Esprit | Spring 2009

            When the Old Man’s last press-conference concluded, the talking heads all agreed his wardrobe had been a wise decision – a dark suit in a simple cut, with only a flashing Christmas-wreath pin on his lapel as a concession to image. They also agreed that, although his grave and somber tone had been fitting, he said all the wrong things. The Russian prospectors responsible for what he only called “the recent event” had been operating illegally, without regard to international protocol; his territorial sovereignty had been grossly violated; the world must be wary of those who perpetrated such expansionist policies. Regarding his own role in “the recent event,” he made only a few vague allusions to “operations performed within the bounds of an established tradition.” He did not provide the one thing everyone was waiting for: an apology. “He shifted blame and admitted nothing,” remarked one commentator, “just like a true politician.” It was the only press-conference he ever gave which he did not end with his signature triple-laugh – and it was the only one from which he was removed under armed guard.

            The Russian prospectors were operating illegally, although the Russian government claimed it was an honest mistake. Skyrocketing fuel demand and prices had triggered a new wave of explorations in remote regions of the country. The prospectors had followed a particularly rich coal system with an excess of enthusiasm, tunneling several miles under the border between Russia and the North Pole International Yuletide Treaty Zone, when they broke into a series of existing mines – a system which would later be discovered to tunnel for hundreds of miles. And there they found the miners who worked those mines, taking several as captives back to St. Petersburg.
            The first grainy film the international press obtained of the captured miner-elves haunts me – I suppose it haunts everyone who has seen it. Waxy-skinned and deathly pale, with stooped backs and protruding ribs, they kicked at their cages and snarled at any approach. They had to be kept in soft dimness at all times – bright lights tormented their eyes and set them to hideous shrieking. Their backs bore complex scar-patterns from years under the lash. They could understand only a handful of spoken words, all work-related commands. Specialists very quickly declared them “beyond rehabilitation.” They have been retired to a facility just west of the Urals, and are expected to have short life-spans. The blind albino reindeer which pulled the wagons were simply euthanized.
            We all knew that very few children ever actually got coal; they had to be very, very bad. But it did happen. We all knew where the toys for the happy majority came from – we had all seen the Discovery Channel specials touring the vast North Pole factories, the most cheerful manufacturing facilities imaginable. The chipper elves with their bulbous noses and squeaky voices were global icons of overwhelming cuteness and joy. But we never asked where the coal came from. Perhaps, on some level, we really didn’t want to know.
            None of those rosy-cheeked surface elves claimed for a moment not to know what was going on beneath their feet. “We just didn’t think about it, was all,” said one in an interview; “it was just the way things’d always been, you know?” Their complicity was criminal, and every last elf has joined his master and the missus in the international courts. Brussels has become the circus of the world.

            The fallout has been catastrophic. Crying children have insisted their parents seal their fireplaces so the “bad man” can’t get in. Certain Evangelical factions, long protesting the usurpation of Christmas by a “pagan cult,” have reveled in an ecstasy of vindication. The U.S., Canada and Russia squabble daily in the U.N. for rights to the former Yuletide Treaty Zone. Countless miles of snowflake and candy-cane decorations lie unwanted in warehouses. Many non-religious but Christmas-observing individuals have turned to celebrating Hannukah as a secular holiday. Reactions from the Jewish community have been mixed.
            The global economy has been in a sharp downturn ever since the discovery. The increasingly name-brand nature of contemporary Christmas gifts meant that Retail Acquisitions had been a larger division of the North Pole operation than Manufacturing for some years now. The sharp drop in demand for toys, luxury goods and electronics immediately sent shock waves through the global economy. Factories are closing in China, an event unthinkable only six months ago. Stock values continued to cascade gently downward, right up until today.
            Today might be the last day of the world as we knew it.
            “Where does the coal come from?” is only one question we failed to ask. The other was, “What pays for it all?” How does one rotund gentleman of no apparent means supply massive quantities of luxuries to the teeming masses of Earth’s children absolutely gratis? Once we would have said, “magic,” but we’re more cynical now. And so the question was finally asked. A team of the world’s leading economic minds landed a few months back in the former Yuletide Treaty Zone to conduct an investigation, assisted by several bookkeeping elves hoping for lighter sentences. The investigation has been until now very secretive; but a few unsettling rumors leaked, suggesting that the entire North Pole operation was a vast money-laundering scheme for some nefarious enterprise with tendrils twisted through every aspect of the global economy, kept hidden in plain sight by magical bookkeeping.
            The report comes out tomorrow, officially. The world waits with bated breath. We know it will not be good.
            Earlier today, breaking news. A journalist managed to accost one of the investigators, asking if there was anything at all he could suggest? And the poor man looked right into the camera. He clearly hadn’t slept much in recent days. He ran a hand through his hair and twittered a nervous giggle. “Yeah, it was magic,” he said. “And – shit, there’s no point to playing coy, all right? When that report comes out tomorrow it’s gonna create an economic K-T Boundary. Kiss every last currency in the world bye-bye.”
            So I went up to the attic and pulled out the old artificial Douglas Fir to prop up in its corner, glad I hadn’t gotten around to throwing it out. I strung the lights up around the living room and put the stockings and cookie-tins and garland all in their proper places. I’ve been swilling rum and eggnog and watching the Grinch on repeat play. I have filled out a dozen cards that I will not send and tonight before bed I intend to leave out a plate of cookies for no-one. Before whatever comes next I just want to find an echo of ignorance again. I want to remember what it was like before we all know it was a lie and thought it was only something beautiful.