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Leafs
by Gary E. Andrews - 03/04/24 12:47 PM
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Joined: Dec 2016
Posts: 1,385 Likes: 1
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OP
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Well, as we are heading towards the Holidays, I thought I'd post this one. CAUTION: It's a very long read--so no worries if you don't have the time or desire. Just hope if you make it through that you find at least some of it enjoyable.
The Rise and Fall of Fink the Elf
IN the sorry town of Wilby, in a bar, not long ago, when the winter wind blew strangers in from streets all thick with snow, he sat upon a wooden stool, the one right next to mine, and drank his ale halfheartedly, one swallow at a time. “When I was young,” he said to me, “I dreamt of little else than of making toys for Santa Claus like all the other elves. So when I came to proper age, I and friends set forth, to offer up our services to the King of Elves up North. At first it seemed just like my dream, just as I thought it would, but lives, like dreams, run wild it seems, and never as they should.”
HE paused just for a moment then to drink a little bit. He lit a low-tar cigarette and took a drag from it. He looked about to the find the place he’d set his glass upon, then took a sip, another drag, and Fink the Elf went on: “I started in the backroom, an apprentice to old Bloot, sewing buttons on the teddy bears, and stuffing them to boot. I dabbled some in baby toys and other infant goods, but soon advanced to carving gifts from solid blocks of wood. My mind was keen, my eyes were sharp, my hands were sure and true— and so I swiftly mastered each and every task I’d do.
“EVEN Bloot would marvel at the genius of my touch, as I moved right on to power toys and electronic stuff. Instruments of every kind and games for every niche, every toy you’d ever think a little boy or girl could wish; I made them all with tender care, each and everyone, so that they looked just like a piece of art when I was done. Soon enough old Bloot had taught me everything he could. I learned more than I’d ever known or ever thought I would. And so it was I rose above the others like myself, and soon was known to bear the name of ‘Fink, the Master Elf.’ “
HIS green eyes danced like midnight fire, emeralds burning bright; Fink smiled wide with glaring pride, lips bathed in neon light. “To be a Master Elf,” he said, “is difficult, you see; it’s not what any ordinary elf could hope to be. Only elves with special skill, the chosen gifted few, can learn to do the things that only Master Elves can do. And of all the Master Elves that ever labored in his mill, none served Santa quite as well, and no elf ever will.
“OH, forgive the lack of modesty,” he said, with hand on chest, “but true is true, and through and through, I was the very best. I re-organized the shop to run in more efficient ways, and reconfigured time to find more hours in the day; I doubled our production, and reduced our overhead; it was I who told Kris Kringle: ‘Ditch the blue and dress in red!’ I engineered a brand new sleigh, of slick and sleek design, that let old Santa do his work in nearly half the time. I introduced computers to help modernize the place, devised a software system and a brand new database to hold the names of all the boys and girls on Santa’s List, so Santa would know who was good or bad with just a click.
“WHEN first the night was filled with fog, which elf do you think chose to light the way for Santa’s sleigh with Rudolph’s shiny nose. And who would tend the reindeer when old Santa Claus was sick? And who would patch the leaky roof that needed to be fixed? I forget more than recall all the many things I’d done, but rest assured that Fink the Elf was king to everyone. The other elves would always tell me just what I’ve told you, ‘Fink,’ they’d say, “there’d never be a Christmas without you.’ Oh, those were grand old days,” Fink said, “Grand old days, indeed— the finest time I’ve ever known, as good as good could be.”
HE drummed his tiny fingers, then as if he had no care, Fink raised his chin, and leaning in, blew smoke rings in the air. “And no day was as good a day as Christmas Eve itself, when we elves would all be scurrying to organize ourselves for the very moment Santa Claus would man his Christmas sleigh, and soar off in the Christmas sky with toys for Christmas day. The toys! The toys! So many toys in all! Millions stuffed in every room and stretched from wall to wall.
“THERE'D be jumping ropes and kites to glide; rocking horses kids could ride; scooters, skates and wagons, too, bikes and trikes in red and blue; tea sets (dishes, cups, and pots); truck and tanks and battle-bots; model trains and motorcars; flutes and drums and strung guitars; dolls in all their fancy dress; games galore! Checkers, chess (the kings, the rooks, the little pawns, the board you put the pieces on!); planes that fly in loop-the-loops; spinning tops and hula hoops; jigsaw puzzles; magic tricks; building blocks and pogo sticks; jacks and dice and dominoes; army men--G.I. Joes; toys of every shape and kind there in Santa’s sleigh to find a place beneath the Christmas tree for girls and boys to wake and see.”
FINK's arms were flailing to and fro; he’d risen off his seat. His head was bobbing up and down in rhythm with his feet. “We’d pack the toys in boxes and we’d wrap them all in bows, then we’d slide them into Santa’s bag and drag it through the snow. We’d throw the bag in Santa’s sleigh, and strap the reindeer fast, and step aside as Santa Claus himself would waddle past. He’d settle down upon the seat he had there in the sleigh, and then, like every year before, he’d jiggle as he’d say: ‘Good job, my elves, my merry elves, the best you’ve ever done. Merry Christmas to you all, to you each and everyone!’ Then like a bolt of lightning, Santa’s sleigh would rip the night. and we would cheer and laugh and sing as Santa took to flight. Yes, those were grand old days,” Fink said, “Grand old days, I’d say. But all things fine, in course of time, all seem to fade away.”
THE light that lit Finks’ pixie eyes, now seemed to grow quite dim. The smile he wore upon his face just fell away from him. “I didn’t doubt that Old Saint Nick loved the work we’d do; you saw it in his Kringle eyes, the way he looked at you. But still it never felt quite right, and deep within I bore this feeling that old Santa should appreciate us more. Oh, sure, when Christmas Day had passed, he threw a great big ball; a party with a thousand sights to entertain us all; a big old spread of food and ale to keep our spirits high— yet still I couldn’t help but think the whole thing was a lie. And as the days and months wore on, I grew more discontent; darker still, more unfulfilled, as each Christmas came and went.
“BUT what was worse was knowing that the world seemed unaware of the countless tasks we elves would do by Christmas to prepare. Sure, everybody knew the elves made all the toys he gave, so tell me why it was that Old Kris Kringle got the praise! All those letters he’d receive from all the boys and girls, full of Christmas wishes from all corners of the world, telling Santa Claus that they’d been well-behaved enough, each sending hugs and kisses, and each signing it with love. Even Mrs. Claus was known to get a note or three— old Santa got his millions, but no letters came for me. And the grown-ups were no different—all the merry songs they’d sing glorifying Old Saint Nick as they went caroling. No, it didn’t seem at all deserved; it all seemed quite amiss. What did Santa really do to warrant all of this?”
FINK cocked his head and looked at me as if I could explain the many reasons why Saint Nick receives such wide acclaim. And when I next said nothing, and sat silent in my place, he raised his index finger and he wagged it in my face. “Oh, Christmas isn’t easy—go ask any elf you see; and let me tell you Santa got a lot of help from me. All the splendid things I’d done to get old Santa through it— now suddenly it seemed to me that no one really knew it! Well, Santa knew, and Ms. Claus and all the other elves, but no one else, and certainly I couldn’t count ourselves! Day by day and month by month, it was harder to believe, until I hit the boiling point one early Christmas Eve.
‘SANTA this and Santa that! I’m sick of it,’ I cried. ‘He’s never made a single gift—I’ve never seen him try. I doubt he has the skill to build a simple child’s toy, a run-about is what he is—a mere delivery boy! He doesn’t lift a finger when it’s time to put away all the tools left in the workshop after every working day; he doesn’t work through dinner, till the wee hours of the night, fretting every detail to make sure a toy’s just right; he doesn’t place the orders when supplies are running low; God forbid he grabs a shovel when the walk is full with snow! And he doesn’t wrap the presents or help bring them to the sleigh; and he never seems to be around to clean up Christmas Day. The only thing he seems do with any sense of skill, is stuff his chubby face with food and fall asleep at will! Well I for one have had enough of Santa’s laying low. We’ve been selfishly exploited and we elves should tell him so. It’s time we band together elves to help the world to see there’s no Christmas without Santa, but no Santa without me.”
“YOU'D think the other elves would be as outraged as I was, Thinking of the many things that Santa never does. ‘Your right, dear Fink,’ you’d think they’d say, ‘Here, here!’, ‘Indeed!’, ‘You said it!’ ‘Why should we do all the work when Santa gets the credit?’ But, no, they only looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. How is it that they couldn’t see? How could they be so blind? ‘Slaves!’ I thought, “That’s what they are. Slaves to Old Saint Nick. Well they can live their lives in chains, but I’ll have none of it!’
“SO undeterred by their reaction, I decided to take action, and with the strength of my convictions, marched right into Santa’s kitchen, where Santa sought a few bites more to last him through his Christmas chore. I said the things I said I would I called him every name I could. I pounded tables—shook the room; I rattled swords and lowered booms. And Santa, as I carried on, just stood there with his long-johns on, searching me with soulful eyes, caught unaware and by surprise, then said, in whispers, nothing less, ‘It’s late, dear Fink, I need to dress.’ His feet slid lightly on the floor as he shuffled out the kitchen door. And not another sound was heard throughout the house; no single word. Even Mrs. Claus held fast from saying what she might have asked. Instead she only looked at me, and shook her gray head shamefully.”
FINK scratched his nose, gave a snort, and straightened out his spine, then tapped his empty glass upon the bar a couple times, and leaning cross the counter to the man there by the sink, waived him quickly to us both to pour the elf a drink. “I didn’t know just where to go, but knew I couldn’t stay. And so I packed my tools and things and sadly slipped away. From Santa’s shop I went to where the common elves would lurk. I’d move around from town to town, wherever there was work. At first, I sought employment in distinguished fields of trade, and pursued only positions that were premium in grade. While the common elves would eagerly take any work they could, I held fast to my principles and waited as I should for a special opportunity within a company that sought to gain the talents of a Master Elf like me. But work did not come easily, and principles aside, when your tired, cold and hungry, you learn quick to compromise.
“SO like the common elves I took what work there was to find, and did the things I never dreamed I’d do in my lifetime. Driving cabs and sweeping floors; washing dishes, opening doors; mending pants and silken suits; shining leather shoes and boots; picking fruit from off the trees; packing new bought groceries; digging ditches; cleaning cars; pumping gas and tending bar. dumping garbage into trucks— anything to make a buck. And over time it seemed to be it didn’t matter much to me where I went or what I did, or who I knew and how I lived.”
AND there Fink paused to take a breath, debating, now I guess, the worth of saying loud to me the thing he next confessed: “There wasn’t much I didn’t do, not much I wouldn’t now. Somewhere along life’s crooked path I lost myself somehow. So even one December day, I shamelessly portrayed one of Santa’s helpers in the Macy’s day parade.”
THEN his voice turned to a whisper; he leaned closer to my ear. His clothes smelled just like cigarettes; his breath was stale with beer. “You know I always thought that without me he’d never find a way to make the presents and deliver them on time. But each and every Christmas I’d awake to find anew that Christmas came—Old Santa had more magic than I knew. It’s funny how in life we see the things we should have seen when it’s far too late to change the past to how it should have been. I often get to thinking what my life might now be like, if Santa Claus had took the time just once to make things right. What a different place I’d be in now, what a different life I’d have led, if Santa Claus had turned to me that night and only said: ‘Dear Fink you are a grand old elf, a grand old elf indeed. You’re the finest elf I’ve ever known or have ever cared to need.’ ”
FINK's face grew stiff and pallid; his eyes fell dark and dead. He stared straight down into his glass and sadly shook his head. “How I’d get from there to here?” asked the somber elf. “It’s getting so most mornings I don’t recognize myself. Oh, Fate will twist in sorry ways, the way it always does. It used to be I was an is, and now I’m just a was.” Fink took a long last swig of ale, but said not one word more. He slipped down from his wooden stool and headed to the door. And with a wave (perhaps a wink?), a gesture small and slight, Fink stumbled out and disappeared into the Christmas night.
NOW somewhere on that Christmas Eve there lingered in the air a bit more Christmas magic than we two were both aware. For there was I a stranger in that cold New England town, lost from any home I knew, and not looking to be found; swept in from the winter street to find by neon light the gift that Santa left for me upon that Christmas night. It wasn’t made of wood or any substance known as such, nor something you could truly see, or hear or taste or touch; it wasn’t wrapped in fancy bows and placed beneath a tree— my present was that sorry elf and the tale he told to me.
FOR Fink had told a tale that seemed to me more like my own, and somewhere in the telling helped me find my way back home.
AND so ends this Christmas story, how one fated Christmas Eve, a stranger came to Wilby and found reason to believe that it’s never quite too late for our lives to be unspun, for words to be unsaid, and for wrongs to be undone, for sins to be forgiven, and for arms to open wide, to have with Christmas dinner all the pieces of our pride.
SO Merry Christmas to all lost souls that find themselves apart from the people and the places that lie deep within their hearts. May this Christmas find you wandering towards home and family.
AND Merry Christmas to you Fink, wherever you may be.
(c) DJ Lekich 2006
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Joined: Apr 2008
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I swear Dee you might not need a editor, just get a illustrator...and get this published..I truly think your that good.. Lane
i`m a little late getting here, but I did!
"Blessed are the words of truth and fiction, one might save you from the other...Vincent
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Joined: Dec 2016
Posts: 1,385 Likes: 1
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Joined: Dec 2016
Posts: 1,385 Likes: 1 |
Lane,
I appreciate you had the patience to read it all the way through, and am happy you found it worth the while. Quite honestly, this is a tough piece for me to judge. As I'm sure you are of your own work, I'm my harshest critic, and I see all the flaws on this one. It turned out to be much longer than I intended when I first started writing it, but as they say, "the tale grows in the telling."
Among other things, it's somewhat of a rushed finish to me. And I wonder whether the ambiguity I was shooting for comes through--whether Fink's story is legit or whether Fink is still a Master Elf, weaving a tale in which the speaker sees himself and his past--the "gift" that leads the speaker back home. And I wonder if that last line capture's the speaker's suspicion (along with that wink--the gesture small and slight), that he knows exactly where Fink is.
All that aside, there's a lot I do like about this one--and it's in that spirit I shared it. Again, thanks for taking the time to read it. And Merry Christmas to you, Lane!
Regards,
Deej
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