The Christmas MEGAPACK ®. Nina Kiriki Hoffman

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 Street stop.

      A silence descended on us, then I said, “So you came to Philly, bought your book, and the rest is history.”

      “That about wraps it up.”

      “I’ll help you,” I promised.

      “Thank you, Carol.” He watched the doors slam shut at 2nd Street. “We’re nearly there. Do you have any other questions?”

      “Do you really go down chimneys and do reindeer really fly?”

      “Now those are trade secrets.”

      “Magic.”

      “Magic; a bit of the myth, the mystique. But I will tell you—the real magic lives inside you.” He leaned closer, emphatically. “Where you arrive, how you travel, it’s really irrelevant. It’s what you have to give when you get there that counts.”

      I nodded.

      “Any other questions?”

      “How old are you?” It popped out.

      His eyes lit again with that twinkle; his ruddy mouth stretched into an impossible grin. “A rather rude question for anyone but Santa Claus, eh?”

      “Oh...I’m sorry.”

      “No, no, no. It’s quite all right.” He thought of an answer, then gave it. “I’m old enough that you’re all, each and every one of you, my special children.”

      We were at 13th Street.

      “I have no further questions, your honor.”

      He reached over to pat my hand. “You’re a good girl.”

      “I try.” The train entered 15th Street. “This is our stop.”

      We got off and started toward the exit stairs. I glanced at the eastbound platform, amazed that just one hour ago I had left from there to go home from my workaday world. “Santa, wait.” I strained my eyes. Across the tracks, what looked like a bag lay half-hidden under the opposite stairway. “What color was your knapsack?”

      “Blue. Why?”

      I pointed.

      “Yes, I do believe that’s it!”

      “Come on. We can go through the overpass and get it.”

      I scurried up the stairs ahead of him, went through the passageway, and down the other side to retrieve the satchel for him.

      It was missing the usual cash and credit cards but the book and his flight ticket were inside.

      “What luck!” he said as I touched the book—of nineteenth-century French short stories—reverently, then checked his flight ticket.

      “Look. Your flight’s at eight o’clock. It’s only 6:30. We can make it.”

      “If the airport limousine leaves on time.”

      “Come on,” I said and led him out to the street and across it to an automatic bank teller. I punched in a withdrawal of $40.00.

      “I believe that’s your budget money,” he said.

      “I trust you.” He said nothing, but smiled gratefully. “Come on, let’s get a cab. This is your busy season, isn’t it?”

      “Absolutely.”

      A United Cab was parked in front of the Bellevue, its cabbie glad to have an airport fare. “Where ya goin’, Santa? The North Pole?” he chuckled.

      “Close enough,” Santa answered with the customary wink.

      The cab fare came to $25.00 with our generous tip. At the airport, Santa confirmed his flight at the Northwest desk and, with their help, made some phone calls about the missing credit cards. On one of those calls, a woman’s voice chided him sharply. Mrs. Claus, I presume.

      When his flight was called,