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Josephine was running out of Santa
Clauses. Every year some member of her extended family would slip out of
the Christmas party and reappear as Pere Noel , as the jolly red
man is referred to in France. But the kids were getting older and wiser;
they would scan the room to see who was missing and then start calling Pere
Noel by name. "We are going to pull your beard, Uncle Didier."
Josephine needed a new body, unknown to her grandchildren and their friends.
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I trotted along with my virtual reindeer until I got to the pilot's wheel house. |
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where her brood had all assembled for the Christmas festivities.
I phoned to see if the coast was clear for my arrival. A light rain was starting when I slipped out of my boat (almost literally -- the gangplank was very slick). I felt a bit conspicuous walking to the Yolkswagen, my right arm holding my big red belly in place. It took several maneuvers just to get situated in the driver's seat. The steering wheel was digging into my gut. I found a place to park in front of Josephine's barge and got out. I made final adjustments to my costume, going through the check list: red hood up, collar flaps down, stomach on, belt cinched tight, robe shut, bells jangling, beard flowing, eyes twinkling. Oops. One eyebrow was missing. There it was lying on the seat. I stood on the sidewalk and used the side-view mirror to stick the piece of cotton back on and practiced raising it, winking and chortling, "Ho, ho, ho!" A man in a cashmere coat passed by, walking his poodle. All accessories were go. I gave the dog the A-OK sign and locked the van door. The rain suddenly increased in tempo, pelting the Yolkswagen roof like a snare drum. I wanted to get out my umbrella but realized that breaking character would violate union rules (which the French are very strict about). I tiptoed down the steps and across the gangplank as quickly and quietly as I could. The gunnel served as a narrow walkway around the edge of Josephine's barge. Two small blocks of wood were waiting on the deck where I had left them during the afternoon rehearsal. OK, it was show time. I picked up the wood and started marching to the stern, clip-clopping the blocks on the metal railing as I went. I trotted along with my virtual reindeer until I got to the pilot's wheel house. Now I would have to be quick. I ducked inside. The |
Two presents bounced out. I lunged and caught one. |
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two piles of Christmas presents Josephine had prepared
were waiting according to plan. One was bulging over the top of a Hefty-size
garbage bag. The other was in an old-fashioned hickory wood rucksack called
a hotte . It looked very cool. I slung the straps of the hotte
onto my shoulders and bent over to pick up the huge garbage bag. Half of
the presents from the hotte tumbled out. I tried to pick them up
and spilled the rest onto the floor.
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Some wouldn't even notice
Santa Claus strug- gling vainly to keep himself afloat, his red hood covering
his eyes, his robe restricting his arms like a strait-jacket, the pillow
taking on more and more water, pulling him inexorably beneath the surface
where fish darted to pucker-kiss the jingle bells clipped to his socks.
In the morning a couple of cotton eyebrows lodged in the willow branches
would be the only lingering evidence of the tragedy. "And a note of
sadness on this joyful day," the radio announcer would report. "The
body of Pere Noel was..." 
I felt myself tipsy right over into the
Jacuzzi. This time nothing flashed before my eyes except for my beard.