The State vs. Mister Claus

"That will be all, Mister Bardensmall. Thank you for your most illuminating testimony." The elf, taller than one would expect for an elf, stood and glared at his benefactor. One would have to say he was a pointed person; everything about his appearance was pointed, from his oversize ears, nose and chin, to his fingers and shoes. Even the line of his thin, frowning lips was pointed. After the prosecutor dismissed Bildik Bardensmall from the witness stand, he straightened his shoulders and orated, "The State now calls the defendant, Mister Santa Claus." Ths small, round, red-faced man stood from his defendant's chair and marched to the witness stand. His business suit's style unmistakably said, "Father Christmas." The prosecutor sauntered over to the witness stand and stared knowingly at Santa for a few seconds. "Santa," he said with a swagger, both in his voice and in his body, "Your elf has testified that you 'love' your little helpers. Yes? Would you mind elaborating on that--er--in terms that won't offend the court?" "Your Honor, once again I object!" said Santa, "The question has nothing to do with the charges against me." "And once again, Santa, you are overruled!" said His exceedingly bored Honor, "Now answer the question." The defendant sighed in frustration. "Yes, yes, I love the elves, even Bildik Bardensmall, as I love everyone. Your intimation, Mister Prosecutor, is entirely false." The prosecutor scanned the jury, one eyebrow arched and a bemused frown on his small mouth. "Of course it is ... Santa." His small eyes continued capturing the jury. "But what about Mister Bardensmall's testimony that you not only do not pay your elves minimum wage, but that you do not pay them a single penny for all their months of slavery each year? What say you, Santa? Hmm?" "Mister Prosecutor, Your Honor, elves have never required payment beyond their care, board, and the simple accommodations they prefer. They are never sick, so they need no medical care or insurance. And their greatest joy is in serving the world's children. Their selfless, voluntary service is beyond mere salary. Except for Bildik Bardensmall, that is. For years he has--" "Your Honor, Mister Bardensmall is not on trial here." said the prosecutor. "Answer the questions only, Mister Claus, or I will hold you in contempt." spat His Honor with contempt. "Now, Santa, to address the question of flying reindeer, and the tragic death by trampling of Grandma as she was going home on Christmas eve. You are the only flying reindeer raiser and trainer in Canada. Yes?" "Actually, no. My stable--" "So, there are others, Mister Claus. Yes?" Thick sarcasm clouded the prosecutor's voice. "Your Honor, the prosecutor will not allow me to answer his questions. Is that not badgering?" "Alright Bert. Give the old guy some slack," said His Honor, then he looked at the defendant, "But keep your answers to the point! I'm on to your 'Ho, Ho, Ho,' feel good tricks." "I was simply trying to point out that my stables aren't located in Canada, but yes, I am the sole trainer of flying reindeer." "Thank you for ..." the prosecutor sniggered, "... pointing that out. So, any crimes committed by means of a flying reindeer would point directly back to you. Yes?" "Why, in a way, I suppose, but--" "And Grandma's injuries of hoofmarks on her poor, delicate face and torso are consistent with a reindeer attack from above. Yes?" "That seems to be the medical examiner's conclusion, but--" "So one of your flying reindeer ran over Grandma on Christmas eve! Yes?" "Yes, but ... Your Honor, please allow me to explain." His Honor scowled down his long nose at the red-faced old man. "Motion denied! You will enter testimony when I tell you to." His Honor plastered a conciliatory expression over his scowl. "Now Mister Claus, or Saint ..." His Honor sniggered, "... Nicholas? Or is it Kris Kringle or Father Christmas today--we're not humbugs around here. Just relax and answer the question. Did one of your reindeer run over Grandma on Christmas eve? Yes or no." "Yes, but that particular reindeer was out of my control." The prosecutor jumped on that, figuratively, with hobnail boots. "You said your reindeer was out of control! Yes?" "Well, yes, but--" "Then you, Santa Claus, were impaired!" "No sir! I was--" "Do you deny, Mister Claus, that you enjoy the occasional hot buttered rum on a cold, winter's night?" "Well, no sir--" "So you do not deny drinking demon alcohol ... do you!" "No sir, but--" "What about the Christmas eve in question, Mister Claus? You are under oath, Mister Claus. Yes?" "No ... I mean yes, I did have a slight tipple ... but only a hot toddy that night ... but--" "This court will take that as a yes! You were under the influence of demon alcohol while piloting a heavily laden sled with sharp, steel skis, drawn by a team of eight powerful, flying reindeer over millions of innocent households," the prosecutor's sad, shocked eyes searched out His Honor's sympathetic face, "where innocent children slept in their beds awaiting your arrival. And along the way, one little old lady, a Grandmother, toddling home from her grandson's Christmas eve dinner no less, got in your way! Santa, I am shocked! This court is shocked!" The prosecutor's shocked eyes slowly turned to the jury and he shook his head, just as slowly, adding a deep sigh for effect. "Your witness, Santa." The prosecutor spat the name out as if it were a putrid piece of fish. Santa stood in the witness box, scrunching his red velvet and white fur hat in front of his chest. "Your Honor, all I have for this esteemed court is the truth." His Honor snorted as if choking on the absurdity of Santa's statement. In response, a smile spread across Santa's face and he looked up at him knowingly, his kind eyes wide with ... what, pity? The judge shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Your Honor, since I have no lawyer to cleverly ask the right questions of me, I will simply recount to this court exactly what happened late on the Christmas eve in question. "At the moment of the tragic incident at Old Two Mile Road and Industrial Road in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, my sled and team of reindeer were swinging low over Lake Taupo, making our approach to Gradwell, New Zealand. There were seven hundred fifty-three children in that small town awaiting Father Christmas. So, Your Honor, I could not possibly have been in both places at once." Santa spread his hands apart to emphasize his point. "The reindeer that left his hoofprints on Grandma was piloted by one of my elves ... a singularly rebellious character named Bildik Bardensmall. After I disciplined him for attempting to start a union among my elves, he stole Rudolph for a joyride. "Is that your entire testimony, Mister Claus?" His Honor's sarcasm was thick. "That, Your Honor, is the simple truth." His Honor looked over to the prosecutor with a knowing smile. "Mister Prosecutor, you may direct more questions toward this ... miracle worker ..." His Honor's emphasis on those two words cued the prosecutor as to what his line of questioning should include. "... during your redirect." The prosecutor stood and cleared his throat. "Mister ... Claus," His lip curled in a sneer. "this court is having difficulty understanding how you could travel ... what, tens of thousands of miles? ... to deliver toys to hundreds of millions of children within the space of but a few short hours. If necessary, I can call dozens of eminent, scientific scholars to refute your claim of divine omnipresence. Would you like me to do that, Mister Claus? Hmm? Or would you rather revise your testimony before my unc--er, His Honor, charges you with perjury?" Santa looked long and hard at the prosecutor. "Before you make a more complete fool of yourself, Mister Prosecutor, and further mock this court and the justice system it represents, I would like the opportunity to prove my allegations with a practical demonstration." "By all means, Santa, please demonstrate to your heart's content." The prosecutor gave, first his uncle the judge, then the jury, his most confident smile. "If it please the court," said Santa, "would you enter the exact time of day into the record, Your Honor?" His Honor smugly looked at the courtroom clock. "It is twenty-four and a half minutes past three in the afternoon ... now!" "Thank you, Your Honor. And when you see the wrapped gift before you on your desk, would you mind telling the court what time it is then?" His Honor could barely contain his amusement as he said, "Certainly, Santa." "And can Your Honor verify the fact that I have no bags, boxes or cases of goods with me in this courtroom?" "Yes, yes, so verified. Now get to your ridiculous ‘demonstration'." Suddenly, as everyone became aware of a gift-wrapped package in their laps, the entire courtroom broke into an uproar. The prosecutor jumped to his feet, flinging the heavy, gaily wrapped package to the floor, and stammered, "U--uncle B--bob, I protest this m--magic trick!" His Honor, Uncle Bob, was so flabbergasted that he couldn't even respond to his stuttering nephew. Santa stood where he had before all the presents appeared. "If it please the court, I will explain how this miracle happened, and how it happens once each year throughout the world." The Court was unable to object. "What you've just witnessed is simply a little help from my Father, the Creator of all things, including time. He, personally, transcends time, and at His sovereign will, He allows its suspension. Many, many years ago, my Father gave me the privilege of spreading joy throughout the world on the day we have come to recognize His only true Son's birth. He allows me to give gifts as a memorial of His infinitely more important Gift to mankind. "Now Your Honor, if you will, please read the current time into the court's record." His Honor sat, blankly gazing at the beautifully wrapped gift on his desk. Then his eyes slowly shifted toward the courtroom clock and he mumbled, "It's three ... twenty-five." Santa laughed heartily. "But no one has opened their gifts. You don't have to wait ‘till Christmas morning, you know. "As you open them, let me tell you what you have in your hands. It is the most wonderful gift in the world; in just a few thousand words, it tells the story of my Father's dealings with mankind. It conveys to us His infinite mind and presents His only True Son to this obstinate generation as the only Way for us to reconcile with Him. "But the court is awfully quiet at the moment. Why might that be, Your Honor?" The judge looked up from his gift with tears pooling in his eyes and quietly said, "Santa, your case is dismissed. I'm the one who should be on trial ... for what I've done with God's Gift." Be Blest This New Year