From there, I rented a snowmobile and drove straight across the polar ice cap to the North Pole. I knew I was there when my pocket compass, a relic of my scouting days, stopped pointing north and tried desperately to point straight down.
I looked around for reindeer and such and, sure enough, I saw a herd of them a couple of hundred yards away, gathered around a huge igloo. One of the reindeer had a red nose and I correctly guessed it must be the famous Rudolph of song, which was a good clue as to whom I would find inside the igloo. I crawled through the entrance tunnel and knocked politely on a rein¬deer skin hanging across the other end. There was no reply. This was under¬standable, however, because my knocking on the soft skin had made no sound. So I coughed gently.
“Come in Rudolph,” I heard a voice reply from inside.
“It isn’t Rudolph, it’s Alec,” I said.
“Come in, Alec, I have a nice bale of hay for you.”
I pulled the reindeer skin aside and stepped into the igloo. When Santa Claus saw me his eyes widened in. sur-prise.
“Oh, ho, ho, ho,” he laughed, “I’m terribly sorry. I thought you were Alec the Blue-Bottomed Reindeer. Do come in and make yourself comfortable.”
He was a big, fat man with white hair, white eyebrows and a white beard. His girth and his ruddy comple-xion made me think: “Now here is. a prime candidate for apoplexy,” and I prayed silently that he would not be struck down before the end of the interview. I realized I had interrupted his lunch because he was sitting at a block of ice that had been carved to serve as a table and was eating raw blubber. No wonder he was so fat.
“Have a seat,” he said between mouthfuls, waving me to another block of ice that had been carved to serve as a chair. I took off one of my extra sweaters and placed it on the chair before sitting on it. I had the same name as that other reindeer but I had no intention of resembling it in all respects. I explained my mission to Santa and he was most flattered.
“That’s very nice of The Athenian,” he said. “Nobody has ever interviewed me before. Would you like something to eat?”
“No thanks, my supplies ran out three days ago but I’m not very hun-gry,” I lied, eyeing the blubber apprehensively.
“Would you like something to drink, then?”
“What do you drink?” I asked suspiciously.
He went over to a corner, pushed aside some blocks of ice and brought out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label. “A rich kid on Park Avenue left it for me in his stocking last year. A rather touching gesture, don’t you think?”
After a long draught from the bottle I felt much better. “Do you live here all the time?” I asked.
“Oh yes, except when I go on my Christmas Eve trips, of course. It’s very comfortable, really. I read my books, I listen to the radio, I go on an occasional ride with the reindeer, I hunt for seal now and then. What more could a man want?”
“What indeed,” I agreed.
“What’s more, the climate is so healthy up here I never catch colds.”
“A blessed life,” I murmured. “Tell me, er… Mr. Claus? Is that what I should call you?”
“Call me anything. Santa, Papa Noel, St Nicholas, Aghios Vassilis -anything you like.”
“I shall call you Santa. Tell me, Santa, how long have you been going out every Christmas Eve filling chil-dren’s stockings with presents?”
“You tell me how long there have been children in the world. That’s how long. I came into being when the first child was told that if he was a good boy, I would come and fill his stocking with toys and goodies on Christmas Eve. And when the child was told I would come from the North Pole on a huge sleigh, pulled by a team of reindeer and come down the chimney, that’s exactly what I did.”
I frowned. This wasn’t making sense. “You mean if children weren’t told about you, wouldn’t you exist?”
“Exactly,” he replied. “You’re a grown man, you know something about the world. Could I possibly ride through the night sky on a sleigh, park on a roof, get through a chimney, fill the child’s stocking with toys, get up the chimney again, take off from the roof and do the same thing in millions of houses throughout the Christian world all in one night?”
“You mean you don’t?” I asked.
“I do, I do, of course I do – for the child who believes I do.”
I took another swig from the whisky bottle and shook my head. “I still don’t understand.” I mumbled.
“Look, when The Athenian sent you to interview me, did you believe I existed?”
“Of course I did. Do you think I’d come all the way up here if I didn’t?” I protested.
“Well, that’s exactly how you found me. I exist for all those people in the world who believe in the spirit of good
will towards men and that there is no greater joy on earth than making a child happy.”
I took another hefty swig from the bottle. “Wait a minute,” I said, “how do you get down those chimneys anyway. Some houses don’t have chimneys either, how about that?”
“Did your house have a chimney when you were a child?”
“No,” I admitted. “I lived in an apartment and the only hole in it was in the ventilator duct above the stove in the kitchen.”
“And did you believe I came in through that?”
I nodded. “My mother told me you could become thin as a needle if neces¬sary to come into the house with the presents.”
“And you believed that?”
“Yes,” I admitted, “I must have been a pretty dumb kid.”
“You were not. You were sweet and innocent like all children. I remember you quite well. You used to try and stay awake to catch a glimpse of me but you never could.”
I blushed and nodded. “I’m glad I’ve seen you at last,” I said, “but there’s one other thing you haven’t explained. How do you manage to visit everybody in one night?”
Santa smiled and heaved himself up. “Come with me and I’ll show you,” he said.
We crawled out of the igloo and I gasped at the sight that met my eyes. Stretching as far as the eye could see were millions and millions of Santa Clauses with sleighs all packed with toys and reindeer teams champing at the bit, ready to take off.
“There is a Santa Claus for every child who believes in him and every one of them out there will visit his own particular little boy or girl this Christ¬mas Eve. Not one of them will be disappointed.”
I don’t quite remember what happened next because it was some hours later when I woke up in my snowmobile clutching an empty whisky bottle. The igloo was nowhere to be seen, nor the reindeer (Rudolph included), nor the millions of Santas that had filled the area all around. “Oh, well,” I shrugged. “I guess they must all be on their way now. It’s getting pretty close to Christmas Eve,” I thought to myself as I turned the snowmobile around and headed back for Spitsbergen.
This Christmas story comes from Alec Kitroeffs book “Greeks That Never Were”, now out of print.
