Nick's Naughty Elf. Georgia St. Claire

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СКАЧАТЬ Peter, your work with the Big Brother program has been commendable. What is your question?”

      The local cable television cameraman’s head popped up and looked around in astonishment. “You’re calling on me, Santa?” All the other cameras abruptly changed direction to film him.

      Nick smiled gently. “Yes, Peter, your goodness is so strong it is just shining off you. What would you like to ask me?”

      The man blushed and shook his head. Ignoring the reporter who was frantically whispering in his ear, he said, “What I’d really like to do is thank you for the train set you gave me when I was eight. I played with it every day for years and as a result of that I majored in engineering in college and now I help design bridges. It is an awesome job and I wake up every morning eager to go to work!”

      “I’m so glad to hear that, Peter. You’ve thanked me many times over the years, but this is the first I’ve heard about how happy you are with your job; that is great news! Now, even though you are a volunteer for the local cable station and didn’t expect to find yourself serving as a reporter, you should ask me something. Some of your colleagues are getting very impatient.”

      Peter looked around at all of the other members of the press. Almost all of them were suggesting questions to him, some mouthing their questions, others shouting, a couple had scribbled words on their notebooks and were holding them towards him to read. It reminded him of a feeding frenzy on one of the nature specials about sharks. He shook his head in bewilderment. “How do you stand this, Santa?”

      Nick didn’t try to hold his laughter in and his ‘Ho, ho, hos’ rolled out in waves as he held his belly and finally had to wipe the tears from his eyes. “Thank you, Peter! Your concern for me is the perfect example of your goodness and why you outshine everyone else here. You are right, this press attention is not pleasant and I am very sorry that I need to be here doing this instead of making notes about all the requests I heard from the children tonight.” He paused and looked directly into the cameras. “Children, don’t worry about the delay in making my notes, I won’t forget what you told me.” Then he looked back at Peter. “I stand it because I must. Sometimes things happen while I am working and people have questions. I try to do what I can to bring happiness to people and I believe that the questions a child has should always be addressed.” He shrugged. “None of you are children now, but you were once; and I still respond to the children I remember and I remember every single one of you. John, you are up. What is your question?”

      A reporter from one of the major Boston television stations started to form his question, but Santa shook his head, holding up his hand to stop him. “No, Jonathan, you are lower on the list. I’m asking John.” He nodded to a man wearing a ragged trench coat, which had seen better times many years ago, who was standing off to the side in the very back of the group. He stood up straighter and opened his mouth, but was interrupted.

      “He’s not even employed by anyone, he’s freelance! Why are you letting him go next?” a woman holding a microphone complained.

      Santa sighed. “Edith, your poor manners and arrogant self-importance are going to keep you from ever breaking into the national arena. You need to mend your ways! I will give you this answer without considering it as your one question because you need to learn humility. John is next because he has worked in his local soup kitchen every Thanksgiving Day and every Christmas Day, every single one, for the last thirty years. I believe the only time you’ve been in a soup kitchen was the story you did about Thanksgiving five years ago and the station didn’t air it because you filmed it the day before Thanksgiving, attempted to pass it off as the actual day, and was caught and reprimanded. Now apologize to John.”

      She gaped at Santa, stunned. After a long moment of silence, the reporter standing next to her elbowed her in the ribs. “Hurry it up, Edith. I want to finish this story up and get home to my family; it’s getting late.” Others added their voices in agreement.

      She stamped her foot. “Fine! I’m sorry!” she huffed and turned her shoulder towards the man, not quite presenting her back.

      Again, the laughter rolled out of Santa. “You did that just like you did the day when you were five and were caught trying to take Tommy Bishop’s cookie off his lunch tray. As I said a few minutes ago, I remember every single one of you as you were as children, and John, I’m very sorry to say that’s about the best apology you can expect from Edith. What would you like to ask?”

      “Based on what I’ve just seen, I’d like to privately ask you a question that doesn’t pertain to this news story, if that is permitted,” the man stated, careful to not raise his voice and make it a question.

      This time Santa chuckled. “I’m not a magic genie trying to trip you up! That is very astute though, John. Yes, I will answer your question privately, but not tonight, it is getting very late. Come see me tomorrow after I finish working. Christine, you’re next.”

      “What happened today, Santa?” she asked promptly.

      “My elf assistant was experiencing difficulty with her equipment, got very frustrated and used bad language. I reminded her that children could hear her using words that no one should ever say. George?”

      “Yes, sir! Did you spank her, as some people have claimed?”

      Santa sighed. “I am very disappointed that everyone is displaying so much interest in a private matter that is none of their business. The only thing that anyone needs to know is that I do not tolerate bad language. Preston?”

      “Are you saying that those people are lying?”

      “Lying is very naughty; so is making false accusations. Sometimes people think they know something when they have actually extrapolated from an accepted fact that may not be accurate. I will not say more on this private matter, other than to point out that the only people present were Elf Marcie and me. No one else knows for sure what happened and that is as it should be. Elf Marcie is entitled to her privacy and I will not take that away from her. Whitney, your turn.”

      “Um, can I ask my question privately, too?”

      He studied her and then looked up at the group in general. “I’d like to remind everyone that I do not have any special powers that tell me the future. There is no point in thinking that I can give you investment advice or the next winning lottery numbers. I know what John plans to ask me and I can give him a fair answer. Whitney, you are vacillating between two questions, only one of which I can answer. I will let you decide if you want to save your question until tomorrow, as long as you understand that my answer may be ‘I don’t know.’ Decide now and let’s move on.”

      “Thank you, Santa. I will wait.”

      He nodded curtly. “So be it.” He frowned as he studied the group. “It’s getting harder to discern the levels of niceness in the rest of you. Please consider being more charitable, or at least curbing your naughtiness. Scott, go ahead.”

      “You say that you don’t have magical powers to tell the future; what magical powers do you have?”

      Santa sighed. “I agreed to talk with you all out of innate politeness. When someone comes to see you, it is only right to meet with them. It is getting very late and in the interest of conserving time, I have limited this to one question from each person. I remind you that I am not obligated to answer everything or even anything that is asked. Throughout my long history, people have wondered what powers Santa Claus has. I will say only that I know if you have been naughty or nice and I can travel around the world in one night delivering gifts even when there isn’t a chimney to go down. Jonathan, СКАЧАТЬ