St. Nick

by Alan Russell

  When the Elf didn’t answer Nick said, “All right.”

  “Wonderful!” she said in that too-enthusiastic voice of hers. “I’ll be waiting for you in Walt’s office.”

  Nick took his time getting there. Whatever the Elf wanted, he thought, would probably be something he wanted to run from.

  Angie was sitting in Forster’s seat wearing her oversized smile and holding one of those ridiculous quill pens. There was an ink well in front of her. As Nick took a seat she handed him a handful of letters.

  “What are these?” he asked.

  “They’re letters to Santa. Our tradition is to post the letters on the sleigh, along with your answers to them.”

  “Why give ’em to me?”

  Angie answered as if she was explaining to a child: “Because they’re addressed to Santa.”

  “My Santa days are done,” he said.

  “You’re still wearing the uniform.”

  “And why does that mean I got to play Dear Abby?”

  “You don’t even have to write your answers,” said Angie. “I’m here to take dictation.”

  The Elf kept smiling. Nick finally broke down and opened an envelope and then began to read the letter aloud: “Dear Santa, I want a paint set, a makeup kit, and Magic Mansion. My daddy says we should leave you a beer instead of milk. Is he kidding me? Your friend, Brooke.”

  Now it was Nick who was smiling. He leaned back in his chair. “Dear Brooke,” he said.

  With ornate calligraphy, Angie started taking down his words.

  “No, your daddy is not kidding you,” said Nick. “Leave him a tall, cold one. Your friend, Santa.”

  Angie’s pen had stopped moving. Her smile was still in place, but she looked at Nick expectantly.

  “What?” Nick said.

  Angie didn’t answer.

  “Dear Brooke,” said Nick, “Santa loves cookies and milk. Thank you for thinking of me.”

  Angie’s pen started moving again.

  They finished a few more letters, but with each Nick grew antsier. “Listen, I got to leave. You’ll have to finish up the last few letters for me.”

  Angie shook her head. “Those letters were addressed to Santa, not to me.”

  He would have argued, but time was short. Besides, there was no reasoning with this Elf. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll take ‘em home with me and return them tomorrow with my Santa suit. You can write up my answers with that fancy pen work of yours.”

  “Thank you so much, Nick,” said Angie.

  “No problem.” She took her job so seriously, as if she was on some kind of mission. Once upon a time he’d felt a similar need to help. But that already seemed like another lifetime.

  Nick was five minutes late arriving at Los Niños. In some ways he was glad he was rushed. He didn’t have too much time to think about his last visit to the hospital. Still, he hesitated a moment before stepping through the doors, flashing back to how his shirt had been covered in blood, and he had been holding a screaming girl.

  He took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. The darkness had allowed him to walk through the hospital parking lot unobserved, but once he stepped into the lobby he’d have to face the Christmas music. He took another deep breath, and then threw the door open. All at once children began calling out his name, and Nick responded with waves and smiles. Several children ran up to him, and he felt like a besieged rock star. That escort, he thought, better be here.

  She was. A woman in uniform waved to him, and then approached with an extended hand. Her name tag read “Isabel Castillo, R.N.”

  “Hi, Santa,” she said. “My name is Isabel”—she pronounced it E—za—bel—“but most people call me Easy. We’re so glad you are here. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

  Nick offered a few words for the children in the lobby, said that he’d be looking forward to seeing them on Christmas, and followed Easy to an elevator bank. The hospital’s interior designer seemed to operate under the rule that no space could go unadorned. There was such an abundance of colorful murals, paintings, and framed posters that Nick felt as if he was in the San Diego Zoo. There were monkeys swinging in trees, bunnies nestled in tall grass, kittens playing with yarn, and puppies licking children’s faces. Balloons and kites were flying everywhere, and suns were on the rise. The music playing from the speakers was faster than a Sousa march and more upbeat than ragtime. And the brighter and faster and cuter everything was, the more it screamed Hospital! God, he hated hospitals, especially this one.

  The elevator door opened. Easy waited for Nick to get inside. Maybe she sensed how much he wanted to bolt. When the doors closed behind them and they were alone, she said, “We all heard how you’re filling in for us, Nick, and we appreciate it. Can I get you anything before you begin your rounds?”

  “How about a tranquilizer?”

  She laughed. “I suppose you’ve come to the right place for that, but how about juice, or soda, or some water instead?”

  “Anything liquid would be good.”

  Nick had always gotten along with nurses. Cops usually did. They shared a lot of the same defense mechanisms, had similar armor of bold fronts and black humor. Easy was middle-aged, about five foot two and heavy. Nick wondered what she had weighed before she started working her job, and whether the extra pounds defended her from what she had to deal with every day.

  “You mind if we walk up a flight of stairs?” she asked.

  “Fine.”

  The elevator came to a stop. He didn’t think they were taking the indirect route for exercise, and Easy didn’t keep him guessing about their detour for long. She paused at the foot of the stairwell and took off her thick glasses, ostensibly to wipe them. The nurse had big brown eyes, pretty eyes that he hadn’t really seen behind the lenses.

  “How much were you told about the patients you’ll be visiting?”

  “I know they’re real sick.”

  She nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  Nick took a deep breath. “What I’m guessing is, some of the kids are dying.”

  He wanted Easy to contradict him, but she didn’t. Instead, she just said, “Yes.”

  And Nick remembered this sick joke he had once heard another cop tell. “So,” the cop said, “there’s this little boy, and he says to his mother, ‘Mommy, mommy, why do we have a Christmas tree in August?’ And she tells him, “Jimmy, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, you got leukemia.’”

  Nick hoped he hadn’t laughed, but he didn’t remember. God, he hoped he hadn’t laughed.

  Easy put her glasses back on and the two of them started up the stairs. Pooh characters were dancing on the walls, Winnie, Christopher Robin, Roo, Tigger, and Owl. Even Eeyore was kicking up a hoof—dancing for God’s sake.

  Hypocrites, Nick wanted to yell, wanted to vent. He had read the Pooh stories to his own children, and he knew that Eeyore was never happy. The hospital could at least be that honest.

  They came to a landing. “I’m glad you understand the condition of these children,” Easy said, “but that’s only part of it. You need to understand what you’re going to see. The staff is used to looking at these kids. Outsiders aren’t. But you’re not an outsider to these children, and you won’t have an outsider’s excuse for flinching, or looking away. You’re Santa Claus, and that means you have to love them without any reservations.

  “You’ll see amputated limbs and children with tubes running every which way in and out of them. You’ll be talking to children with bodies more skeletal than not, with skin stretched so thin you could almost rub it away with an eraser. You’ll see bald heads and open wounds. You’ll have to deal with children without voices, and make yourself known to children who can no longer see.

  “And despite all that, you’re going to somehow have to be Santa Claus.”

  Nurse Castillo stared at him. Her lenses had to be almost half an inch thick. Nick was afraid that with her glasses she could see into his soul. If she could, she’d
see nothing was there.

  “Some welcoming committee you are.”

  “Better you turn around now,” she said, “than go inside and lose it. These kids have had too many disappointments in their lives. I won’t have Santa Claus betray them.”

  She was being unfair. Nick wanted to tell her that. It wasn’t as if he had ever asked to be Saint Nick. The job had been thrust upon him unfairly, just as this night had been. And how could he prepare for a hall of horrors? No one could. But much as he wanted to, he couldn’t walk away.

  “I was a cop,” he said, then amended that. “I am a cop. I won’t lose it.”

  It was as good a vow as he could come up with. The cop credo. Pretty shaky ground, he thought, but Nurse Castillo, with her X-ray vision, apparently decided it was good enough.

  “Eighteen children in the Pediatric Oncology ward,” she said. “We’d like you to spend five to ten minutes with each. Most share a room, except for those who have recently had surgery, or who are very sick. I’ll tell you a little bit about each child before you talk with them. We have special presents for everyone, gifts we know they wanted, or were picked out especially for them. We’ll keep restocking your Santa’s bag prior to your visiting each room.”

  “I didn’t bring my bag …”

  “We’ve got one.”

  Out of habit, Nick stopped to pat himself down. It felt as if he was missing something. On the job, he had always reached out and touched his gun before going into a dangerous situation. Not that he’d drawn it more than two or three times all of his years on the force. And he’d only fired it on that one occasion, that one occasion that changed everything. But old habits die hard. He found himself unconsciously reaching to touch his gun because death was near. Different uniform, he remembered. And besides, he no longer had possession of his police firearm. The review board was holding it, along with his badge, pending their final decision on him. Unarmed, he had to go in and see some sick and dying kids. Backup. He needed backup.

  “You’ll be with me the whole time?”

  “Every step of the way.”

  Nick gave the nod, the one that said, “Let’s do it.”

  They walked up the remaining stairs, and Easy opened the door. The interior designer had evidently just been warming up with the hospital lobby. Stuffed animals lined the entire back wall of the nurse’s station, animals of all shapes, sizes, colors, and textures. Several were almost as large as Nick.

  Even more plentiful were the holiday trappings. Every available nook and cranny seemed to be stocked with nutcrackers, little drummer boys, and colorful miniature sleighs. A toy train set wound its way through the lobby. Santa was at the locomotive’s wheel, leading a caravan of trains laden with trinkets and toys. The trailing caboose flashed red and green lights.

  More lies, thought Nick. What were they thinking? Make enough noise, make merry loud enough, and death wouldn’t visit?

  The sound of clapping made him turn. A handful of nurses, doctors, and techs were standing in the hallway. It took Nick a moment to realize that they were cheering for him. Their applause created a stir throughout the ward. Little faces started to appear, some of them dragging medical equipment behind them. To Nick, they looked like concentration camp victims.

  “Don’t worry,” said Easy, calling out to the children in a very loud voice. “Santa’s going to visit everyone here.”

  “I promise,” said Nick.

  “See? Now just be patient.”

  Some of the staff tried to come forward to shake Nick’s hand, but Easy shooed them away. “Kids first,” she said. “That’s Santa’s rule.”

  The children, still lingering, laughed to see the adults being sent off. Their laughter startled Nick. He didn’t expect that out of them.

  Easy herded him into a lounge area and closed the door behind them. “Your first visit will be to Jessica Brisbane,” she said. “Jessica is five years old. She was operated on for thyroid cancer. Last week a tumor, her thyroid gland, and most of Jessica’s larynx were removed. Some more surgery is going to be necessary, so at the moment, Jessica has no voice, mechanical or otherwise.”

  “No voice.” Nick considered Jessica’s situation, and his own. “Does she read or write?”

  Tell me she’s incredibly precocious, Nick thought. Let her be a child prodigy who was reading and writing at the age of three. Give me that much slack at least.

  “No, but Jessica finds ways to make herself understood.”

  “Maybe she can teach me,” said Nick.

  The nurse started dropping wrapped presents into a bag. “Jessica likes to draw, so we have some drawing sets for her. We also have some musical storybooks. All she has to do is push them for sounds.”

  Another wrapped present went into the bag. “And we found a special music box for her. Jessica loves music.”

  Easy lifted up the bag and offered it to him. “Are you ready to go?”

  Nick accepted the bag. It was the only way he could answer. His throat was dry, and he worked his mouth to try and generate some saliva. Unless he could get some spit going, he and Jessica were going to have a very short conversation.

  He thought about his own daughter. Corinne had adored him once. But when things had started going south between him and Teddy, she had become distant. When she’d been a kid you couldn’t shut Corinne up. He and Teddy used to call her “Chatty Cathy.” How had things gotten to the point where neither he or Corinne now talked much to the other? It wasn’t as if they had Jessica’s problem. Both of them had voices.

  Nick followed Easy into the room, into that place that had him scared to death. He listened to Easy say, “I think you already know we have a very special visitor today, don’t you, Jessica?”

  Jessica’s eyes were bright. She was sitting up on her bed, and had the expression of a child who knows the answer and desperately wants to be called upon. Upon her head was a red scarf that made her pale face appear that much more white and ghostlike. The scarf covered her baldness.

  “Merry Christmas, Jessica!” It wasn’t his voice, Nick thought. It was more like Angie the Elf’s voice. But at least the words came out.

  He took a seat in the chair next to her bed. “Well, then,” he said.

  There was a moment’s silence. What was he doing? Waiting for her to answer? He remembered the scene from Miracle on 34th Street when a Dutch girl was seated on St. Nick’s lap. No one expected him to be able to communicate with her, but suddenly he started speaking Dutch. And after the girl went happily on her way, the Saint revealed that he knew the language of all children.

  But how would St. Nick have talked to this girl who couldn’t speak? He couldn’t ask her questions that involved more than a nod or a shake of the head.

  Nick reached into his bag. He could start with the presents. Dessert first.

  “I brought you some special gifts, Jessica, for a very special little girl. I know right now it’s frustrating for you to not be able to speak. That’s going to change over time, but talking isn’t the only way of communicating. There are other ways.”

  Nick reached into his bag and felt around, found the right present and handed it to her.

  “This is one way you can express your thoughts,” he said, but Jessica wasn’t listening. She was already digging into the wrapping and pulling open the coloring book and markers.

  Nick handed her another of the drawing sets. “I know you’re a very talented artist, Jessica. There’s an old saying: A picture paints a thousand words. If you draw the right pictures, people will consider you positively chatty.”

  There was more frantic tearing, followed by more smiles. Back in the Dark Ages, Nick had been taught in the Police Academy that most communication was non-verbal. On the street he’d learned to trust body language more than words, and he’d communicated back to people in the way he stood, and the way he looked at them, or didn’t look at them.

  Like the way in which he was sitting away from Jessica, as if she was a stranger. That wasn’t h
ow Santa would be sitting, or acting.

  Nick handed her another present, one of the sound books. He couldn’t hand her gifts all night. They’d be running out soon. There had to be another way to communicate with her. He moved closer to Jessica, then reached out his gloved hand and lightly touched her. There. He had been afraid to do that, as if death was contagious. But wasn’t the same contagion in his own soul? He hoped it was a case of two negatives coming together and making a positive.

  Jessica smiled at him, and then went back to her storybook, touching the characters for their sounds. Bees buzzed and birds chirped and frogs croaked. It was a jungle out there.

  The time with Jessica went faster than Nick could have imagined, and they didn’t run out of things to say to one another, even though Nick was the only one doing the talking. When he handed Jessica the last present in the bag she turned it around several times in her hands before carefully removing the wrapping. Her mouth was open, and Nick didn’t need to hear any sounds to know how delighted she was. Atop the wind-up music box was a ballerina. Her toes were pointed to the wooden stage, her arms raised over her head. Jessica wound up her prize, then put it on her bed stand, and both of them listened to music from the Nutcracker Suite.

  Side by side they watched the ballerina dance round and round just for them.

  Over the course of the evening Nick visited with all the children. He unleashed a bubble machine and hundreds of bubbles on a delighted bedridden girl, played laser tag with a boy in a wheelchair, captivated a girl by pulling out one Russian nesting doll after another, and raced remote control cars with a boy confined to his bed. It had been a roller coaster ride, with Nick holding on and being swept up in his own role. He was Santa Claus, and somehow in the minutes he had with each child, illness and death were kept at bay.

  “One last stop,” said Easy.

  The change in Easy’s tone made Nick take notice. She now looked apprehensive. That surprised him, since only moments before she had been saying that his visit with the kids had exceeded all her expectations. He watched as Nurse Castillo slowly and deliberately dropped the last wrapped presents into Nick’s bag.