I studied his face, his eyes twinkling again. I saw stars in a night sky above new fallen snow on a Christmas Eve. I smelled sweet plum pudding and fresh evergreen boughs. I saw children, now young, now old, of many eras gone and here and yet to come dancing in his eyes. I saw their innocence and faith, as they drifted into sleep, their belief in this totally giving person. “Dear God! You’re really him!”
He threw his head back at my look of astonishment to laugh heartily enough to satisfy the strictest traditionalist. “Yes, I’m Santa Claus. Oh,” he laughed again, “does me good to laugh! Does me good to know someone has a little faith!”
I started to deny it, to run back to the sanctity of sanity.
“You’re not going to lose it now, are you, Carol?” he admonished with a smile.
“How did you know my name?”
“I didn’t until we connected...until you believed. After belief, it’s a simple matter. I look into your heart.”
“But....”
“Would you escort me to the airport? I would be so grateful. And I’ll answer any questions you have while we journey back to 15th Street.”
How a mythological figure could spring to life as I came home from work during the Christmas season was a mystery to me. But a writer’s mind is always open, willing to test the water if a mystery might be solved, or at least have light shed upon it. I pulled a small writing pad and pen out of my handbag. “All right, Santa. There’ve been a few things I always wanted to ask you. It’s getting cold and this train’s leaving soon. Let’s get on.”
As we seated ourselves, the doors of the train slid together, shutting. It chugalugged back to Center City.
“I have a lot of questions,” I began.
“Fine. But must we use that pen and paper? Couldn’t you keep it up here?” He tapped his forehead. “It’s so formal, I’d be watching my every word!”
“It’s just for notes. Memory joggers.”
He stayed silent.
I put away the pen and paper, grinning.
“Thank you. First question?”
“First question. If you’re Santa Claus, how come people buy gifts?”
“Now, Carol.” A patient smile developed on his lips.
“What’s my last name?” I asked abruptly.
“Excuse me?” he blinked.
“My last name. You knew my first. What’s my last name?”
He studied me for a minute. “Matthews. Carol Ann Matthews. And you always wanted a piano. Not from me; from your parents. You were too old to believe in me...at least that’s what they told you.”
My mouth hung open. “I still haven’t gotten one.”
He shrugged and gestured with his hands expansively. “I’m afraid you’re on your own for this year, dear. My work quota’s finished.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe next year.” He smiled again. His eyes were placid pools. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The child in me, long buried, believed him. “Oh, well. If you could....”
“I’ll give it my best effort. Now, you had questions?”
“Yes. I’ll come back to that other one later. First off, what are you doing here in your Santa Claus suit when it’s not Christmas Eve? Why didn’t you take your sleigh and reindeer? Aren’t you supposed to be a master of invisibility and all that?”
He held up his hand to stop the torrent. “First off, as you put it, I had the bad sense to schedule a business trip on the day Mrs. Claus does her laundry. When I looked for my good travel suit, I found it was at the cleaners and wouldn’t be done until Tuesday. My other business suit had a rip in the seam...too many cookies, I’m afraid. Mrs. Claus hadn’t had a chance to repair it, what with supervising the elves and feeding their little faces.” He saw my incredulous look. “Yes, Carol. There are elves.”
“Elves?” I held my jaw tightly. It threatened to expand.
“Little people with slightly pointed ears, if you prefer,” he conciliated.
“Midgets?”
“Good Lord, no! They’re not human. At least not Homo Sapiens. They’re another species and not entirely visible by choice which accounts for your and society’s amazement.”
“Okay,” I conceded. “So there really are elves...somewhere. Go back to your story. Your suit was at the cleaners....”
“Yes, my suit was at the cleaners and I had a trip scheduled to Philadelphia to buy a very rare book. A very special person had need of a volume of stories published in 1890. Out of print now. I had to get an original: it only had one printing.”
“A kid wanted an old book for Christmas?”
“It wasn’t for a child. It was for an adult.”
“An adult. And you were going to sneak in and tuck it under his tree.”
“Not at all. I was going to situate it in the right spot for his friend to buy it for him for the holidays.”
“Huh?”
“My business operations aren’t just confined to toy-making and sleigh rides once a year with magic reindeer.”
“Oh. Business outlets.”
“In a manner of speaking. Have you ever wondered how you managed to find the right gift for the right someone almost right away? A gift almost custom-made and always for someone deserving?”
“Yes...it’s only the people I have to buy for that I have a hard time finding things. If it’s someone I love, it almost pops into my hands.”
“There you are. Mind you, don’t spread this around. It’s company information.”
“Not a word. Go on, please.”
“Thank you. Well, despite Mrs. Claus’s misgivings, I decided to wear my Christmas suit, it being only a week or two from the holiday. There’d be many mock Santas on the streets, spreading the spirit of the season. For any questioners, I’d say I was going to or from a charity benefit. This suit brought a lot of smiles on the flight up. In fact, I was quite a hit with two children, Lucy and Daniel. Their parents have already received their presents and for the right price.”
“You gave them a discounted price?”
“Someone has to keep inflation out of the toy market, and this year it’s been a doozy!” He let out a guffaw.
A couple of smiles lit up the faces of the passengers in our car. We whistled underground to the 2nd
