The Night Before Christmas
By Mary Sharry
Sun contributor
Empire writer Mary Sharry’s “The Night Before Christmas” puts a twist on the classic story, with Nick’s wife Maude holding the reigns of the sleigh. Her visit to the White House reveals a clothes-less would-be emperor, who definitely has not acted nice this year.
From a distance they look like children, perhaps six-year-olds. Huddled in concentration over a yellow pine table, they’re at work in a log-hewn shed where the last light of day streams through cracks in the chinking and a drift of snow occasionally falls through the rafters. At closer look we see these are not children at all, but older men with weathered cheeks. Plumes of their breath hover in the air. Hammers ring, saws and chisels gnaw at wooden objects along with an occasional metallic tap, tap, tap. There’s a cast iron stove at one end of the enclosure and before it sits a portly man dressed in red pants and jacket and shiny black boots that rise to his knees. His sleeves and collar are trimmed in matted and sooty fur. His beard and hair are plastered in dull yellow clumps. Occasionally one of the workers totters over to the bearded man to show him an object and receives a nod of approval, a pat on the head. Loud chomping sounds are heard from outside the shed. It sounds like the munching of carrots and crisp apples.
“Okay, Nick. We’ll have this all ready by quitting time at five o’clock. We’ll stuff your sack and Barton will hitch up the reindeer.”
“Gee whiz, Larry. Why do I always have to do the hitching? Every year it’s the same thing and the reindeer kick and sometimes even bite at me. Get Rudolfo to do it.”
“Aw, quitcher bitchin’ Barton baby. Complain, complain. That’s all you ever do.”
Barton draws on a cigarette and blows a smoke ring at Rudolfo, who flaps at the vaporous circle. “Bug off, Shorty.”
Over by the stove Nick calls, “Hey guys! That’s enough outta you. I’ve got a long journey tonight and I don’t feel so good. My nose is runny and my feet are sore.”
A white-haired elderly woman with rosy, apple-round cheeks comes into the shed. She’s wearing a red wool shirt and ankle length skirt. There are white ruffles at her throat and on her head is a red stocking cap with a trail of white ribbons hanging down to her waist. Her black boots clomp along the floor as she makes her way to the man by the stove.
“Nick, now I’m telling you. You’re not going to make the trip this year. You’re getting too old. Besides, you forgot half your deliveries last year and returned home with them still in the sack. I’m going to make the journey. I’ve got my mask and am ready to rock and roll.”
“No you’re not, Maude. This is my job. I’ve been doing it since the beginning of time. You can’t even handle the team.”
“Don’t you tell me what I’m capable or not capable of doing. Those eight reindeer were part of my dowry and I grew up with every one of them. I can even remember their names, which is more than I’ll say for you. They know me; they’re at my command. I’ve been planning this trip for months, getting the harnesses just right, even polishing the bells on the sleigh. Not another word out of you.”
With two fingers to her front teeth, Maude whistles an ear piercing note. The workers jump to attention. Apparently she’s told them of her plan, and with a wink of her eye she lays a finger aside of her nose and hustles the little men out the door along with a big burlap sack. The old man by the stove sighs and shakes his head. What can he do? She’s right about the dowry. She even owned the house where they live and the shed before he came into her life, back at the beginning of time.
The bulging sack is hoisted into the waiting sleigh. Toys protrude from the top — a Barbie doll, a stuffed Teddy Bear, a baseball bat, harmonica, even a red yo-yo. A tricycle’s handle bars with bell attached protrude from the top of the sack. Barton rings the bell. Ka-ching, ka-ching. Maude climbs into the sleigh and settles herself into the seat, the burlap bag beside her. Eight reindeer are hitched up and with a gentle word that sounds sort of like “mush” the sleigh, animals and Maude with the toys, lifts off the ground. The ribbons on her cap stream behind her as she circles the cabin once and disappears beyond the moon.
“Good work guys,” says Barton. “Let’s raid the icebox.”
The men run inside the shed and tiptoe past Nick who’s slumped and snoring in his chair beside the stove. They pile out the back door which is connected by a breezeway to the house. There’s a messy kitchen with cake crumbs, a knife sticking out of a peanut butter jar, and a box of Ritz crackers tipped on its side. The soppy crackers are splayed out on a soggy sink counter.
Rudolfo opens the icebox door. “Okay guys. Who wants beer? Who wants gin and tonic? Who wants ice cream?”
After all their work they’re tired. They yawn and scratch at their underarms and bellies. Rudolfo grabs a beer and lights a cigar. Barton notes he’s left the icebox door open. Removing the ice cream he gives the door a kick. “Damned fool! Come on, guys. Let’s dig in.” They sit around the table, guzzling bottled beer, dipping into the container of Neapolitan ice cream.
Barton turns to Larry. “Hey, you goin’ home to Betsy tonight? She’s probably been missing you. You’ve been putting in long hours here.”
“Nah! I’m gonna stay here and keep the old man company. ‘sides, my wife left for Washington to make a new suit for that fool, T-rump. You know what a tailor she is. Thought you heard about that fiasco, him losing the election, refusing to leave office. She says he’s getting ready for his inauguration.”
“If he’s such a fool, why’d she want to have anything to do with him?”
“Money. You know. She says she’ll work her magic on his wardrobe. Says she’s going to save the country.”
“Well, if she can do that, she’ll be Wonder Woman in my book.”
***************
Marine One circles over the White House in Washington, D.C. The copter’s on the tail of an unidentifiable flying object. You can guess the object is Maude in her sleigh. Flying hooves beat at the air as the helicopter circles the sleigh which lands on the front lawn right next to an enormous Christmas tree all lit up in red lights. The helicopter lands next to the sleigh and the reindeer eye it with a wary look in their round, black eyes. When the chopper’s blades stop turning, a large man emerges. His hair is an odd shade of orange which clashes with his red necktie. Other than the necktie, he’s stark naked.
Walking over to the sleigh he addresses Maude. She pulls her mask over her eyes. “You looking for someone?”
“I’m looking for a good person, someone nice, not naughty.”
“Well, toots. Naughty is fun, nice is not fun.
“No toys for you then, you big galoot. Get some clothes on.”
“Hey. You can’t tell me what to do. I make all the decisions. Around here it’s my way or the highway.”
“Oh yeah. I’m gonna call the cops on you for indecent exposure at the nation’s house.”
“It’s my house and I can do anything I want. Besides lady, you’re out of your mind. I’m wearing the finest threads in the city here. This suit was made for me by a little gal who came from the North Pole. Her name’s Betsy Ross and she’s quite a tailor.”
“I’m warning you, buster. I’m calling the cops,” Maude whistles between her two front teeth and the lead reindeer bites the naked man’s left buttocks.
“Hey! Cut that out you over-sized horse.”
“He’s not a horse. He’s a caribou and his name is Dancer and you’d better cover your sorry be-hind right now.”
Sirens are heard and approach the scene on the front lawn. An aide to the naked man motions for the cops who arrive with AK-47’s poised over their shoulders. The aide, his long face drawn and haggard looking, his thin hair dripping something that resembles liquid from a vanilla bottle, winks at Maude and the cops.
“You can put down your weapons fellas. Take a look at T here in his fine new suit.”
The cops and Maude look at each other in disbelief. The naked man makes a slight bow and turns around as if modeling. Maude pulls her mask back up over her eyes. One of the cops makes a gagging sound.
The naked man hollers, “Giovanni. Get those cows out of here now.”
“Say lady. That’s your president and you should know you can’t have animals on his lawn. T doesn’t like animals. He says they just dirty up the place, and besides Mrs. T is not one to get her gowns all mussed up with cow drool.”
Maude addresses Giovanni. “These are not cows. They’re caribou from Lapland. Don’t you know anything?”
“Lady, what I do know is we’re getting ready for a big inaugural party here in a few weeks. T is going to make his pitch to be president for life. He’ll dazzle the crowds with his new suit.”
Well, I know something. I’ve overstayed my visit here. I’ve never seen anything so disgusting. No presents for you tonight or for your oversized doofus friend.” She hops into her sleigh, whistles again, and the reindeer take off leaving the cops, the aide and the naked man standing on the lawn, jaws agape as they watch her disappear into the night.
“For some reason I’m getting goose bumps. Come on into the house, Giovanni. I’ll get my photographer to take an official shot of me. Just wait until the New York Times gets a load of me in this outfit. I’ll be on the front page. Won’t Vlady be impressed, little rocket man, too? The gal who made this fine suit told me it would dazzle the naked eye. At least I think that was it. She said something was naked. Wipe your feet at the door.”
Outside the White House a small crowd gathered near the fence. A little child points and says, “That man wasn’t wearing any clothes.”
Voices echo amongst the people. “Did you hear that? No clothes. A little child said the president wasn’t wearing any clothes. No clothes. No clothes. Ha, Ha, Ha, Ha … The child is right. The president has been exposed.”
