened and fluffed his beribboned beard. “A perfect fit, if I do say so myself,” he murmured.

  “The color, the style,” Patch raved, never for a moment forgetting his own part in it all, “I’m telling you, that outfit is him, it’s just him!”

  Claus moved out into the center of the tunnel to stand by his new sleigh; Anya took her place alongside Patch and Dooley at the front of the crowd, her cheeks flushed with delight.

  The crowd fell silent again, and for a long moment the vast room was filled with a breathless expectancy. Claus stood waiting, still not certain what he was waiting for.

  Then suddenly a strange, haunting music began to echo softly through the empty tunnel. A golden light began to suffuse the hall, radiating outward from the seemingly infinite distance of its far end. The watchers began to murmur once more, as a retinue of elves appeared out of the light and began to proceed solemnly down the tunnel toward Claus.

  First came six elves who bore like a ceremonial train an immensely long beard, its ends neatly braided. As they emerged from the light, Claus saw that the beard belonged to a tremendously impressive and ancient-looking elf, who walked slowly and with great dignity behind them. There was an aura of wisdom and goodness about him that was as tangible as the light and music. Claus and Anya knew at once that this was the Ancient One, the elves’ true spiritual leader, who had guided them in this selfle
ss project. As the revered wise man proceeded down the tunnel, the elves bowed their heads, removing their hats and clutching them to their chests. It was the only time Claus or Anya had ever seen them remove their hats; the gesture was one of profound respect. Even the reindeer bowed their heads as the venerable elf passed. Donner and Blitzen, seeing the others bow around them, lowered their own heads respectfully.

  Claus, standing alone beside his new sleigh, pulled off his own hat, awed and a little frightened, as he saw the Ancient One approach. Anya, standing at Patch’s side, took hold of the young elf’s hand and squeezed it tightly because she could not reach Claus’s hand.

  The majestic, mystical music swelled in the hall, bringing tears of emotion to Anya’s eyes, as the elfish wise man stopped before Claus. The gathered community of elves held their breath until the Ancient One spoke at last. “The prophecy has come to pass,” he said, his voice like parchment crinkling. “That there would come to us a chosen one to carry out gifts to the world.” The elves began to murmur, chanting with the music, intoning a soft background note that harmonized with his quavering words. “That having no child of his own,” the Ancient One said, “he would love all children.” The elves chanted another sonorous tone as he paused again, shifting and modulating each time their spiritual leader paused in his ritual recitation. “That he would himself be an artisan, a craftsman, a skillful maker of toys,” the Ancient One continued. “That the joy of giving would be alive in his heart, and the wish to bring joy would be embodied in his spirit.”

  Anya tore her gaze from the Ancient One to look again at her husband, feeling as if she would burst with pride.

  “And finally that he . . . um . . .” the wise elf paused, scratching his head, as his memory suddenly failed him under the stress of the auspicious occasion. “. . . er . . .”