The Fountain of Truth

by Jeremy Bursey

  ***

  History may show a modification of the truth, as is the case when people stop believing in it, but no one who knew the whole truth could’ve really expected St. Nick and the elves to get along like old chums, at least not right off the bat. Tension surrounded them at every turn for months. But they did make an effort to work together without conflict. Sometimes they had a good day. Sometimes not. They had what we might today call a “traditional working relationship.”

  When the elves arrived on their first day of work, they were overly joyed, and St. Nick was already feeling apprehension over his decision. Because he was a dour fella who wanted to be left alone to enjoy his workouts in peace, he could not get used to the idea of having dozens of little men and women buzzing about, asking him about his day, wondering what they could work on today. Many times he had wanted to tell them to get lost, that this new plan was never going to work. But the elves were so diligent, so determined to bring home something of value for the traveling merchant, that they ignored his warnings of termination in favor of giving all of their attention to the job at hand, which he had decided would involve helping him build a new piece of gym equipment. Even as they asked him questions about what his gym was for, how the existing equipment worked, and how he wanted them to build the next piece, he found it difficult to deny their tenacity. He found it almost uncanny how focused they were once they got their mind set onto something, not too unlike himself.

  Because he couldn’t throw them right into the fire—figuratively or literally—he decided to spend the first few days training them on how to set the tools and prepare the materials for construction. They had assured him that they knew some basic fundamentals of construction—they had, after all, built their own village at some point long ago—but he wanted to hear nothing of that. St. Nick’s attitude was that his job would be done his way, and that he would have to help them unlearn their ways in order for them to learn his ways. So, he used the first day to break them down so that he could build them up.

  “You are nothing but maggots,” he told them, after he had forced them to stand in a row out in the snow. “You’ll never amount to anything. You are useless to me, and you are useless to yourselves.”

  The elves began to cry.

  “Do not cry, you maggots! You get tough!”

  They cried with more gusto.

  “Quit yer cryin’ and tell me ‘yes, sir’!”

  They didn’t quit their crying, but they did tell him “yes, sir!”

  Demanding St. Nick quickly saw the work he had cut out for him, so he decided to put the name-calling on hold until he could establish some trust. They didn’t know him, and he didn’t know them, so outright comparing them to slimy critters that ate garbage and dead flesh was probably not the best way to begin a relationship, he realized. Even though he had no prior experience talking to people, especially a group of elves, he wasn’t certain that that was the case. But it seemed right.

  Instead, he herded them all into the gym and began to show them how the current equipment worked.

  “First you get on the belt,” he said, when he stepped on the treadmill. They had all gathered in the corner and marveled as they watched him climb aboard. Their eyes were wide, their mouths open, and they made sounds of wonder that convinced him he was quickly becoming a cult leader. “Then you press the button.”

  He ran on the treadmill for about thirty minutes, and the elves continued to watch him awestruck. When he stopped the machine, he asked if any of them wanted to give it a try. Every hand in the room went up.

  “Okay, so here’s how it works. Each of you is very small. Because your legs are so short, it’s possible that the majority of speed settings here will inadvertently suck you under the belt. You probably won’t want that, so I’d advise you buddy up and run on the slowest speed. That way, if one of you can’t keep up, the other can push you off before you go under. Sound good?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  St. Nick was glad to hear them answering back in the tough way he had instructed them, but he didn’t want to show it. Part of building toughness was to withhold any affection or sense of value. That’s what seemed right.

  “Good, now get on the machine, two at a time. I’ll set the speed for you since you probably can’t reach the panel. You’ve got fifteen minutes to get used to it. Go!”

  The injuries that day were fewer than he had anticipated.

  Once everyone had gotten a sense of how the machines worked, he moved them to the tool bench and began to tell them how each tool worked.

  “This is a screwdriver,” he said, when he showed them the first tool. “You use this to tighten small metal rods into holes or bolts to fasten two larger pieces together. The small metal rod, which you can see has these coiled grooves running up its entire surface, is called a screw. The screw is an essential component for keeping pieces held together. Any questions?”

  One of the elves in the corner raised her hand. St. Nick pointed to her.

  “Yes?”

  “We already know what these tools are,” she said. “We have them ourselves. We’ve built our village ourselves. We built it using tools just like these.”

  St. Nick growled and threw the screwdriver at the elf. It narrowly missed her head as she ducked.

  “You will learn things my way,” said the irritated St. Nick.

  It took him several days to teach the elves about the tools and how each one worked, and it took several more to show them how to handle the materials necessary for building the gym equipment, which included wooden planks, some pine needles, rare metals, and a gummy substance that he had referred to as “rubber.” At every step the elves tried to convince him that they already knew how the basic materials worked, and how to shape them into more effective materials, but he wanted them to learn things his way, so he continued to throw sharp objects at them until they understood.

  The injuries those days were fewer than he had anticipated.

  When it came time to finally begin building the new gym equipment, a celebration rang out among the elves. They were excited because they could now begin working, and this was the moment when their hours would start converting into payment. Even before St. Nick rang the bell, signaling that it was time for work, they had their tools in hand and determination in their faces. Once the bell rang, St. Nick had to jump out of the way, for they swarmed into the gym like rodents converging onto a piece of cheese.

  St. Nick still wanted his privacy once the elves began to work, but he was beginning to soften up about the idea of having them around. But the second week of elvish employment changed his tune almost immediately. The elves, who were much better builders than he had anticipated, had somehow snuck their entire village through the barren wasteland and built it up around his workshop overnight, and their village was, in a word, huge. Next thing St. Nick knew, he had hundreds of elves bustling about within a short walk from his house, and he was no longer content with this arrangement.

  “Okay, that’s it!” he yelled. “Everyone out! Job’s finished! Get out of here and don’t come back!”

  But the elves didn’t move. They just laughed at him.

  He realized sometime later that he had inadvertently emboldened them to hold their ground. Now that they were hundreds strong, he was vastly outnumbered and overwhelmed. Technically, the elves owned him now, and the last thing he needed was an uprising against him. So, he let them stay.