Santa Claus Conquers the Homophobes (29 page)

“When then, o great archangel?” Try as he might to keep impatience out of his voice, there it lurked, glaringly obvious to elf and angel alike.

Michael’s laughter filled the Chapel with heavenly light. “By Good Friday, the change that is to spring forth Easter morning should be evident. Until then, banish all concern. Focus on toymaking. In the fallen world, it often happens that seeds of goodness, once they are pressed into the soil, take time to germinate and come to fruition. Things may even worsen, or appear to worsen, before the delicious uptick of permanent improvement takes hold. Ease thy mind and be comforted.”

Santa felt the angel’s palm upon his brow and released a gentle cry at his touch.

“You have done well,” assured Michael, “and such doings cannot but result in a worthy outcome. Leave off staring at the ice on the river, or at tilled and planted soil. For in due time, the one shall melt, the other yield to a thrust of sprouts surging joyous sunward.”

“So I shall, good Michael.”

Then the angel rose and vanished, the comfort of his touch lingering all that day and far into the next.

* * *

“What are you whining about?” The Tooth Fairy gave Gronk a vicious smack. He tumbled backward upon the sand, grains flying. “Come here!” Gronk scurried back to cower before her. “Of
course
we have a prayer,” she said.

“But you didn’t see the archangel.”

“Zeus’s minions put on a good show. Don’t be spooked. It’s nothing but smoke and mirrors. Tell me more about the do-gooders dropping their guard.”

“Well yeah, as far as I can tell—and I’ve been listening in on whole heaps of conversations—they think they’ve won. They’ve resumed making toys and being one big happy family. My midnight whisperings have helped upset Santa’s elves, so things are well launched on that front. My job there, I’d say, is pretty much done.”

“Like hell it is.” She glared with such scorn, he was forced to look away. “Easter morning, you say?”

The Tooth Fairy picked an implant victim at random, some slumbering loser named Sadie Morgan, a Cincinnati slut with a luscious mouth, a penchant for tribalism both religious and political, and a wicked heart soon to grow wickeder. Into her capacious chest the Tooth Fairy peered. There sat the egg-seed inverted, the tendrils of its roots pushing deep inside her. Thin and pink they were, pulsing with evil intent. Impossible that Santa would not eventually notice. But at the rate the egg-seeds were germinating, a few weeks might be all that was needed. By then, extracting them would be impossible.

“The implants are coming along,” she said. “It won’t be long before...”

Then impatience bubbled up inside her and spilled over into rage. Gronk scuttled away, though not before she landed a savage kick to his belly and flew up frenzied into the air. “They ought to work at once! That fat little bastard is sure to catch on. He’ll squeal to Hermes, go straight to Zeus, or twist the eggs back about and send his elves to stand guard. I like my mayhem swift. None of this germination crap!”

She pointed an imperious finger at Gronk. “You will keep spying on the whole namby-pamby crew until the mortals wake unto wickedness. Continue the whisperings. Make them more invasive. I don’t just want the little shits to feel bad. I want them to do vile things to one another. We will not be trumped, you hear me? If you notice any alarm raised in anyone up there, rush to inform me. Will I beat you for bad news? You bet I will. But delays in reporting will go far worse.”

She swooped down and seized his arms in a vise grip. A grin knifed across her face. “Succeed, and Mommy will give you a special treat, one your brothers will never enjoy.” The grin vanished. “Fail, and you’ll fall to the bottom of the heap in my estimation, even below mewling Chuff. I’ll set your sibs on you, withhold my charms for all eternity, give you nothing but scorn, and make your life a living hell. Now go!”

Hurling him into the air, the Tooth Fairy watched him spin and flounder, then catch himself and arrow away like a smear of grayish light. She despised Gronk, as she despised all of the bastards Zeus had got upon her. But they had their use. Through them might she topple Pan, or eventually Zeus himself, dealing a deathblow to his cherished creation.

Her stomach growled. She craved teeth. In her mountain cave, a bowl of molars, ever replenished, waited. Munching them, she would sit brooding in her bone chair, converting calcium to coins, and watching the details fall into place on the devious playing field of her mind.

There she sped upon the instant, preoccupied with mayhem.

Chapter 29. Intolerance Among the Elves

WEEKS PASSED. GREGOR REGAINED THE UPPER HAND at the North Pole, instigating a weekly series of harangues, during which he heaped scorn and ridicule on the act of nosepicking and excoriated the practitioners of same. Especially did he scapegoat the six previously exposed cross-nosepickers, and Fritz above all. Even Herbert’s star, which had risen to astounding heights when he found his voice, Gregor tarnished anew, and a subtle shunning took hold.

One night late in February, Fritz had had enough. “After lights out,” he confided to the persecuted, “wait half an hour, then make your way to Santa’s hut in the woods.” Gustav and Knecht Rupert nodded at this, as did Franz and Johann. Herbert began, “May the Good Lord be with us in—” but Fritz stopped his mouth, lest his enthusiasm alert the forces of repression that something was afoot.

The hut lay far off in a secluded part of the forest behind the elves’ quarters. It had once been used by Santa for...well, they weren’t quite sure for what. But his helpers had remodeled it as a honeymoon cottage and it now provided an occasional getaway for Santa and his wives. A raging fireplace, a huge bed, and absolute stillness nestled amongst the trees—no better refuge from the workaday world existed at the North Pole. The summoned elves flumphed down on the bed to sprawl and listen. Herbert wore about his neck a new camera he had created that very day.

Fritz paced. “I’ll get right to the point. I’m fed up,” he said. “We’re all fed up with the judgmental bent of our confreres, are we not?”

This was greeted with a general murmur of agreement.

“The question is, what are we going to do about it? We have been driven to feel shame over something that isn’t shameful in the least. Nosepicking feels good.” Saying that out loud was very affirming, so he repeated it, bolder still. “And mutual nosepicking, far from being deviant, is an expression of love. How dare Gregor hold himself up so high and mighty? Who gave him the right to judge us?”

“It wasn’t me,” said Gustav.

“Me neither,” said Franz the watchmaker.

“We ought to shout him down,” said Knecht Rupert.

“If I may,” objected Johann, “that seems a wee bit harsh.”

“You have a better idea?”

Johann looked blankly at Rupert and slowly shook his head.

“Any other thoughts?” asked Fritz.

Herbert snapped his picture, there where Fritz stood before a crackling fire. He rested the camera against his chest and raised his hand. “I suggest,” he said when Fritz acknowledged him, “that we drop in on Gregor and shower him with blessings.”

Fritz laughed. “You know that just might work. I must confess I don’t feel very benevolent toward Gregor, but suppose Herbert leads off that way and then each of us steps forward and speaks his mind. He may just change his tune.”

Knecht Rupert snorted. “Fat chance.”

“Hold on, Rupert,” said Gustav, hugging a pillow as he sat cross-legged on the bed. “We won’t know until we try. I think that’s better than shouting him down in public. He would never listen to us then. There’s nothing like putting someone on the defensive to close off debate.”

Johann shook his head. “There should be no debate about this,” he said. “Gregor has turned us into pariahs. For what? For picking each other’s noses. Fritz is right. It’s pleasurable and it’s good. It draws us closer. Why, you might as well debate the morality of sharing a smile or a laugh, or patting one another on the back!”

“We ought to string the bastard up,” said flaxen-haired Franz with a gimlet eye, “him and his complicit brothers. That would put a stop to this.”

Fritz was appalled at the suggestion, and said so with great if respectful force. That launched a spirited discussion about prejudice and tolerance and whether such a thing as
righteous
intolerance could exist, and if so, how one could possibly be sure, with any certainty, that one’s own intolerance was righteous.

But in the end, Herbert’s plan prevailed.

Before leaving, he convinced them to pose, arm in arm, by the foot of the bed so he could snap a few photos. Then they doused the fire, straightened the bedclothes, and made their way through the woods toward the stables.

* * *

Gregor sat brooding at his desk. A large green-glass lantern of the ancient design cast its glare everywhere, upon straw and stall, upon slumbering reindeer and his brothers’ made-up cots. For fat Josef and Engelbert now slept in the elves’ dormitory, so as to be ever vigilant over Santa’s weak-willed helpers.

Resident spies gave Gregor the edge. Their absence also allowed him to pick his own nose in peace. Which he now did, half-conscious of his actions but fully attuned to the pleasures they delivered. Did he feel the hypocrite? No. For he was Gregor, brave condemner of the practice. And who better to condemn, on what better foundation built, than he who, wracked by the pangs of temptation, on occasion yielded to them. In among the pleasures, he felt a terrible guilt, a guilt whose spice made the practice all the more enticing.

Lately his mind had been preoccupied with the half-dozen helpers who had confessed to sharing snot with one another. Knocking Fritz off his high horse fit in well with his plans, but they all partook of that rebellious streak. He had shamed them to such an extent that...well, he hoped it had squelched the practice entirely, but perhaps the very act of shaming had sparked curiosity in everyone else. Perhaps the slippery slope of deviance had already claimed new victims, smarter ones whom it would be nearly impossible to ferret out. If only there were some foolproof method of detection, fingerprints left on nostrils, trace elements one could plant among clumps of mucus and geiger-counter in a night-sprung scan of slumbering elves.

Gregor shuddered. What possible attraction could so repulsive an act hold? Taking up his lantern, he strode among the reindeer, their antlers bramble-high, Lucifer’s pulsing on and off in REM sleep, Donner and Blitzen dozing flank to flank. The opaque sheen his lantern cast upon the windows made him feel cozy and protected. He held the light up. There lay Comet and Cupid, their nose leather glistening black and smooth.

“Comet,” he whispered. “Cupid.”

They stirred, raised their great heads, and blinked in wonder.

“Don’t rouse the others.” He settled on a hay bale before them. “No need to get up,” he said, waving them back down. “I have a favor to ask. Now watch. You see this? It looks vile, doesn’t it? But it’s really quite tasty, to my tongue at least. And perhaps to yours. Would you sample it, oh, just a little? That’s right, that’s my good boys.” Their tongues were warm and rough on his fingertip, which he restocked so that each reindeer received his gift in equal measure. They seemed to like it, not shying away in the least.

“And now,” he managed to gasp, “do you think I might return the favor?” Again, they did not say him nay, nor did they resist his bold probe, an index finger exploring the leathery tunnel of Cupid’s right nostril; the other, Comet’s left. Their mucus was grainy and gritty as he rolled it betwixt thumb and forefinger. His heart pounded. The stuff revolted him, even as it captured his fancy. Dare he sample it? Having gone so far, why not? Yet his fingers refused to rise to his lips. Don’t be ridiculous, he thought. I’ll try it once. If it’s wretched, I’ll spit it out. A bit of rum will kill the taste.

He shut his eyes, took a deep breath, and inserted his fingertips into his mouth. Far from grossing him out, the taste delighted him. “Again?” he pleaded. To which the reindeer obliged with sharp snorts that brought their offerings to the very portals of their nostrils. Gregor’s bolder second attempt was wicked and delicious, his mind delirious with malfeasance.

I ought to stop, he thought. This is madness, a moral lapse unworthy of me. But he could not stop, not until he had had his fill. At length, Gregor gave over, outraged at his sinfulness and vowing to redouble his condemnation of this practice on the morrow. Moreover, he would yank one of his brothers, Josef, yes, fat Josef, from dormitory duty and reinstall him yonder in his rightful bed.

He would not risk further exposure to temptation. Why, what if he were seen at this? He suddenly had misgivings about the windows. He shuttered the lantern. When his eyes adjusted, he breathed a sigh of relief to see no one peering in, nor anyone moving across the blue moonlight of the commons.

* * *

Fritz and the others, rounding the stables from the back, could barely contain their glee at the sight that greeted them. Johann saw it first, slapping a guffaw-muffling hand over his mouth and waving his companions forward.

Quickly they hurried Herbert to the fore, gesticulating wildly at his camera until he caught on and shuttered picture after picture. It was all they could do, not to jostle him nor obscure his line of sight. They crowded his shoulders, nearly crawling on top of him to get the best view of their compromised tormentor.

Fortunately, Fritz noticed Gregor’s sudden look of panic and shoved them below the windowsill just before the lantern went dark. There they stayed, hushed, hunched over, bunched together, until Fritz signaled them to creep around the side of the stables and tiptoe back to the dormitory.

Resuming their nightshirts and tucking themselves in, they took a long time getting to sleep, giggling amongst themselves but not so loud as to wake Josef and Engelbert or anyone dozing nearby.