Stephen Metcalfe

THERE IS A LIGHTED SIGN ABOVE THE STAGE THAT SHOWS THE CHANGING DATE. IT IS DECEMBER 25TH.
KRIS KRINGLE ENTERS. HE WEARS FADED, DARK PANTS, A LONG-SLEEVE UNDERSHIRT, SLIPPERS, SPECTACLES AND SUSPENDERS. HE LOOKS TIRED. HE LOOKS UP AT THE DATE ON THE SIGN.

KRIS
Well, thank God, that’s over. I’m exhausted. Each year it gets worse. Up before dawn, all day watching the ticking clock. Everywhere, bedlam. Elves, mad with fatigue, loading the last of the presents and doing last minute adjustments to the sleigh. There’s always a harness that breaks, a bell that won’t jingle. The raindeer are nervous, they know what’s coming, they have the runs. Martha is clucking around me like an old mother hen. Are you wearing your woolen underwear? No, I’m wearing a silver string bikini. Of course, I’m wearing woolen underwear. Fat? Who’s fat? I have 27 layers of clothes on. You would too if you went flying around on a cold winter’s night in an open sleigh. Gloves – check. Hat – check. Nose like a cherry – if you insist. Schnapps – – check, check and double check. Well. Nothing to be done. Blast off.

MRS. CLAUS BUSTLES IN. MARTHA LOOKS AT THE DATE. SHE BEAMS.
MARTHA
December 25th. Success! Ours is truly a partnership blessed and cherished by God, man and elves alike. As he flew out the door, I felt such a sense of accomplishment. He was well fed, well dressed, well rested. It’s been a struggle. For the last few weeks, months actually, he’s been fussing, fuming, losing his temper. He’s always had an artist’s temperament but still, every year, the closer we get to Christmas the worse it gets. If it weren’t for me, the elves would probably have been in a state of total rebellion. The minute he was gone, I broke out the homemade cookies and spiced cider. It’s a treat that we look forward to every year. A reward for a job well done. Everyone loves it so!
KRIS
As I went flying out the door, I could see Martha breaking out the cookies and spiced cider. The Elves will force it down and then make a mad break for the caves where the ale and brandy are stashed. There won’t be one of them left standing by the time I get back tomorrow. Prancer is still in the throes of pre-show diarrhea and he lets loose an ugly one – ugh! Cupid and Dancer are behind Comet who is in heat and they start crossing horns in their efforts to show her they care. I lay the whip into them and they settle down. Once we hit cruising speed, I pull back on the reins and up we go.
MARTHA
After the Elves have gone to bed, I like to curl up by the fire with a cup of tea and imagine his journey through the cold, clear night. It makes me feel so close to him. I know he’s warmed to his task by now and has fallen into a steady rhythm. I can picture him so clearly.
KRIS
It’s snowing, it’s sleeting. I can’t see a damn thing. But even when it’s clear, it’s not like the old days when the only thing you had to look out for were stray birds. There’s more rubbish in the sky now than there is on the ground. Airplanes, helicopters, satellites. Thank goodness I don’t show up on radar screens. I’d be dodging missiles in no fly zones from here to Timbuktu.
MARTHA
First stop, Iceland!
KRIS
Iceland! Why anyone would live on such a desolate, volcanic rock is beyond me but I should talk. Last time I looked no one was putting in a golf course at the North Pole.
MARTHA
Second stop, Norway. We spent a lot our youth in Norway. We still recruit a lot of our Elves there.
KRIS
On to Western Europe. Not bad. Warming up now.
MARTHA
East towards Asia where Christmas is celebrated in any number of ways.
KRIS
New Zealand. Australia.
MARTHA
In Sydney, they traditionally light candles and go caroling in their bathing suits.
KRIS
Sounds good to me.
MARTHA
And then, finally, on to the Americas. The United States!
KRIS
You might say, I like saving the worse for last. Every other house has a vicious dog or an armed response security system. At a home near Cleveland, I’m almost killed by a man in a nightshirt brandishing an automatic weapon. In San Jose I’m attacked by a drone. At a home outside of Dallas, someone had a B M W under the tree. A perfectly respectable house in New Jersey turns out to be a bordello and they’re having a party. I contemplate staying awhile but…
MARTHA
Ahem-hem.
KRIS
No – better move on. Oh, but why? In so many homes it’s already wall to wall presents, plastic Christmas trees, plastic me.
MARTHA
It’s sad, really. Those that have, have too much and think they deserve it. Those without, well…they’re the ones that need Christmas.
KRIS
It’s dawn by the time I get home. I unharness the reindeer, lead them to their stalls. I go in the house and strip off the uniform. I take a long, hot shower. As I’m drying off, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror – a tired, old man with a beard. Martha is in bed asleep, dead to the world. I crawl in next to her. I try to sleep but I can’t.
MARTHA
He worries so. He imagines children waking up, running to the tree… and being disappointed. He worries that they don’t know or haven’t been taught that Christmas isn’t about what’s under the tree but rather what’s in your heart.
KRIS
I swear, this is the last year I do this. Really. It’s time to quit.
MARTHA
Funny, I don’t know where the elves are. (a moment) January 3rd! He could hardly get out of bed again this morning. It’s always like this. The lovely let down after. For the last nine months now he’s been working and working and then after one big push, it’s over. But with lots of T.L.C. from you know who, he’ll be right as rain in no time.
KRIS
January 3rd. Well, as usual, I slept right through the New Year. And why not. This time of year it’s all just more of the same. Ice as far as the eye can see, the sun a distant pea on the horizon. Frankly, we’re out of our minds to be living in a place like this. The wind, the cold, the lack of convenient emergency medical facilities. I’d move the whole operation to Mexico or the Far East but Martha won’t hear of it. She doesn’t like change. It’s gotten worse as she’s gotten older.
MARTHA
All right, I’ll admit it, I’m a cold weather person. I like the way the sun gleams on fallen snow. I love the northern lights. I love my home. The fireplaces crackle. There are candles, pillows and down comforters. Though he doesn’t like to admit it, he likes it too.
KRIS
Jesus, Mary and Jehosophat! Will someone please turn on some lights!? I’m going blind around here! (sneezing) And I’m allergic to goose feathers!
MARTHA
Oh, dear, now on top of everything, he’s caught a cold. And when he’s under the weather he complains so. Thankfully I know how to cheer him up. Ding-a-ling-a-ling!
KRIS
Oh, God, no.
MARTHA
Lunchtime!
KRIS
No!
MARTHA
Feed a cold, starve a fever! For lunch today, I made him his favorite – reindeer sausage with sauerkraut, brown bread and beer. God simple food. He loves to eat.
KRIS
God help me, the only thing we do around here when we’re not working is stuff our faces. Her food’s like lead. I keep dropping hints – how about some whole grains? How about some grilled fish and steamed vegetables for God’s sake. Let’s open a bottle of nice Chablis. It doesn’t sink in. (a sigh) I’m tired
MARTHA
January 15th. Would you believe it? Already gift lists have started to arrive. Really, it’s as if they start writing him before the torn wrapping paper had even settled. And the things they ask for these days.
KRIS
Computers, televisions, video games, cell phones.
MARTHA
He’s being asked to deliver 21st century merchandise with 16th century technology. Neither he, the elves nor the workshop are equipped for it. What do we know about televisions? What do we know about computers? We’ve never owned either one.
KRIS
Maybe it’s time. I’ll have the elves look into it. Or better yet, maybe I’ll just go back to bed.
MARTHA
You’ll do no such thing. We are starting a new regime today! Fresh air, exercise, and winter sports!
KRIS
She’s gone mad. God knows what she’ll have me doing next.
MARTHA
Cross country skiing!
KRIS
Mad!
MARTHA
January 28th. Hmph. Odin came over from Asgaard the other night for a visit. He arrived in a sleigh pulled by goats.
KRIS
Lovely animals, goats. Maybe I should can the reindeer and invest in some.
MARTHA
Odin. He’s so full of himself. All the old Norse Gods are, with their swords and their shields and silly helmets. Of course, he and Kris stayed up till all hours drinking and philosophizing. By midnight they were reeling about and screaming for sandwiches. I was not amused.
KRIS
Poor old Odin. The bugger’s more down in the dumps than I am if that’s possible. He’s always been dour – it’s hard to be cheerful when you think it’s all going to end in fire and ice – but this was different. It seems he now believes it isn’t going to end for him in any kind of big battle at all, but that he and the others are just going to fade away until they’re nothing more than drawings in a unread textbook. Fading away. It’s happening to all of us.
MARTHA
Oh, Kris. You’re not a myth! You’re a –
KRIS
– commodity.
MARTHA
Nonsense.
KRIS
It’s true. The most popular image of me in modern culture was created by a soft drink company. The elves brought some bottles of it home once. Not bad stuff. You can dissolve glue with it.
MARTHA
Stop! You’re bigger than the old boys ever were and you know it! It’s true. The most wonderful things are attributable to him. Take his origins, for instance. Some say he is a recycled pagan deity!
KRIS
Oooh, I like the sound of that.
MARTHA
Others say that he was created out of the legends of the Greek sea God, Poseidon and the Teutonic god, Hold Nickar.
KRIS
Sexy.
MARTHA
In the Christian church he was St. Nicholas, a bishop from Asia Minor who died in the middle of the fourth century.
KRIS
Ho-ho-ho. Not sexy at all.
MARTHA
When he was an infant his mother only nursed him on Wednesday and Fridays. He fasted the rest of the week.
KRIS
Sounds like child abuse to me.
MARTHA
During his lifetime he adored children and threw gifts anonymously into the windows of their homes.
KRIS
You’d get arrested for that today.
MARTHA
His father left him a fortune, which he used to help poor children.
KRIS
I wish.
MARTHA
On numerous occasions he brought back to life children who had been killed.
KRIS
Don’t I wish.
MARTHA
In much of Christian Europe, he was called Christkindlein or Kris Kringle, the Christ child, who delivered gifts in secret to children. In Germany he was Christmas man! In France – Pere Noel!
In England – Father Christmas. To the Dutch he was Sinter Klaas and in America, where the Puritans made it illegal to mention his name, he became Santa Claus.
KRIS
Oh, and in Iceland – remember Iceland? – they have 13 names for me there, the least offensive of which translate as cheese-curdler, bowl-licker and cask-sucker. I told you I didn’t like Iceland.
MARTHA
But at the end of the day, really, what’s in a name? For the truth is, at times, he’s doesn’t know who or what he is anymore.
KRIS
I don’t.
(a sigh)
But you do.
MARTHA
Yes. I do. He is the first snowfall of winter. He is the hearth and the crackling fire. He may judge and reward appropriately with gift or lump of coal, but he loves unconditionally. And anyway, he doesn’t deliver gifts as much as he does the promise of miracles.
KRIS
That I really do wish.
MARTHA
There are so many wonderful stories about him. This is my favorite. A noble man who had fallen on hard times had three daughters.
KRIS
Six. Totally irresponsible.
MARTHA
They had no chance of marriage since their father could not pay their dowry.
KRIS
He would have given them away for free.
MARTHA
One night St. Nicholas threw a sack of gold through a window of the nobleman’s house. It was enough for the eldest daughter’s marriage. The next night, he threw another sack of gold through the open window. And so the second daughter was provided for. But on the third night, without thinking, the nobleman shut his window. And so St. Nicholas climbed up on the roof and dropped the gold down the chimney. The next morning the youngest daughter found that gold in the stockings she’d hung by the chimney to dry. I know this story to be true for I was that youngest daughter. It was me he wanted all along.
KRIS
Actually I came to the door and knocked.
LIGHTCHANGE
MARTHA
February forth. A day that shall live in infamy.
KRIS
February the forth! Martha!? Martha!? History is made!
MARTHA
They arrived out of nowhere today. Large, ugly boxes with garish letters. Not festive at all. He tells me the big gray window thing is –
KRIS
A television! Digital! A wide screen with sensurround!
MARTHA
And that he’s going to hook it up to up the pie-plate thing called –
KRIS
A satellite dish.
MARTHA
And once he’s done that and gets the generators going, we’ll be able to watch something called –
KRIS
Programs!
MARTHA
I have no idea why we’d want to do that but –
KRIS
Television is the window to the world! Look! It says so on the box.
MARTHA
February 10th. Oh, it’s so very dreadful. Kris is bleary eyed and his head hurts. He’s apathetic and yet, stimulated to the point of aggression. Translation? He’s been doing nothing but watch this silly television nonstop.
KRIS
And I’ve come to a rather remarkable conclusion! There’s absolutely nothing worth watching. And yet, the flickering images, the nonstop action, the sheer volume of it. Life, here at the North Pole, seems sadly mundane in comparison.
MARTHA
I now have an inkling as to why children are behaving so badly and why Kris’s list is seemingly filled with endless black marks. In these so called “programs” he’s been watching, youngsters are “portrayed” as smart, wise-cracking savants and in every way are wiser, more mature and more self-aware than their parents who are seen as ignorant, inattentive, oversexed buffoons. Indeed, these “programs” seem to imply that in modern society parents and children have reversed roles completely. It also seems obvious that the spirits of Christmas does not last throughout the year. Kris was watching something the other night –
KRIS
The History Channel.
MARTHA
– and I couldn’t help but overhear that in the history of the world, the absence of armed conflict between peoples can be measure in mere days. I’d like to think those days were Christmas but I doubt it.
KRIS
February 15th. I now realize that the television is the most wonderful of inventions. Like other toys, I thought it was supposed to be entertaining. Hardly. It is a self-help tool and now that I’m using it as such, I find myself enormously appreciative. I am learning all about rackets sports on the Tennis Channel, am salivating over The Food Channel and getting advice on all my grooming needs from The Home Shopping Network. I can’t wait to see what else is on!
MARTHA
I, however, am concerned. The Elves seem to have an unhealthy fascination with channels that feature reports on something called the stock market. They were particularly intrigued by a report on pension plan reform and retirement benefits. I can’t help but feel this doesn’t bode well for this year’s contract negotiations. And as for Kris, he announced this morning he wants to go on a fat free diet. He also told me he’s thinking of shaving his beard. And –
KRIS
Martha!? Do you find the hair on my back unattractive?
MARTHA
Unattractive!?
KRIS
There’s a lotion here on the Shopping Network that removes it painlessly and without scarring! Only 29 dollars a case!
MARTHA
Has he lost his mind? Doesn’t he understand that that the round little belly is a symbol of plenty, that the red cheeks and nose suggest good humor and generosity, that the white hair and beard are badges of age and wisdom? And wise men do not buy Hawaiian shirts off the Home Shopping Network!
KRIS
Floral patterns! Fifty dollars a dozen! What a deal!
MARTHA
Help.
KRIS
Ah! March 1st. A thrilling, new day.
MARTHA
March the 1st and I am not happy. The Elves have come home with a another new toy. A cell phone!
THE BUZZ OF A CELL PHONE. KRIS PULLS IT FROM HIS POCKET.
KRIS
Hello? St. Patrick! What’s shaking?
(to Martha)
It’s Paddy – he wants to know if we’ve seen his snakes.
(back to:)
Pat? What, have you lost them again? Have you tried Quetzalcoatl?
MARTHA
Oh, I hate all this modern technology. No wonder people don’t read books or write letters any more. How can it possibly get worse than this?
KRIS
Martha!? Martha!? Guess what the Elves have brought home this time? A lap top computer! Ho-ho! Can we keep it? Can we, can we?
MARTHA
Oh, it’s beyond dreadful. It’s another blank screen, only smaller than the televison. Kris says he’s going to hook up to something called –
KRIS
The Internet!
MARTHA
And that once we do this –
KRIS
The entire world will be at our fingertips! It says so on the box!
MARTHA
I don’t want the world at my fingertips! I want it comfortably at a distance the way it is. Oh, but I wish I knew where these new toys came from. I feel certain the Elves didn’t make them. It simply can’t get worse than this.
KRIS
Martha!? Martha!? Come look! You’re going to love it!
MARTHA
It’s now officially worse. I am now Martha-slash-Claus at Kris-Kringle-dot-org! I am now more certain than ever, that these toys were not made by Elves. Kris! The subject is elves.
KRIS
Oh, all right. A word about elves. For the most part they’re happy creatures. They like to laugh and talk and tell jokes. Above all, they take great delight in their work, which is the making of beautiful things. However. Being small in stature, they can have an attitude. A simple request, like paint the dollhouses green can bring an entire assembly line to a screeching, bloody halt. And I still say that I’m the bloody boss around here and if I want green than green it is!
MARTHA
Of course, one always has to be careful that an elf doesn’t become Goblinish.
KRIS
Oh, yes! Elves are generous creatures. Their joy is in the creating and in the giving of what they create.
MARTHA
However when an elf becomes Goblinish, greed enters the equation. All of a sudden he wants to keep what he’s created.
KRIS
We once had a goblinish elf that stashed over 1,000 toy cabooses under his bed.
MARTHA
Sometimes a goblinish elf will go off completely and become dragonish. A dragonish elf is a terrible thing indeed. Not just the physical changes, the wings and scales and so forth but rather –
KRIS
– because there is no joy in a dragon.
MARTHA
He lives in a perpetual state of fear that what he considers his own, his horde, will be taken from him.
KRIS
There are dragons in the world. We all know who they are.
MARTHA
Pity them.
KRIS
But fight them at every turn.
KRIS
Uhh…. March 5th. Notice to all Elves from head of housekeeping.
MARTHA
Ahem-ahem-ahem.
KRIS
Meaning you know who. There are to be no living things created in Santa’s workshop. As you know, we’ve been getting a lot of written requests from young boys for something called “Bionicals”. These are – and I quote from the literature – miniature cybernetic lifeforms constructed for purposes of mass destruction. Well, apparently one of the more creative Elves down in R and D took this literally and came up with the real thing. Needless to say –
MARTHA
Needless to say this so-called “toy” went on a rampage through the house before a heads up shop foreman took it out with a hockey stick. Living things do not good toys make! Their proclivity for defecation is only exceeded by their talent for reproduction. I repeat, no living toys! Violators will rue the day.
KRIS
And don’t for a moment think she’s kidding.
MARTHA
March 7th. Ah, tranquility. There’s a sense of peace in the house today. I’ve hidden the television and phone where Kris can’t find them. Without the noise, I feel things are finally getting back to normal.
KRIS
Jehosophat! Martha! Martha!? Guess what!? I’ve been doing research on the laptop! I am directly referenced in over 2,000 sites on the world wide web!
MARTHA
But I could be mistaken.
KRIS
I’m featured and/or referenced in over 800 Hollywood movies. Look! Santa Claus on Mars! We’ll have to get that one. Oh – and here, look – a man in St. Louis, Stanley K. Claus, insists that HE is the real Santa Claus. He charges 55 dollars an hour plus expenses for public appearances. You know that’s not bad. I wonder if I can get in on it. And by the way. What were my phone and television doing in the closet?
MARTHA
Help. March the 10th. Oh, this is the last straw. I came down to the workshop this morning and found some of the elves accessing –
(clearing her throat)
– a pornographic website on the Internet. It is time to pull the plug on this computer.
KRIS
March 11th. Installed Net Nanny this morning at Martha’s insistence. Darn!
MARTHA
March 13th. Oh, drat all things modern. He now spends hours watching television, making phone calls and surfing the Internet. I supposed it’s better than moping around but still, he keeps come up with the most disturbing and arcane information.
KRIS
Martha!? Martha!? Some psychologists now believe that my overly judgmental nature can damage a child’s self-esteem! They say that children are not rewarded according to good or bad behavior but rather, they receive Christmas gifts according to the amount of money their parents are willing or able to spend on them. A good child may receive nothing because his or her parents are poor and then, because they’ve been taught that only bad children receive no gifts from me, they assume they are bad. An ill-behaved child whose parents bury him in gifts may come to the conclusion that good behavior counts for nothing.
MARTHA
I would suggest to you that the greatest gift a parent can give a child is love. Love is a gift beyond measure and it costs next to nothing. All the shiny wrapped presents in the world can’t replace it.
KRIS
Martha!? Martha!? This just in. Now they’re saying I’m dangerous! When a child finds out there is no me, he begins to doubt other parental teachings. He may even go so far as to believe – quote-unquote! – that Jesus Christ, who is also rumored to “know when you are sleeping and know when you’re awake” is a similarly suspicious character.
MARTHA
I would suggest that there is such a thing as wonder. That all children have a right to be enchanted. That to a child, you are an easier thing to understand than God. And that once you understand the meaning of Santa Claus, it is a simple thing to turn to a just and loving God and take him into your heart.
KRIS
(a sigh)
Really, I do keep trying to tell her that I have nothing to do with God. The idea of Christmas originated around the fourth century when the Catholic Church decided to eclipse the winter festivities of the rival pagan religions. Although it wasn’t usual to celebrate birthdays and even though his actual birth was in the spring, they declared December 25th to be a celebration of the birth of Christ. Christ’s Day. Christmas.
MARTHA
But a great number of the Christmas symbols we hold dear have nothing to do with Christianity. For example, Mistletoe was long thought to have special healing powers by Druids who used it to celebrate the coming of winter. Oh – and in Scandinavia?
KRIS
It was associated with Frigga, the Norse goddess of fertility and love, thus the kiss under the mistletoe.
MARTHA
And for these reasons, the early Christian church banned the use of mistletoe in all celebrations and substituted holly.
KRIS
Though if they’d ever met Frigga, they might have reconsidered.
MARTHA
Oh, stop. You know, when we were young, you often used mistletoe as an excuse to kiss me. And now, you haven’t so much as kissed me in ages.
KRIS
Horse apples and chicken sushi, woman! How can you think of kisses when studies show that seven out of ten children prefer Halloween to Christmas. I hardly blame them. Who doesn’t like to dress up? Who doesn’t like trick or treats? I myself have been known to enjoy a good Snickers bar – and there’s a window or two in the neighborhood I’d like to toss a rotten egg at, but still.
KRIS’S PHONE BUZZES.
KRIS
Oops! Phone message! Oh, dear.
MARTHA
What now?
KRIS
This just in. Santa Claus is. . . old fashioned.
MARTHA
Well, of course you are! We are! We are the embodiment of a time when children were innocent, when families didn’t move away from one another, when snow fell in great, swirling white heaps and people gathered around roaring fires and cracked nuts and engaged in the oldest recreational pastime known to man –
KRIS
Fornication?
MARTHA
Conversation. Entertainment was watching a baby take as first step and listening to the children play pick-up-sticks on the floor and the best part of a holiday was the opportunity to just be together.
KRIS
Mmm. Though personally I’ve often wondered if the good old days aren’t as much a figment of the imagination as – well – Santa Claus. Children are never innocent for long and for every family that’s ever moved away, one stayed and they’re the branch that didn’t like their relatives any more than they liked their neighbors who liked them even less. Snow falling in great, swirling heaps is attractive as long as you’re not out in it; people gathered around roaring fires so they wouldn’t freeze to death and being together in a big happy group is fine as long as everyone has enough to eat. We have a tendency to forget, when looking back, that in many cases, people didn’t.
MARTHA
Are you quite finished? You obviously don’t remember the early days, when you used to make your yearly rounds. Sack on your back, going from house to house, delivering small toys. You were greeted with giggles and dancing feet. And at the each house there was food and drink and soon, like a tipsy pied piper, you had laughing, skipping children, following at my heels.
KRIS
Yes. You’re right. I was as real to those people as a cherished relative. Kinder Claus! You know, Martha, I started all this because I loved the company and happiness of my fellow human beings. And now… I find myself living apart from them.
MARTHA
Oh, Kris.
KRIS
Be honest. There are no children in my life. They sit in the lap of so-called Santa’s helpers, sharing secrets and wishes with an impostor behind a fake beard and glassless spectacles. I’m not needed.
MARTHA
Kris –
KRIS
No. There’s no reason to do this anymore. There’s no reason to do anything. Those times are gone. I’m done.
MARTHA
March 20th. I am concerned. Kris has lost all interest in elves and toys. He’s not watching his television anymore or playing with his computer which normally I would consider a blessing, but… Oh! Oh, I know! I’ll play some of his favorite music on the piano and I’ll sing. That will cheer him up. It always does.
(loudly singing)
Oh, little town of Bethlehem, how still I see the rise… (voice fading to a msurmur)
KRIS
Well, Martha’s started playing and singing those god-awful carols of hers. Usually she doesn’t start blaring this nonsense till August. Honestly, how many times can you listen to “Oh, Christmas tree, oh, Christmas tree” without pitching a fit? And as for Jingle Bells, I know what it’s like, dashing through the snow in an open sleigh and it’s nothing to laugh and sing about. I do like I Saw Momma Kissing Santa Claus but as you can imagine, we don’t play that one around this house. Ah well, as long as we don’t start in on the –
MARTHA
(loud; from the Hallelujah chorus) )
Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
KRIS
Martha!? The subject is Christmas Carols! Anything to get her to stop.
MARTHA
Christmas Carols. The earliest Christmas Carols were nothing more than chants or wordless hymns. It was St. Francis of Assisi who is credited with bringing carols into the church when he made them part of a midnight mass in 1223.
KRIS
Carols enjoyed further popularity when they were used in the mystery and passion plays of the middle ages. It was a play, in fact, that gave us the tradition of the Christmas tree.
MARTHA
(singing)
Oh, Christmas tree, oh, Christmas tree– !
KRIS
(overriding her)
Excuse me? We were talking about carols!?
MARTHA
Uh-hem. Yes. They became the property of traveling minstrels and bands of waits.
KRIS
During the holiday season, they began gathering to sing carols for people and houses along the way.
MARTHA
We wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmas, we wish you a Merry Christmassssss…!
KRIS
Some people naturally complained.
MARTHA
And a Happy New Year!
(to Kris)
Too bad for them. March 22d. Oh, goodness. Sad to say my singing hasn’t worked at all. Kris is gloomier and grouchier than ever. I’m at my wits end and don’t know what to do for him. Oh! I know! I’ll make fruitcakes!
KRIS
Oh, bollocks and turd napkins! Fruitcakes?
MARTHA
Fruuuit caaakkeess!
KRIS
Are cakes made with vast quantities of dried fruit and have been saturated with alcoholic liquors, not so much to raise the spirits as to fight mold and bacteria.
MARTHA
They are then buried in powdered sugar and placed in tightly closed tins. Many feel that these cakes improve greatly with age and they have been known to be consumed by people as long as 25 years after baking.
KRIS
It is not known if these people then lived.
THE SIGN CHANGES RAPIDLY. THEY NOW COLDLY IGNORE ONE ANOTHER AS:
KRIS
March 25th. Nothing to report.
MARTHA
March 26th. Nothing to report.
KRIS
March 27th. Not a thing.
MARTHA
March 28th. No change.
KRIS
March 29th. Am feeling so much better! Not!
MARTHA
March 30th. He’s miserable and trying to make me so but I continue to sing and bake on a daily basis.
KRIS
April 1st. All day long she wails like a church cat trapped in a whorehouse. Between that and the smell of burning brown sugar, I’m going out of my mind.
MARTHA
April 2d. How long can it go on like this? I must continue to sing. Oh, little town of – “
KRIS
April 5th! Eureka! In a little under a minute on one Internet search engine alone, I found 452 websites on the subject of depression. Help is on the way at last.
MARTHA
April 12th. Success at last! He was humming to himself again today. I knew my fruitcakes and singing would eventually get through to him. Oh, why can’t everyone sing and eat fruitcake every day.
KRIS
April 15th. A setback. Upon closer investigation I now realize that many of the websites concerning depression are brokerage houses offering any number of financial services to terrified pensioners – a group for which I probably qualify as well.
MARTHA
April 17th. Oh, help. Kris told me at breakfast this morning – I made waffles! – that –
KRIS
– more people are arrested, committed to mental institutions and commit suicide at Christmas than any other time of year.
MARTHA
I have no idea what that has to with us.
KRIS
It has nothing to do with us! But it has everything to do with what we do!
MARTHA
Oh! You’re just looking for an excuse not to get to work.
KRIS
We don’t bring joy to people, Martha, we bring anxiety, credit card bills and misery.
MARTHA
And so what would you have us do about it?
KRIS
Nothing! No gifts this year! Just good wishes! It might affect the gross national product of several industrialized nations but it would do me a world of good.
MARTHA
I am no longer talking to you.
KRIS
There is a God.
MARTHA
I am making soup.
KRIS
Please, anything but that.
MARTHA
Oh, why can’t every day be Christmas? I ask this constantly.
KRIS
She’s speaking to me again, giving me cavities with her constant questions.
MARTHA
We are no longer speaking. And I mean it this time.
KRIS
Oh, really? Well, I can hold out as long as you can.
MARTHA
You think so, do you?
KRIS
Longer!
KRIS GLARES. MARTHA IGNORES HIM. KRIS HARRUMPHS. MARTHA WHISTLES TO HERSELF, NOT A CARE IN THE WORLD. KRIS LOOKS EXPECTANTLY AT THE DATE. IT BEGINS TO CHANGE. MARTHA IGNORES IT AND HIM AS THE DATE CONTINUES TO CHANGE, FINALLY STOPPING AT MAY 23RD.
KRIS
Oh, all right, you win, give me some of your soup!
MARTHA
May 25th. The days are getting longer. Every morning he goes down to the workshop with the best of intentions.
KRIS
By noon I’m glued to the television, watching CNN, unable to turn away as the parade of horror that is this modern world passes before my eyes. How did it ever come to this?
MARTHA
The letters arrive in bushels now and it makes me feel a new Christmas season is just around the corner. I don’t know how they get here, of course. It’s one of the mysteries. They are copies, written in gold plate on linen in a fine hand. The originals, I understand, fill post office basements and dead letter departments around the world. Kris, I’m sorry to say, hasn’t read a letter in years. At some point, they started to make him unhappy. Not so much the requests for toys but rather the ones that asked for things that were truly beyond him.
KRIS
Make the soldiers go away. Let there be no more bombings. Cure my mother –
MARTHA
My sister.
KRIS
My lover.
MARTHA
My son. And they’d all end with the same promise –
KRIS
Grant me this Christmas wish and I will never ask for anything, ever again.
MARTHA
Still, I take the best of the letters and pack them carefully away in a trunk. I know that someday, he’ll want to read them. I just know it. I don’t what to do. He should be working. We’re running out of time.
LIGHTCHANGE. JUNE 1
KRIS
June 1st. Ah-hah! Martha! Martha!
MARTHA
Yes?
KRIS
It hit me this morning. I am under-utilizing my greatest asset!
MARTHA
Which is?
KRIS
My own broad public appeal. There are problems in the world. If I was to lend my name to a cause and show my support, I daresay people would pay attention. The question is how. A lecture tour? A series of info-mercials? Martha! I need an agent.
MARTHA
June 7th. Well, it’s finally happened. He’s been in touch with something called a talent agent. Apparently when this “agent” discovered that Kris has no formal representation he went absolutely mad with excitement. He started talking about –
KRIS
– licensing fees! Subsidiary rights! Guest appearances! Royalties!
MARTHA
Kris suddenly has dollar signs dancing in his eyes. So much for the world’s problems. I suppose I should be thankful he’s finally showing an interest in people but still, does it have to be people in Hollywood? Kris needs a good talking to.
KRIS
June 8th. Martha dragged me into the living room this morning, sat me down and gave a speech.
MARTHA
The greatest gift is the gift of giving. If there is even one person in the world who despairs, then his despair is my own and I cannot rest until I have offered him my hand.
KRIS
Oh, bollocks and blood oranges. What’s wrong with cashing in a little bit? We’re not getting any younger you know. We’ve worked hard. We deserve it. This agent wants me to come and see him. I’m doing it.
MARTHA
June 15th. Kris informed me this morning that he’s off to Hollywood for a week. He’s going to meet people and discuss business opportunities. I’m terrified for him. The elves tell me Southern California is a den of thieves. I’d go with him but we’re no longer speaking. Perhaps I should go anyway.
KRIS
Drat! Martha’s decided to come with me.
MARTHA
I can’t go with him. Oh, I don’t know how to break the news to him.
KRIS
Martha’s decided not come. There is a God in heaven.
MARTHA
I told him I’m not feeling well but the truth is… I’m afraid. I haven’t been anywhere in over a hundred years and from what I’ve now seen on the television, I don’t think this modern world suits me at all. I told Kris, in fact, that I haven’t seen anyone our age on the television. Perhaps old people are not allowed out in public anymore. If that’s the case, no wonder the young are not holding onto any of their traditions. Kris will just have to go alone. He promises me that when he gets back, he’ll get to work. He promises.
KRIS
June 16th. I leave tomorrow. The Elves will take me down into Canada and I’ll proceed from there. The travel department has whipped me up some travel documents – a passport, a driver’s license and a credit card – oh, and almost one hundred dollars in cash! How I’ll ever spend so much hard currency in so short a time is beyond me. I knew these Hawaiian shirts would come in handy!
MARTHA
June 23rd. It’s been a week and I haven’t heard a word from him. I’m worried sick. I actually tried his cell phone. I got two wrong numbers, a very rude overseas operator and a recording that told me the user was in a nonservice area. I was so desperate, I went to down into the shop to the computer and I went on line with the hopes of finding Kris. It wasn’t easy but by accessing newspaper stories and hacking into classified FBI websites I was finally able to track him down. It turns out he was stranded all this time in a holding cell in Toronto while the authorities investigated his false passport, his fraudulent driver’s license, the stolen credit card and the one hundred dollars in counterfeit bills.
KRIS
June 30th. Martha sent out an Elfen war party, they broke me out and now we’re all on their way to California. Needless to say, I’m going to give the Elves in the travel department a very good talking to when I get home.
MARTHA
Home. Oh, I wish he’d come home. July 1st. Kris called. He sounded on top of the world.
KRIS
Martha! I’m in L.A. and the agent has put me up at – wait, I wrote it down -the Bel Air hotel. There are swans in the fountains! Nuts the size of plums are free at the bar. The elves adore the swimming pool and spend all their time there. I dare say anyone who swims with them is going to be very fertile this year and have very unusual children. Oh – and the agent took me to dinner last night. He introduced me to anyone who would listen as “the next big thing”. Ho-ho-ho!
KRIS EXITS.
MARTHA
I must admit, it’s lovely to hear enthusiasm in Kris’s voice again. July 1st. Disastrous news. The agency’s legal department did some research and it now appears that the name and persona of Santa Claus doesn’t belong to Kris at all, it’s part of the public domain. Unless Kris can now prove he is truly the real Santa Claus, the agency can do nothing for him and Kris will have no legal claim on any of the movies, games and enterprises that currently utilize his image and public persona. Real. How can he not be real. I’ll never forgive these people if they hurt him. Never.
KRIS ENTERS.
MARTHA
Kris? Kris, you’re home. Are you all right?
KRIS
Of course I am. It was marvelous trip. Simply marvelous. Guess what? The man you’ve been living with for all these years – he’s not Santa Claus. Or rather, I am not. I look like him, I sound like him, I dress like him but I am no more Santa Claus than you are. Anyone can be Santa Claus. Anyone! You can and you can and you can! It is your right. To be a cartoon character. To be a soft drink icon. To be… a useless buffoon who time has passed standing still.
MARTHA MOVES TO KRIS AND STARTS TO TAKES HIM IN HER ARMS.
KRIS
No. Best leave me alone.
KRIS EXITS.
MARTHA
September 20th. It’s been terribly quiet around here for the last two months. Normally things are buzzing by this time. Not this year. We’re lost. Kris just sits now, staring into space. It’s as if a dream has been dashed and I don’t even know what the dream is anymore. He got rid of the computer and the television and the cell phones almost immediately. It’s as if he doesn’t want to know anymore that there is a world out there beyond the North Pole. There will be Christmas this year, of course. But it will be a Christmas without the spirit of Santa Claus. And I suppose if I were to be honest, I would have to say that spirit has been missing for a long, long time now. It will take a miracle to bring it back. More than anything though. . . I miss him. My husband, my life-partner, my friend. I miss him so.
MARTHA FIGHTS TEARS. KRIS ENTERS. HE IS READING SOMETHING TO HIMSELF – A LETTER. HE STOPS.
KRIS
What, Martha, are you crying?
MARTHA
I’m sorry, it’s nothing. I’m so sorry. What have you been doing?
KRIS
Reading.
MARTHA
Really? What have you been reading?
KRIS
Letters. I found them in the trunk upstairs. You saved them.
MARTHA
Yes.
KRIS
Why.
MARTHA
Because I knew that someday they would be meaningful to you.
KRIS
They’re very good.
MARTHA
Which one is that?
KRIS HANDS IT TO HER.
MARTHA
Oh. Yes, of course. The most famous letter of all was not written to Kris at all. It was written in 1897 by Virginia O’Hanlon and mailed to the New York Sun where it fell into the hands of one, Francis P. Church. “I am eight years old”, the letter said. “Some of my friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says if you see it in the Sun it’s so. Please tell me the truth. Is there a Santa Claus?” And indeed, it’s not so much the letter that’s famous, it was the reply.
KRIS
“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exits as surely as love and generosity and devotion exits. Alas, how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. There would be faith, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished. No Santa Claus? Thank God he lives. And lives forever. A thousand years from now, nay, ten time’s ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the hearts of childhood.
(then:)
It’s a good letter.
MARTHA
And it’s true, Kris. How dreary the world would be if there were no Santa Claus. How dreary my life would be.
KRIS
Martha?
MARTHA
Yes, Kris?
KRIS
I’ve misplaced my work boots. Would you happen to know where they are?
MARTHA
Of course I do.
KRIS
And my work gloves?
MARTHA
Those too.
KRIS
And my lists, of course, I must have my lists.
MARTHA
I have them right here.
KRIS
We have work to do, don’t we.
MARTHA
Yes. Yes, we do, my darling. Yes, we do.
KRIS
But first…
MARTHA
What.
KRIS TAKES MISTLETOE FROM HIS POCKET AND HOLDS IT OVER HER HEAD.
KRIS
Would you kiss me?
MARTHA DOES A TAKE TO THE AUDIENCE, THRILLED. THEY KISS. LIGHTS TO BLACK.
LIGHTS UP ON A STAGE THAT IS NOW SPLENDID WITH TWINKLING XMAS LIGHTS. MARTHA ENTERS.
MARTHA
December 24th. The blessed day is finally upon us. Oh, the last few months have just been the wonderful beehive of activity. Toy making, stocking weaving. And yes, fruitcakes. Kris has been an absolute dervish, everywhere at once, designing toys, reading letters, keeping everyone’s spirits up. We’ve both been dieting and doing yoga together. It’s a slimmer, healthier Santa Claus who ventures forth this year. And if I look tan, well – it’s because we’ve been away these last few weeks. In early December I went on line – yes, me – and found Kris a job at a small family run, department store in a town outside of Denver, Colorado. Kris would be, of all things, their Santa Claus. We went down together and we rented a small house – on a golf course with a heated pool and a Jacuzzi! – and Kris reported for work. And he loved it. The children sitting in his lap, whispering in his ear, pulling at his beard. The parents beaming, taking pictures. Management said he was the best Santa they ever had and they want him to return next year. I think we will. It’s good to get out in the world, to be involved, to experience new things. And I liked the way the desert sunset looked on the mountains. Kris is a changed man.
KRIS
(off)
Martha!? Martha!?
MARTHA
In here, dear! And yet the same.
SANTA CLAUS ENTERS. KRIS IS IN FULL REGALIA – NOT THE CHUBBY SANTA OF COKE COMMERCIALS BUT A REGAL AND KINGLY FATHER CHRISTMAS, A WINTER WARRIOR IN LONG CAPE AND BROCADED VEST AND CROWN-LIKE CAP.
KRIS
Well? What do you think?
MARTHA
You are so handsome. I’m almost of a mind not let you go.
KRIS
Ho-ho! Now then! December 24th. The sleigh is being loaded. It’s brash is polished, it’s leather shined. The raindeer have been curried and brushed. I’m dressed and ready to go. It’s been quite a year. It almost did me in. In this modern world of clamoring, clapping, conglomerates that view generosity of spirit as a corporate slogan and little else; in this world where commerce take precedence over charity and profit is more important than people, it has become far too easy to feel that the giving and receiving of a simple Christmas gift is pedestrian. That Christmas is a chore more than a blessing. It was not always like this. In the beginning, Christmas was a candle lit against the gathering darkness. There were monsters in the world and as the days grew shorter and colder, it was far too easy to hear their cries. The gathering together, the celebration, the sharing, the community of Christmas, was a way of reaffirming hope in the face of that darkness. A way of saying, we are all in this together and if we hold hands, the light will come again. Well, I say now to all for all to hear, that there are still monsters in this world – dragons, yes! – far greater and more powerful than any first imagined. And it is far too easy to feel resigned and helpless in the face of their fiery breath. I say the need for the spirit of Christmas has never been greater. That in a world where we know too much and believe too little, the ability to pretend that even for a day there is such a thing as Santa Claus is more important than ever before. I am Santa Claus. Now and forever. But so are you and so are you and so are you. So are you all. You must be. Each and every day of the year.
MARTHA
Kris. It’s time.
KRIS
I could never have done any of this without you.
MARTHA
I’ll wait up.
KRIS
Peace on Earth. Good will towards men.
KRIS EXITS.
MARTHA
It’s time now, it’s time! Can you see him? He climbs into the sleigh. Like a crimson king, he takes the reigns in hand. His beard is like snow! The doors open wide and the cold air rushes in. It’s clear tonight. I see stars. They are as beautiful as the eyes of God.
WE HEAR THE CRACK OF A WHIP, THEN HIS VOICE:
KRIS
Now Dasher, now Dancer, now Prancer, now Vixen, now Comet, now Cupid, now Donner and Blitzen! To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall, now dash away, dash away, dash away all!
MARTHA
And I heard him exclaim ‘er he drove out of sight. Happy Christmas to all. And to all a Good night.
LIGHTS TO BLACK