The Magic of Christmas

The incident with Peal did give Travis some food for thought. For the first time, he had managed to tell someone, an unbeliever at that, he was Santa Claus. OK, he had run the magic down to virtually nothing before he had been able to say it, but it made him think that telling people who he really was, was a possibility. Up to now, he had accepted what Santa John and the Elves had told him about the magic. He hadn’t questioned it once since the afternoon he had spent in the Adelphi Hotel trying to tell Rosie who he had become. Now, knowing it was possible, he needed information, and the source of knowledge in the village always led back to Arnold, the Solicitor Elf.

‘OK Arnold,’ Travis said entering the dour Solicitors’ office. ‘Two things, first, how goes it with the choc-e-ola?’

‘All up to speed Santa,’ he replied, ‘tasting should begin next week, label and can designs will be ready for Monday’s Elf Council and we have a soft drink firm ready to start production once we give them the recipe and distribution requirements.’

‘Good,’ Travis replied. Drawing a deep breath, he looked into the eyes of the Elf, ‘Now Arnold, the second thing on my mind.’ He paused, watching the Elf for any tell-tale sign he wasn’t forthcoming with a truthful answer. ‘Who controls the Magic?’ he asked.

‘Why you do,’ Arnold answered. ‘But before we get into that, we have the annual Christmas Tree competition starting the day after tomorrow. Tell me what criteria you’re looking for and I’ll pass it on to the contestants.’

‘Me, looking for,’ Travis answered, ’What are you talking about?

‘The annual Christmas tree competition,’ Arnold replied with an edge to his voice that let Travis know he was in for a mornings stupidity. ‘You’re the head judge.’

‘Arnold,’ Travis said in a voice that dripped ice. ‘I haven’t a clue what you’re on about. Please explain, but if you tell me it involves the Elven council I will scream.’

‘No, no,’ the Elf replied hurriedly. ‘Just you, Mrs C and Oswald make up the judge’s. Each of the ten main departments have a competition each year to see who decorates the best tree.’

‘What ten departments?’

‘Well let’s see; there is Stables, wrapping, wheels and pulleys, Decoration, Traditional Toy making , cookies and candies, Livery, Sprites and Fairies combo team, Administration and last but not least the Hot Chocolate department.’

‘Why am I only being told about this now, two days before I’m supposed to judge it?’

‘You don’t really judge it,’ Arnold replied. ‘The Hot Chocolate department wins every year, everybody knows that.’

‘You’re confusing me,’ Travis stated truthfully. ‘If the Hot Choccy department wins every year, why have a competition if everyone knows they are going to win?’

‘If we don’t have a competition, how are they going to win?’ Arnold asked him seriously.

‘OK,’ Travis shook his head in total confusion, ‘Let’s try this from another angle. Why do they win every year?’

‘Because the last time they didn’t win, the Hot Chocolate in the Village was very thin for a whole twelve months. We near had riots with the fairies and sprites threatening to down tools, the hobgoblins said they would stop sugar deliveries for the candy canes, and we even had the wrapping department refusing to use Christmas wrap, and have all presents delivered in brown paper. It’s easier to let the hot chocolate department win, saves a lot of unwanted bother if they do.’

‘Are you telling me that this Village and all who live here, are held to ransom or blackmail by the hot chocolate department if they don’t win a tree decoration contest?’ Travis asked incredulously. ‘I’d have thought Cedric would have put a stop to that, if not the chief or Santa John.’

‘To be fair, Santa John did try,’ Arnold replied seriously. ‘but as Cedric is also the head of the chocolate department, things got a little complicated when he demanded the issue should be debated between the union, the department and Santa, then refused to negotiate from a union position as the charge of blackmail demanded the services of a solicitor, and as the only solicitor in the Village worked for Santa, there was a conflict of interest. As a union rep he had no faith in the outcome of any negotiations.’

‘Ridiculous,’ Travis snapped.

‘Maybe,’ Arnold shuffled a few papers about. ‘But believe me it is easier to let things slide as they are, that little episode took three years to resolve before everyone agreed to let Santa have the final word and the chocolate went back to normal.’

‘Hmm,’ Travis mused, ‘seems Cedric has his fingers in a few pies around here. I think his wings need clipping a bit. OK Arnold I will be looking for the prettiest tree. Tell them I want originality, that should set the brains working and the wings beating.’

‘Please Santa,’ Arnold pleaded. ‘Don’t do anything rash, with the fall in magic, the last thing we want is disruption in the Village.’

‘Nothing rash, I promise,’ Travis smiled, a smile that left Arnold in dread, and wondering if he should inform the chief and Cedric that Santa might throw a spanner in the tree judging. ‘and talking of magic, back to my original question, who controls it?’

‘As I said, you do.’ the elf replied giving his boss a quizzical look.

‘No Arnold, I use it and dole it out for others to use,’ Travis replied not taking his eyes off the Elf. ‘What I want to know is who is in charge of it? If I’m your boss, who is mine; who am I accountable to? Who my dear Elf makes the rules around here where the magic is concerned?’ Travis sat back, watching as the Elf tried to contain the panic welling inside him.

‘Erm, I’m sorry Santa,’ he replied without a quaver in his voice, which belied the confusion and fear behind his eyes. ‘but I don’t understand. The magic just is. It’s always been here and the rules are not written down anywhere, they just are, and what we live by, or under.’

‘I’m sorry Arnold,’ Travis replied shaking his head. ’I don’t believe you. If it was up to me to control and be in charge of the magic, I would let myself tell anyone I came across I was Santa Claus, especially now when the magic is disappearing and we need believers. If nothing else, it makes sense when I’m in the red suit that I should be able to say to people “hey I’m Santa.” As it is if I went into a kids grotto dressed like this and a young boy or girl asked if I was Santa, I would have to lie and say no, but I can’t lie can I ? so how that would work out is anyone’s guess. The store Santa on the other hand could say yes, and no one would think twice. It is a ludicrous situation.’

‘Perhaps you’re right,’ Arnold replied, ‘but it’s what you’re stuck with. I’m sorry Santa, but there is very little you can do about the situation.’

‘And I’m sorry too,’ Travis replied sadly. ‘I have to do this job otherwise the magic will kill me. Is that correct Arnold?’

‘In a nutshell, yes.’ He replied.

‘Then if there is no magic, I can resign and go on my own merry little way?’ Travis smiled. ‘Get a message to whoever makes the rules regarding the magic Arnold, or I begin to run the magic down and if that makes life here in the village difficult, tough!’

‘Santa, you can’t do that,’ the Solicitor replied with a deep worried look on his face. ‘Think of the children; no magic, no Christmas. No presents for the kids, Santa for God’s sake think what you’re saying; you will cause civilisation in the western world to go into meltdown. There will be chaos.’

‘I’m sorry Arnold, I really am,’ Travis replied seriously, ‘but something has to be done to save this way of life, save Christmas and everything that goes with it. The rules regarding the magic might have been valid when they were made God knows how many years ago, but times change, and the rules need changing to accommodate today’s issues and problems. You have a week to tell whoever controls the magic that I need changes. A week Arnold, then I start running the magic down to dangerous levels, and if that wrecks life here so be it.’

Travis didn’t wait for a reply, using the magic he threatened to destroy, he whisked himself into his bedroom in Liverpool and lay down on the bed to contemplate what he had just set in motion. He heard voices from downstairs and knowing Rosie, Sue, and Phil were busy in the Village. Bethany should be in school and curious to know who was in his house, he went to investigate.

Halfway down the stairs, he stopped recognising the dulcet tones of his youngest daughter talking to who he presumed was her friend Gill.

‘I’m telling you,’ she said sounding exasperated, ‘if you write a letter to Santa Claus, and post it up the chimney, you get a better present than what you asked for, and if you ask to see the north pole where he lives you get to fly in his sled.’

‘Beth,’ came the fed up voice of Gill, ‘I’m not writing a stupid letter to Santa for you to tell everyone I believe in Santa Claus. I’m not falling for it Beth, everyone will laugh at me, find another sucker to play your stupid jokes on.’

‘It’s not a joke,’ Bethany countered. ‘Honestly Gill, I can’t tell you how I know Santa is real or why I believe in him, I only wish I could. Tell you what, you write to him asking to visit the north pole and I’ll write to him asking if I can tell you why I believe in him. We can both post our letters at the same time, that way I can’t trick you, can I?’

‘I’m not doing it Beth, and I don’t want to talk about it any more.’ Gill snapped at her sounding angry and frustrated with her friend’s constant badgering.

Travis had heard enough. The spirit of peace and goodwill was causing great distress to his daughter and her friend. “Just another instance where not telling someone I am Santa was causing anguish,” he thought marching into the room, startling the two girls as he barged in.

‘Why aren’t you in school’ he asked Bethany in the best gruff voice he could muster. ‘And you Gill, does your mother know you’re here and not at school? So help me Beth, if you’re playing truant…’

‘I’m not,’ she interrupted him in the haughty tones of a teenager who has got one over on their parent. ‘It’s half term, the school is closed. Mum knows all about it.’

‘Good,’ Travis snapped back with a smile conflicting the mood in his voice. ‘You know what I can do to naughty girls who tell their Daddy fibs.’

‘I do,’ Bethany said with a sulk, ‘pity you can’t show Gill the way you showed Phil what you can do instead of making me ask her to write a stupid letter.’

‘Bethany,’ Travis beamed at her as what she had just said exploded in his head, making him kick himself for not realising something that had been staring him the face for months, especially after the episode with James and Charlie. ‘There are times young lady when you positively shine like a beacon on a dark night. Come here and give your Dad a great big hug.’

‘Erm, you OK Dad?’ Bethany replied. The worried look on her face giving Travis cause for concern. ‘I didn’t do anything, you only hug me when I’m going to bed.’

‘No cheek out of you, young lady,’ he said walking over to her and ruffling her hair, ‘you just gave me an idea, which if it works will have your mate here,’ he pointed at Gill, ‘pushing letters up the chimney so fast, paper might run out.’

‘Wow Dad, what ya gonna do?’ she asked in excitement.

‘Exactly what I did to Phil,’ he replied. ’I might not be able to tell anyone anything, but as far as I know there is no restriction on when I can, and can’t use sugar drops (magic). Now, let’s see if I can wear the suit.’

No sooner had he said it than the red suit of Santa covered him from head to toe. His hair turned white and a long bushy white beard and moustache covered his face. The being now standing in the kitchen of his home bore no resemblance to Travis McGee, a fact bore out by the involuntary scream of Gill as she stood up, knocking the kitchen stool over to crash into the door.

‘Wow Dad,’ Bethany squealed, ‘you look great. Are you going to tie Gill up with tinsel like you did Phil? Can I watch Dad, you chased me when you did it to Phil and it wasn’t fair, I missed the fun, please Dad, can I watch, I won’t make a noise I promise.’

‘Only if she doesn’t believe who I am,’ Travis smiled turning to an open-mouthed Gill, who was having trouble speaking.

Travis in the Santa suit is an imposing figure at the best of times, but appearing out of thin air and taking the place of her best friends Dad, was a little bit more than startling. She wasn’t helped when Travis wrapped gaily coloured tinsel around her head and stuck tree ornaments to her clothing and finished off with a set of flashing lights that snaked all over her and along each arm and leg.

‘I’m sorry Gill,’ he told the awed girl, but neither I or Bethany can tell you who I really am. I hope this will have you believing in me again, and do what Bethany has been asking you to do. Write a letter and post it up the chimney.’

‘But, but, but,’ she stammered getting her voice back.

‘Don’t ask,’ Travis interrupted her, ‘for an extremely stupid reason we can’t tell you. Just do as Bethany asks; write a letter and hopefully, everything will be explained to you before Christmas. For now, the two of you behave yourselves, I have a little person to see.’