0xDEADCAFE
30-12-2007, 07:06
I hope it's not too late for a Christmas story. (Thanks to the folks in the Four Words thread for putting me in the mood.)
Big Boots
“I’m afraid, Mr. Takagawa, this is not at all what I wished for,” I said.
The short, impeccably dressed gentleman standing in front of me suddenly looked like a little boy who had just had his favorite baseball cap snatched off his head and thrown down a sewer grate.
“But that’s impossible, Mr. Charlie-San,” he said. “The Santa9000 never fails! Never!” He started nervously glancing behind him toward a group of short, impeccably dressed gentlemen standing shoulder to shoulder near the side of the large hotel ballroom. By the look of them they could all have been his twin brothers.
“Yes, that is your company’s claim,” I said. “Rather an important one isn’t it? Not much point in a Santa Claus machine if it can’t give people exactly what they wish for. But if you want me to recommend to my company to actually make the substantial purchase that you and I discussed, you’ll need to do more than make claims.”
It wasn’t until then that I began to suspect just how important this sale was to the Koy-To Toy Company. The look on his face was pathetic. He just stood there apologizing and wringing his hands, alternating between jerky bows in my direction and frantic looks toward the Koy-To cabal watching us from across the room. I actually felt a little sorry for him. How long was he going to keep it up? Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Perhaps you would like to confer with your associates?” I offered, nodding to him politely.
“Yes, thank you,” he said, then bowed twice more before hurrying off to pow-wow with the boys from Koy-To.
It really shouldn’t have surprised me all that much. Although Koy-To had been remarkably successful in recent years, Christmas still wasn’t really an Eastern holiday. They celebrated it in Japan, of course, but not like in the West, and certainly not like we do in the States, where despite the ever-changing demographics, it just seems to get bigger, louder and sweatier every year. Come on, what could they possibly know about how an American child feels about Christmas? No, if they wanted to pull this off, they were going to need the help of a big state-side company to do it. And it was up to me to decide if they would get it.
I glanced up at the large machine next to me, the prototype Santa9000 that Mr. Takagawa had just been demonstrating to me. Despite the fact that I knew it housed some of the most stunningly advanced technology the world had ever known, it reminded me of an old soft drink machine, like the ones they used in the old days before instant nanobit assembly was invented. It felt a little weird now to think of how they used to have to actually stack cans of soda inside those boxy machines instead of just using a computerized assembly unit to materialize the drink from nanobits.
This Santa machine was supposed to work in a similar way, but instead of sweet, fizzy drinks it was supposed to be able to create whatever someone wished to have for Christmas—including a sweet, fizzy drink, for that matter, in the unlikely event that a child would ask for that for Christmas. It was a brilliant idea, but the product itself, well, that was another matter. Big, smooth and sharply rectangular, its lower half consisted of little more than a capacious gift dispenser drawer, while the upper half was a flat glassy screen with the most gawdawful rendering of Mr. Claus I had ever seen.
“And that gentlemen, is exactly why the Santa9000 is a complete failure...” I could almost hear myself giving my summary to the company board of directors. The picture on the box was worth a thousand words. It showed everything that was wrong with the idea that a Japanese company could ever hope to corner the market on Christmas. Santa was drawn in that exaggerated, cartoony Japanese style that seemed to be on everything these days. The details were there, alright: his cap, his sleigh, the big bag of toys, and all the reindeers, too, but—I’m sorry—the jolly old elf should not look like an invading alien riding a flying submarine. And his eyes should be twinkling with wisdom and joy, not reflecting some perfectly round overhead glare like two shiny bowling balls.
All of a sudden I wasn’t sorry about Mr. Takagawa’s predicament at all. If these little fellows wanted fill Santa’s big shoes they were going to have to do a lot better than they had so far.
“Wo,” someone next to me said.
“Excuse me?” I turned to look. There was man standing there with a huge grin on his face. He looked to be in his mid forties, but his attire seemed right out of a college dorm room.
“Wo-o-o…” he repeated, a bit more enthusiastically.
“What?” I asked him.
“That issue,” he said, pointing toward my hands, and redoubling his already huge smile. “Wo-o-o…”
I took a good look at the magazine in my hands for the first time. I had only glanced at it when it first came out of the Santa9000, since I knew right away it could not have been what I had wished for. I saw now that it was a comic book, and though it looked like new there was something about it that made it seem old. It was the artwork, so simple, yet so sincere, like nothing that came out these days. I had read comic books once, and it didn’t take me long to notice the issue number, which in this case read #1.
“Dude, you are so-o lucky… Do you know how many people would kill for that issue? It’s mint, too, isn’t it? I have never even heard of one in that good’a condition. That’s like… Wo-o-o…” He went on about the comic for a while more but I stopped listening when I noticed Mr. Takagawa break away from his circle of twins and start walking back towards me. He appeared eager for more negotiations and I was anxious to continue as well.
“Listen,” I said, turning to my new acquaintance. “Why you don’t you take it?”
He shut up instantly and then looked at me like I had just told him I was from another planet.
“Really, I insist,” I said, rolling it up hastily and pushing it into his hand. “Wo,” he said very softly, taking it from me like I was handing him a priceless masterpiece, carefully unrolling it with his fingertips and flattening it out with great care.
“Dude, are you serious?” I nodded vigorously. “Oh, dude. Thank you. Thank you! Merry Christmas, man!” He was on his N-com out before he had even turned around, and I heard him starting to converse with someone in that same rapt, rambling fashion he just been using with me. Mr. Takagawa’s arrival was still a few moments away, so I watched him as he exited the ballroom, almost dancing with happiness.
It took me back, watching him move like that. It had been years since I had been that happy about receiving a gift, probably not since I was a kid. I looked around the brightly decorated room to see if anyone else was watching him. There was, and by the looks on their faces, I thought that at least some of them might be feeling the same way that I did just then.
The hotel that the Koy-To Toy Company had chosen for their presentation was built into a huge shopping complex that included an indoor mall. The ballroom we were in looked as if it were being prepared for a holiday function later that night, but for now it served as seat-yourself meeting room for several knots of buzzing businessmen, as well as a combination short cut and way station for tired or hungry shoppers. There were two sparse lines of overcoat laden folks moving in opposite directions through the room and here and there people sat at round, tablecloth covered tables sipping hot drinks or resting their feet, or giving their overwrought, shopped-out children a few minutes of much needed play time.
“Mr. Charlie-San,” Mr. Takagawa intoned reverently, bowing as he stopped about foot away from me. “I have been in contact with the Koy-To board. I am pleased to inform you that they insist that you be given another gift from the Santa9000.” He looked at me and smiled like he had just offered me a second helping of jam pie.
“Another one?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “I thought it was one per season, something about the way the neural-net algorithms work. Or is that just marketing hype?”
“Yes, yes—ah—no, no, but—ah—since you have been—ah, not satisfied—with the first gift, we humbly request that you accept another one.”
Of course they did. What else could they do? “I accept,” I said graciously, nodding my head at him with appreciation. They were clearly desperate for a second chance to impress me, but I could play along with the idea that they were granting me a great honor by allowing me a second gift. After all, it was Christmas.
“But Mr. Takagawa,” I said, “I must inform you that based on the first test, I am leaning toward an assessment of unacceptable.”
He bowed and clicked his heels together respectfully, but he was clearly pleased that I had agreed to try again. He moved around me and stood to the side of the machine. As before, he showed me what to do. It was entirely unnecessary given that it was such a simple procedure. There was a hand plate above the large dispenser drawer, which had been painted to look like Santa’s big red bag. You were supposed to form a wish in your mind and then place your hand on the plate, which, in yet another example of just how much these Japanese fellows didn’t get it, was placed smack in the middle of alien space-invader Santa’s big red lap.
I extended my hand and then hesitated. For a moment I considered changing my wish. After all, I had deliberately chosen one that I thought the machine wouldn’t be able to handle. It was a really hard one, so hard that I wasn’t sure even the real Santa could do it—that is, the genuine imaginary Santa of my childhood. What held me back was the idea that I was cheating, and wondering whether or not the big man himself would approve.
But then again these foreigners were out to claim Christmas as their own private marketplace. And I was the only thing standing between them and the conquest of the most important day in all of Western Civilization. Cheating? Hell, they were lucky I wasn’t shoving a crusader’s lance up their butts.
“Ready,” I said, pressing my hand firmly against the plate and making my Christmas wish for the second time.
There was no noise from the machine as the embedded software computed my deepest desire and then directed an astronomical number of Supernanobits™ into its exact shape and composition. In a few seconds, Rudolph’s nose lit up and a smiling Mr. Takagawa was removing my gift from the dispenser drawer and placing it my hand.
It was some kind of envelope. Once again, I felt instantly sure this could not be it either, though I tempered the change of expression on my face, for the sake of Mr. Takagawa’s battered nerves.
“It appears to be an airline ticket,” I said after examining it for a few seconds. “Let’s see…” I flipped it open and slid out the ticket. “Argentina…I don’t know anyone in Argentina, Mr. Takagawa,” I said, glancing up at him. I noticed his hands had worked their way together again and guessed that wringing was about to commence. I felt truly sorry for him, but despite that, I had a job to do, and in any case could not have helped my involuntary harrumpf once I read the name on the ticket.
“Hmph. It does not appear to be for me.” Mr. Takagawa was now looking down at his feet and seemed to be whimpering. “Mr. Takagawa, did you hear me? This seat, seat 12-A, that is—not even an aisle seat,” I noted from atop my overlong legs. “—is apparently reserved for someone named Elmira Montoya.” When he didn’t answer I repeated the name again, this time a little louder.
Well that was pretty much that, I thought. Case closed, Christmas saved from the barbarians. All I had to do was make a phone call and then it would be home for dinner with the extended family. In a way it was a relief; to know that something could still be sacred in this age of technical wonders was a good feeling, but deep down I was a little disappointed, too. See, the wish I had made was a sincere one, and it looked like I wasn’t going to get it this Christmas.
“Sir?” came a woman’s voice from behind me. Turning around, I saw a woman of olive complexion, about my age I guessed, wearing a hotel uniform with a white apron. I thought that I remembered seeing her spreading tablecloths. “Yes, sir? You called me?” She had a noticeably Hispanic accent.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
She looked down, glanced up at me, and then looked down again before speaking. I noticed sadness in her eyes. “Excuse me, sir, but I heard you say my name before. You said it very clear, sir. Elmira Montoya.”
“Really?” I said, really meaning it. “Elmira Montroya? That’s your name?”
She nodded and again the look in her eyes stirred feelings of sadness in me. If not for that look I’d probably have laughed, it was such a strange coincidence, but instead I fumbled with what to say to her. And Mr. Takagawa, who seemed yet to notice her, was of no use at all.
“Well, Elmira, I’m… I’m sorry but I don’t really know what to…“ Suddenly, I had a hunch. I stopped and looked down at the ticket. “Elmira, you don’t happen to know anyone in Argentina, do you?”
In reply, she sniffled, lifted the bottom of her apron in both hands, and buried her nose in it. “Si,” she nodded. “My Papa. He is very sick and I am very worried about him.”
“I see,” I said. “Elmira, might I ask, were you planning to visit him?”
“I wish I could,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t have enough money saved up until last week, and now all the airlines are full and I can’t buy a ticket.”
I suddenly had a roaring case of goose pimples. I moved to my right and elbowed Mr. Takagawa. “Can we be sure this ticket is good? I mean, obviously there’s something wrong with the machine since it’s not for me, but could it still be good, I mean, is it definitely a real ticket?” He said that it definitely was, and between bows and head-bobs, he pledged the honor of the Koy-To Toy Company on that fact. That was good enough for me.
“Elmira,” I said, taking a step toward her, “I can’t explain how, but I have your ticket right here.” She looked up and I held it out to her. “Here,” I said, nodding to her.
She looked at it. “Que? But how can you?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, shaking my head. “But, please, take a look inside this envelope.”
She took it and inspected it for a few seconds, then her eyes grew wide and her hand flew her mouth. In a flash she has smiling and then just as fast she was frowning. “No, no, it’s not possible. You are tricking me. It can’t be…”
She went on like that for a while longer, and the longer she went on the angrier she seemed to get. I couldn’t really blame her. It was hard to believe in such things. The world had grown full of companies like Koy-To in recent years, producing one technological marvel after another, but none ever seemed quite so personal as this. None of them could produce the true miracles you hear about that seem so very simple, but mean the world to some one person in particular.
It took some doing, but with Mr. Takagawa’s help I was finally able to convince her that the ticket was real, that she really could have it for free, that there were no strings attached, and on and on, and at the end of all the very delicate negotiations there was a flood of tears and the warmest hug I had experienced in years. And one for Mr. Takagawa and then another one for me and then when she was about to hug Mr. Takagawa for the second time I stopped her.
“Elmira?” I said. “Can I ask, what seat do you prefer when you fly?”
“Señor?” She said, looking a little puzzled but still deliriously happy.
“I mean, do you like the window seat or the aisle?”
“Oh, window seat,” she said, glancing at the ticket and continuing to beam like a coast guard searchlight.
Uncanny, I thought.
And then she was gone, having practically danced her way out of the ballroom looking remarkably like Mr. Dude with his comic book, and again I saw looks on people’s faces that made me feel five years old again.
It brought one particular memory to mind. I might even have been five years old when it happened. It was the first Christmas that Santa was truly real for me, when I was at exactly the right age to be able to really grasp the concept of Santa yet still young enough to have no doubts of any kind. What I didn’t know then was that the huge pair of red boots standing by the tree on Christmas Eve were my father’s, not Santa’s. The furry white trim that came up past my knees when I stepped in was as soft and special as the dream born that night: not just of seeing Santa, but of knowing what it would be like to actually be him.
“It can’t be,” I said.
Mr. Takagawa ignored my mumbling as he was well into another, even longer, apology than the first, with a proportionately more pathetic look on his down turned face. “Mr. Takagawa,” I said, shaking him gently by the shoulders when he wouldn’t stop bowing. ”Stop apologizing. Please! I want you to give me another try. One more gift from the magic box, please, Mr. Takagawa.”
He shook his head. It seemed he was crying. I shook him again, this close to slapping him. “Come out of it, man. Listen to me. I can’t promise you anything, but I want try something. If it works, I might just be able to recommend your machine.” He looked up with apparent disbelief, glanced back at the group of men in suits just like his and then set his jaw like a bulldog. “Yes!” he said, rushing to take his position beside the machine again.
“Okay,” I said. Then I turned away from him and scanned the room. There were children with their parents everywhere, some trudging through, others sitting at tables. A girl at a near table was smiling broadly, happily playing with some toy. “Already got yours, I see,” I mumbled.
Another girl was stomping behind her mother who had to practically drag her along. “You promised! You promised!” She went on and on. Coal in her stocking, I thought.
Then I spied a young boy sitting with his mother at another nearby table. The two of them were talking quietly. “I’m so sorry Billy,” she said, one hand caressing the top of his down turned head. “I’m sure they’ll have more after Christmas,” she said, forcing a smile. “I know, Mom, but…” he answered, gravely disappointed, but with a stiff upper lip and good measure of respect for his mother.
Nice, I thought. “Alright,” I said, “here goes.”
I made my wish, the same one I had already made twice that afternoon and once before, so many years ago. When Rudolph’s nose lit up, a desperately hopeful Mr. Takagawa removed a brightly colored box with a cellophane window that contained what was easily the ugliest action figure I had ever seen in my life. It was something like a cross between a ninja, an octopus and a super model, and the box was of course scrawled with more of that gawdawful Japanese cartoony script. Oh well, I thought, here goes.
I hid the box behind my back and walked in the direction of the boy and his mother. When I reached the edge of the table, she noticed me and looked up.
”Excuse me, Ma’am,” I said smiling, “we’re running a promotion today and I couldn’t help noticing your little boy here.” I gave his hair a friendly little mussing. “You see I have just one free sample left and I was wondering if he might like to have it.”
With that I brought the box out from behind my back and the boy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Mommy!” he cried, “That’s it!” “Oh!” she cried, “It is!” And then they looked like two little Elmiras: hands clapped over their mouths, eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh, Billy,” she said, “Santa didn’t forget you!”
As I watched them both prancing happily from the ballroom, I could easily forgive the little tyke for not remembering to thank me. His mother, at least, had squeezed my hand and told me I had just saved their Christmas. I honestly don’t know which of them was made happier by that ugly little hunk of plastic.
Or maybe it was me. In all my adult life I had not even remembered my childhood wish, much less still believed it possible, until today when I asked an impossible machine to make me feel like Santa Claus, and somehow, it did.
But there was still one more gift to hand out. And, oh, how happy it made Mr. Takagawa. When I told him that I’d decided to give the Santa9000 my highest recommendation he almost cried again. Actually, I wish he had; I certainly would have preferred it to the Sumo-sized bear hug I had from him instead. The little fellow was a lot stronger than he looked.
“Ho!“ I coughed as he literally squeezed the air out of me, then added a relieved, “ho, ho!” when he finally released me.
He thanked me profusely then, but I could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t understand my decision. Of course he didn’t. How could he? How could anyone possibly understand who didn’t grow up in a culture obsessed with decorated trees and candy canes and bows and twinkling lights, brightly wrapped packages and snowflakes and bells and candles, and giving, so much giving, not to mention one rather unhealthy looking old geezer in a furry clown suit? I could think of only one way I could possibly explain it to him.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Takagawa.”
Big Boots
“I’m afraid, Mr. Takagawa, this is not at all what I wished for,” I said.
The short, impeccably dressed gentleman standing in front of me suddenly looked like a little boy who had just had his favorite baseball cap snatched off his head and thrown down a sewer grate.
“But that’s impossible, Mr. Charlie-San,” he said. “The Santa9000 never fails! Never!” He started nervously glancing behind him toward a group of short, impeccably dressed gentlemen standing shoulder to shoulder near the side of the large hotel ballroom. By the look of them they could all have been his twin brothers.
“Yes, that is your company’s claim,” I said. “Rather an important one isn’t it? Not much point in a Santa Claus machine if it can’t give people exactly what they wish for. But if you want me to recommend to my company to actually make the substantial purchase that you and I discussed, you’ll need to do more than make claims.”
It wasn’t until then that I began to suspect just how important this sale was to the Koy-To Toy Company. The look on his face was pathetic. He just stood there apologizing and wringing his hands, alternating between jerky bows in my direction and frantic looks toward the Koy-To cabal watching us from across the room. I actually felt a little sorry for him. How long was he going to keep it up? Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer.
“Perhaps you would like to confer with your associates?” I offered, nodding to him politely.
“Yes, thank you,” he said, then bowed twice more before hurrying off to pow-wow with the boys from Koy-To.
It really shouldn’t have surprised me all that much. Although Koy-To had been remarkably successful in recent years, Christmas still wasn’t really an Eastern holiday. They celebrated it in Japan, of course, but not like in the West, and certainly not like we do in the States, where despite the ever-changing demographics, it just seems to get bigger, louder and sweatier every year. Come on, what could they possibly know about how an American child feels about Christmas? No, if they wanted to pull this off, they were going to need the help of a big state-side company to do it. And it was up to me to decide if they would get it.
I glanced up at the large machine next to me, the prototype Santa9000 that Mr. Takagawa had just been demonstrating to me. Despite the fact that I knew it housed some of the most stunningly advanced technology the world had ever known, it reminded me of an old soft drink machine, like the ones they used in the old days before instant nanobit assembly was invented. It felt a little weird now to think of how they used to have to actually stack cans of soda inside those boxy machines instead of just using a computerized assembly unit to materialize the drink from nanobits.
This Santa machine was supposed to work in a similar way, but instead of sweet, fizzy drinks it was supposed to be able to create whatever someone wished to have for Christmas—including a sweet, fizzy drink, for that matter, in the unlikely event that a child would ask for that for Christmas. It was a brilliant idea, but the product itself, well, that was another matter. Big, smooth and sharply rectangular, its lower half consisted of little more than a capacious gift dispenser drawer, while the upper half was a flat glassy screen with the most gawdawful rendering of Mr. Claus I had ever seen.
“And that gentlemen, is exactly why the Santa9000 is a complete failure...” I could almost hear myself giving my summary to the company board of directors. The picture on the box was worth a thousand words. It showed everything that was wrong with the idea that a Japanese company could ever hope to corner the market on Christmas. Santa was drawn in that exaggerated, cartoony Japanese style that seemed to be on everything these days. The details were there, alright: his cap, his sleigh, the big bag of toys, and all the reindeers, too, but—I’m sorry—the jolly old elf should not look like an invading alien riding a flying submarine. And his eyes should be twinkling with wisdom and joy, not reflecting some perfectly round overhead glare like two shiny bowling balls.
All of a sudden I wasn’t sorry about Mr. Takagawa’s predicament at all. If these little fellows wanted fill Santa’s big shoes they were going to have to do a lot better than they had so far.
“Wo,” someone next to me said.
“Excuse me?” I turned to look. There was man standing there with a huge grin on his face. He looked to be in his mid forties, but his attire seemed right out of a college dorm room.
“Wo-o-o…” he repeated, a bit more enthusiastically.
“What?” I asked him.
“That issue,” he said, pointing toward my hands, and redoubling his already huge smile. “Wo-o-o…”
I took a good look at the magazine in my hands for the first time. I had only glanced at it when it first came out of the Santa9000, since I knew right away it could not have been what I had wished for. I saw now that it was a comic book, and though it looked like new there was something about it that made it seem old. It was the artwork, so simple, yet so sincere, like nothing that came out these days. I had read comic books once, and it didn’t take me long to notice the issue number, which in this case read #1.
“Dude, you are so-o lucky… Do you know how many people would kill for that issue? It’s mint, too, isn’t it? I have never even heard of one in that good’a condition. That’s like… Wo-o-o…” He went on about the comic for a while more but I stopped listening when I noticed Mr. Takagawa break away from his circle of twins and start walking back towards me. He appeared eager for more negotiations and I was anxious to continue as well.
“Listen,” I said, turning to my new acquaintance. “Why you don’t you take it?”
He shut up instantly and then looked at me like I had just told him I was from another planet.
“Really, I insist,” I said, rolling it up hastily and pushing it into his hand. “Wo,” he said very softly, taking it from me like I was handing him a priceless masterpiece, carefully unrolling it with his fingertips and flattening it out with great care.
“Dude, are you serious?” I nodded vigorously. “Oh, dude. Thank you. Thank you! Merry Christmas, man!” He was on his N-com out before he had even turned around, and I heard him starting to converse with someone in that same rapt, rambling fashion he just been using with me. Mr. Takagawa’s arrival was still a few moments away, so I watched him as he exited the ballroom, almost dancing with happiness.
It took me back, watching him move like that. It had been years since I had been that happy about receiving a gift, probably not since I was a kid. I looked around the brightly decorated room to see if anyone else was watching him. There was, and by the looks on their faces, I thought that at least some of them might be feeling the same way that I did just then.
The hotel that the Koy-To Toy Company had chosen for their presentation was built into a huge shopping complex that included an indoor mall. The ballroom we were in looked as if it were being prepared for a holiday function later that night, but for now it served as seat-yourself meeting room for several knots of buzzing businessmen, as well as a combination short cut and way station for tired or hungry shoppers. There were two sparse lines of overcoat laden folks moving in opposite directions through the room and here and there people sat at round, tablecloth covered tables sipping hot drinks or resting their feet, or giving their overwrought, shopped-out children a few minutes of much needed play time.
“Mr. Charlie-San,” Mr. Takagawa intoned reverently, bowing as he stopped about foot away from me. “I have been in contact with the Koy-To board. I am pleased to inform you that they insist that you be given another gift from the Santa9000.” He looked at me and smiled like he had just offered me a second helping of jam pie.
“Another one?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “I thought it was one per season, something about the way the neural-net algorithms work. Or is that just marketing hype?”
“Yes, yes—ah—no, no, but—ah—since you have been—ah, not satisfied—with the first gift, we humbly request that you accept another one.”
Of course they did. What else could they do? “I accept,” I said graciously, nodding my head at him with appreciation. They were clearly desperate for a second chance to impress me, but I could play along with the idea that they were granting me a great honor by allowing me a second gift. After all, it was Christmas.
“But Mr. Takagawa,” I said, “I must inform you that based on the first test, I am leaning toward an assessment of unacceptable.”
He bowed and clicked his heels together respectfully, but he was clearly pleased that I had agreed to try again. He moved around me and stood to the side of the machine. As before, he showed me what to do. It was entirely unnecessary given that it was such a simple procedure. There was a hand plate above the large dispenser drawer, which had been painted to look like Santa’s big red bag. You were supposed to form a wish in your mind and then place your hand on the plate, which, in yet another example of just how much these Japanese fellows didn’t get it, was placed smack in the middle of alien space-invader Santa’s big red lap.
I extended my hand and then hesitated. For a moment I considered changing my wish. After all, I had deliberately chosen one that I thought the machine wouldn’t be able to handle. It was a really hard one, so hard that I wasn’t sure even the real Santa could do it—that is, the genuine imaginary Santa of my childhood. What held me back was the idea that I was cheating, and wondering whether or not the big man himself would approve.
But then again these foreigners were out to claim Christmas as their own private marketplace. And I was the only thing standing between them and the conquest of the most important day in all of Western Civilization. Cheating? Hell, they were lucky I wasn’t shoving a crusader’s lance up their butts.
“Ready,” I said, pressing my hand firmly against the plate and making my Christmas wish for the second time.
There was no noise from the machine as the embedded software computed my deepest desire and then directed an astronomical number of Supernanobits™ into its exact shape and composition. In a few seconds, Rudolph’s nose lit up and a smiling Mr. Takagawa was removing my gift from the dispenser drawer and placing it my hand.
It was some kind of envelope. Once again, I felt instantly sure this could not be it either, though I tempered the change of expression on my face, for the sake of Mr. Takagawa’s battered nerves.
“It appears to be an airline ticket,” I said after examining it for a few seconds. “Let’s see…” I flipped it open and slid out the ticket. “Argentina…I don’t know anyone in Argentina, Mr. Takagawa,” I said, glancing up at him. I noticed his hands had worked their way together again and guessed that wringing was about to commence. I felt truly sorry for him, but despite that, I had a job to do, and in any case could not have helped my involuntary harrumpf once I read the name on the ticket.
“Hmph. It does not appear to be for me.” Mr. Takagawa was now looking down at his feet and seemed to be whimpering. “Mr. Takagawa, did you hear me? This seat, seat 12-A, that is—not even an aisle seat,” I noted from atop my overlong legs. “—is apparently reserved for someone named Elmira Montoya.” When he didn’t answer I repeated the name again, this time a little louder.
Well that was pretty much that, I thought. Case closed, Christmas saved from the barbarians. All I had to do was make a phone call and then it would be home for dinner with the extended family. In a way it was a relief; to know that something could still be sacred in this age of technical wonders was a good feeling, but deep down I was a little disappointed, too. See, the wish I had made was a sincere one, and it looked like I wasn’t going to get it this Christmas.
“Sir?” came a woman’s voice from behind me. Turning around, I saw a woman of olive complexion, about my age I guessed, wearing a hotel uniform with a white apron. I thought that I remembered seeing her spreading tablecloths. “Yes, sir? You called me?” She had a noticeably Hispanic accent.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so.”
She looked down, glanced up at me, and then looked down again before speaking. I noticed sadness in her eyes. “Excuse me, sir, but I heard you say my name before. You said it very clear, sir. Elmira Montoya.”
“Really?” I said, really meaning it. “Elmira Montroya? That’s your name?”
She nodded and again the look in her eyes stirred feelings of sadness in me. If not for that look I’d probably have laughed, it was such a strange coincidence, but instead I fumbled with what to say to her. And Mr. Takagawa, who seemed yet to notice her, was of no use at all.
“Well, Elmira, I’m… I’m sorry but I don’t really know what to…“ Suddenly, I had a hunch. I stopped and looked down at the ticket. “Elmira, you don’t happen to know anyone in Argentina, do you?”
In reply, she sniffled, lifted the bottom of her apron in both hands, and buried her nose in it. “Si,” she nodded. “My Papa. He is very sick and I am very worried about him.”
“I see,” I said. “Elmira, might I ask, were you planning to visit him?”
“I wish I could,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t have enough money saved up until last week, and now all the airlines are full and I can’t buy a ticket.”
I suddenly had a roaring case of goose pimples. I moved to my right and elbowed Mr. Takagawa. “Can we be sure this ticket is good? I mean, obviously there’s something wrong with the machine since it’s not for me, but could it still be good, I mean, is it definitely a real ticket?” He said that it definitely was, and between bows and head-bobs, he pledged the honor of the Koy-To Toy Company on that fact. That was good enough for me.
“Elmira,” I said, taking a step toward her, “I can’t explain how, but I have your ticket right here.” She looked up and I held it out to her. “Here,” I said, nodding to her.
She looked at it. “Que? But how can you?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, shaking my head. “But, please, take a look inside this envelope.”
She took it and inspected it for a few seconds, then her eyes grew wide and her hand flew her mouth. In a flash she has smiling and then just as fast she was frowning. “No, no, it’s not possible. You are tricking me. It can’t be…”
She went on like that for a while longer, and the longer she went on the angrier she seemed to get. I couldn’t really blame her. It was hard to believe in such things. The world had grown full of companies like Koy-To in recent years, producing one technological marvel after another, but none ever seemed quite so personal as this. None of them could produce the true miracles you hear about that seem so very simple, but mean the world to some one person in particular.
It took some doing, but with Mr. Takagawa’s help I was finally able to convince her that the ticket was real, that she really could have it for free, that there were no strings attached, and on and on, and at the end of all the very delicate negotiations there was a flood of tears and the warmest hug I had experienced in years. And one for Mr. Takagawa and then another one for me and then when she was about to hug Mr. Takagawa for the second time I stopped her.
“Elmira?” I said. “Can I ask, what seat do you prefer when you fly?”
“Señor?” She said, looking a little puzzled but still deliriously happy.
“I mean, do you like the window seat or the aisle?”
“Oh, window seat,” she said, glancing at the ticket and continuing to beam like a coast guard searchlight.
Uncanny, I thought.
And then she was gone, having practically danced her way out of the ballroom looking remarkably like Mr. Dude with his comic book, and again I saw looks on people’s faces that made me feel five years old again.
It brought one particular memory to mind. I might even have been five years old when it happened. It was the first Christmas that Santa was truly real for me, when I was at exactly the right age to be able to really grasp the concept of Santa yet still young enough to have no doubts of any kind. What I didn’t know then was that the huge pair of red boots standing by the tree on Christmas Eve were my father’s, not Santa’s. The furry white trim that came up past my knees when I stepped in was as soft and special as the dream born that night: not just of seeing Santa, but of knowing what it would be like to actually be him.
“It can’t be,” I said.
Mr. Takagawa ignored my mumbling as he was well into another, even longer, apology than the first, with a proportionately more pathetic look on his down turned face. “Mr. Takagawa,” I said, shaking him gently by the shoulders when he wouldn’t stop bowing. ”Stop apologizing. Please! I want you to give me another try. One more gift from the magic box, please, Mr. Takagawa.”
He shook his head. It seemed he was crying. I shook him again, this close to slapping him. “Come out of it, man. Listen to me. I can’t promise you anything, but I want try something. If it works, I might just be able to recommend your machine.” He looked up with apparent disbelief, glanced back at the group of men in suits just like his and then set his jaw like a bulldog. “Yes!” he said, rushing to take his position beside the machine again.
“Okay,” I said. Then I turned away from him and scanned the room. There were children with their parents everywhere, some trudging through, others sitting at tables. A girl at a near table was smiling broadly, happily playing with some toy. “Already got yours, I see,” I mumbled.
Another girl was stomping behind her mother who had to practically drag her along. “You promised! You promised!” She went on and on. Coal in her stocking, I thought.
Then I spied a young boy sitting with his mother at another nearby table. The two of them were talking quietly. “I’m so sorry Billy,” she said, one hand caressing the top of his down turned head. “I’m sure they’ll have more after Christmas,” she said, forcing a smile. “I know, Mom, but…” he answered, gravely disappointed, but with a stiff upper lip and good measure of respect for his mother.
Nice, I thought. “Alright,” I said, “here goes.”
I made my wish, the same one I had already made twice that afternoon and once before, so many years ago. When Rudolph’s nose lit up, a desperately hopeful Mr. Takagawa removed a brightly colored box with a cellophane window that contained what was easily the ugliest action figure I had ever seen in my life. It was something like a cross between a ninja, an octopus and a super model, and the box was of course scrawled with more of that gawdawful Japanese cartoony script. Oh well, I thought, here goes.
I hid the box behind my back and walked in the direction of the boy and his mother. When I reached the edge of the table, she noticed me and looked up.
”Excuse me, Ma’am,” I said smiling, “we’re running a promotion today and I couldn’t help noticing your little boy here.” I gave his hair a friendly little mussing. “You see I have just one free sample left and I was wondering if he might like to have it.”
With that I brought the box out from behind my back and the boy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Mommy!” he cried, “That’s it!” “Oh!” she cried, “It is!” And then they looked like two little Elmiras: hands clapped over their mouths, eyes as wide as saucers. “Oh, Billy,” she said, “Santa didn’t forget you!”
As I watched them both prancing happily from the ballroom, I could easily forgive the little tyke for not remembering to thank me. His mother, at least, had squeezed my hand and told me I had just saved their Christmas. I honestly don’t know which of them was made happier by that ugly little hunk of plastic.
Or maybe it was me. In all my adult life I had not even remembered my childhood wish, much less still believed it possible, until today when I asked an impossible machine to make me feel like Santa Claus, and somehow, it did.
But there was still one more gift to hand out. And, oh, how happy it made Mr. Takagawa. When I told him that I’d decided to give the Santa9000 my highest recommendation he almost cried again. Actually, I wish he had; I certainly would have preferred it to the Sumo-sized bear hug I had from him instead. The little fellow was a lot stronger than he looked.
“Ho!“ I coughed as he literally squeezed the air out of me, then added a relieved, “ho, ho!” when he finally released me.
He thanked me profusely then, but I could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t understand my decision. Of course he didn’t. How could he? How could anyone possibly understand who didn’t grow up in a culture obsessed with decorated trees and candy canes and bows and twinkling lights, brightly wrapped packages and snowflakes and bells and candles, and giving, so much giving, not to mention one rather unhealthy looking old geezer in a furry clown suit? I could think of only one way I could possibly explain it to him.
“Merry Christmas, Mr. Takagawa.”