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So Mr Claus it was as we began the session. There was just so much already going on, the greatcoat pulled closely, the missing first name, likely some sort of attempt to disguise his identity; an underlying sense of embarrassment? I wasn’t sure, but we had to start somewhere, and the fact was he was here and no doubt there’s a reason, so let’s start there with the ‘what brings you in?’
He didn’t look at me as he answered. Actually he didn’t seem to look anywhere, it was as though he had eyes only for something inside him and that was surely arresting his gaze.
“I feel troubled,” he said quietly.
“Troubled…?” I repeated just as quietly, and waited.
He clearly wanted to talk but he just as clearly needed space and silence at the moment. I used the space to review what I was sensing.
I was intrigued by the attempt at disguise. I say attempt because it just wasn’t successful. I knew who he was the minute I clapped eyes on him. He looked just like the cheery little red fellow on the Christmas tree in reception, only much, much larger and wearing a black greatcoat over his reds. And by the look of him at the moment, without the cheery bit. Some incongruity in him perhaps, but I wasn’t sure. I saved this up for later.
Eventually he spoke again, this time more forcefully. “I’ve made some blunders in the past, but this one is the worst!” and then stopped.
I looked to help him feel I was with him, so I offered, “The worst blunder you’ve ever made…?” Fascinating! This could be an eventful session.
“Oh yes,” he said, “The elves were playing up, and were getting behind with all the presents. I never sleep so well this time of year anyway what with all the worries about deadlines and things.” He paused for a moment and then continued, “I over-reacted, I admit it. I threatened to sack them, and they just went out on strike. The worst bit is their strike notice says they won’t be back till the 26th!”
“Boxing Day, you mean?”
Mr Claus nodded. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “No fools, are they! They know how to embarrass.”
“So filling in the lines, you’re telling me there’s going to be only a few presents this year, and you feel very embarrassed, because you see it as your responsibility.”
He nodded again. “Exactly!”
That part of me that knows something internally in a split second, but takes the space of a paragraph or more to write, estimated that there was something more here than met the eye. OK, so there had been a North Polar squabble, but surely not for the first time. I was aware of rumours of mediators travelling over the frozen wastes in the past, but these rumours were hard to substantiate because everything was kept so hush-hush. Probably for good reason.
And why the visit to Lifeline? These same rumours mentioned that the Americans and the Russians had been involved at a high diplomatic level in the past, more latterly the Chinese also. There had to be more to this, I was convinced. How to draw it out, was the question. I decided on the direct route. There was only ten minutes to my next appointment, and my Mr Claus had turned up on a busy afternoon with no warning.
“Mr Claus,” I began, “I notice that I am sitting with some questions. You’ve been doing what you do for centuries and I’m sure you have accumulated a great deal of experience and wisdom about how to handle employment disputes. You’ve got access to the highest echelons to help out when you’re in a jam. Yet you’re here at Lifeline, in a flimsy disguise, to tell me you’re feeling troubled. What really are you troubled about?”
“Ahhhhhh!” he exclaimed, “that’s why I am here. Your agency has a reputation for getting to the core and letting people make their own decisions. Those others (he made a dismissive gesture with his right hand – presumably it was the Americans, Russians, Chinese he was sweeping away) just want me to do what I have always done. I want to do something new, something fresh. That’s why I have come here.”
I asked, “What is it that you want to do?”
“Give different presents.” He emphasized the word ‘different’. “I want to…” He was now looking upwards as if studying a vision. “…I want to give cards to people, for example, that say a farm animal has been donated on their behalf to a starving family; or that this person’s present has been combined with that group of people’s present so that ground can be ploughed and crops re-sown after a hurricane somewhere.” He was starting to sound excited. “Our Polar Trust Account has enough in it to finance it at this time of the year. But I’m hoping that the idea might catch on, and other people organize it from January to next November. You never know.”
“You’re wanting to start something,” I offered, “and you have a clear idea of what it is.” I paused for effect. “What’s stopping you?”
My question was like a mini electric shock to him. He went to say something, but stopped, his mouth wide ajar. He stammered for a moment, then relaxed. “Well actually, nothing,” he said finally. “You know, I think I had to come here to hear myself say that.”
Our session, brief that it was, concluded shortly after. As I opened my office door to show him out, I asked if I might call him Santa. “Shhh!” he said, holding his finger to his lips, “You never knows who’s listening.”
“Take the backstairs,” I suggested.
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