Robot Santa: The Further Adventures of Santa's Twin (2 page)

Or maybe to cornflakes or maybe to mice.

Whatever
it
does, I’m sure it’s not nice.”

The troll is not merely evil but quick.

Up his big sleeve he has one more trick.

From his hip holster he suddenly draws

a chocolate-cream pie. He knows no laws.

He’s a gangster, a thug, a bad boy indeed,

and he flings the pie with fearful speed.

Lottie studies ballet and has some grace.

She spins-but still gets pie in the face.

E
mmy fires the ray gun. Oh, no! Oh, no!

The living room magically fills with snow.

It’s a weather gun, some strange device.

The fireplace mantel is all hung with ice.

From out of the ceiling a blizzard falls,

drifting over furniture and up the walls.

The malevolent elf can’t repress a giggle.

“From this one, child, you cannot wriggle.

For this big mess, you won’t be thanked.

In fact, I bet you’re gonna get spanked.

Spanked so hard that your ears will slip

all the way down, down, down to your lips.”

Then instead of cooking them in a stew

or brewing some tasty little-girl brew,

the giggling troll flees into the night.

The girls give chase, ‘cause it isn't right

that he should be allowed to skip and run

after ruining Christmas, spoiling the fun.

Like many bullies, he’s bluster and bluff.

He’s not really made of very stem stuff.

The two girls chase him out the front door.

He slip-slides across the icy porch floor,

falls down the steps, flat on the ground,

and lands with a rubbery, blubbery sound.

T
he sisters run barefoot into the snow

to make sure he doesn’t jump up and go.

“Knocked himself silly. What’ll we do?”

asks Charlotte as her pink feet turn blue.

Suddenly eight reindeer descend from above,

each deer flying with the grace of a dove

to the snowy lawn in front of the house,

making less sound than one wary mouse.

A deer says, “Christmas mustn’t be bleak.”

Emmy gasps, “Since when do reindeer speak?”

“Magical reindeer,” Charlotte supposes.

In agreement the deer twitch their noses.

One reindeer licks at Charlotte’s face

and says, “My, what a very unusual place

to find chocolate pudding Christmas night.”

Lottie replies, “I was in a pie fight.”

G
irls, you must come with us to the Pole.

Santa’s in a dismal, deep, dark, dank hole.

We’ve deliveries to make-games and toys-

to millions and millions of girls and boys.”

The sisters aren’t dressed for the Pole

or for any dismal, deep, dark, dank hole.

So the reindeer wiggle their magic snoots,

and now the girls are standing in boots.

P
ajamas transform into snowsuits of red,

nothing at all like what they wore to bed.

Woolen mittens, long scarves, jaunty caps,

“What about a driver’s license and maps?”

“No maps are needed,” or so the deer say.

“No license required to drive
this
sleigh-

just a lot of faith and a good pure heart.

That’s all that you need to do your part.”

T
hey have a problem with Santa’s had twin,

who’s flat on the ground on belly and chin.

He’s knocked out cold. Wow, does he snore!

Loading him into the sleigh-what a chore.

First the old troll must be tied up tight

to prevent trouble the rest of the night.

They bind him fast with jump ropes and Slinkys

and tie his long mustache to his pinkies.

Lifting him into the sleigh-they’ll fail,

because he weighs half as much as a whale.

Reindeer noses twitch-the magic is back.

Something stirs in the
real
Santa’s sack.

Teddy bears, stuffed dogs, toy monkeys too:

all spring to life. It’s a magical zoo.

They help the girls load up the evil Claus,

using their hands, their tails, their paws.

W
ith huffing and puffing the job gets done,

although heaving an evil Claus is no fun.

The last toy returns to the sack with a wave,

and Lottie grabs the reins. She’s so brave!

In the sleigh Emmy sits by her sister’s side

and says to the deer, “Let’s start this ride.

To the top of the world! Up, up in the sky!

Let’s see if reindeer really know how to fly.”

Up into the night the eight reindeer spring.

The bells on their harnesses all softly ring.

Up toward the stars and the big frosty moon.

Charlotte says, “I think I’m going to swoon.

No, no,” says Emmy, “we must save Saint Nick.

And I think I might possibly be getting sick.

I’m so woozy, and my head’s spinning around.

Oh, I’ve just
got
to hold my cookies down.”

R
eindeer are flyers of fabulous skill.

Soon turbulence passes and all is still.

Across the deep sea of stars they sail.

And our little Emmy is no longer pale.

Ahead an airliner appears in the sky.

That’s no surprise. Airliners can fly.

The reindeer soar high over the craft.

A passengers sees-thinks himself daft.

Moonshadows of deer slide over the wing,

a breathtaking and a beautiful thing.

That passenger will arrive home tonight

holding in his heart a brand-new light.

The plane is gone, the North Pole looms.

The sleigh arcs down. The reindeer
zoom

toward a hard, endless, icy wasteland.

“Emmy,” says Lottie, “give me your hand!”

S
traight down, down, and down some more.

“There’s going to be such blood and gore,

squeals Emmy. “Oh, we’re going to crash!”

But one reindeer says, “Don’t be so rash.

“Believe in Santa and look down again.

Believing makes the difference, so then

you’ll see Santa’s village spread below

a wonderland of light and ice and snow.”

“I see it," says Emmy, “oh, I really do!”

“I see it, I see it," Charlotte says too.

Cottages, lamplight, and gleaming spires,

colorful lights on invisible wires.

Trees hung with icing, gingerbread shrubs,

bottled root beer in street-corner tubs,

movie theaters where shows play for free,

with popcorn and ice cream. Oh, golly gee!

T
he reindeer land on their delicate feet,

racing swiftly along the glittering street

to the golden heart of the village square,

to the house of houses standing there.

No doubt it’s the house of Santa Claus.

The girls recognize
it
at once, because

Carved over the door in a lintel of wood:

HE KNOWS IF YOU’VE BEEN BAD OR GOOD.

T
he village seems deserted, eerily quiet.

A dropping pin would sound like a riot.

No sign at all of the toy-making elves.

Where might they have taken themselves?

A reindeer says, “Their good work is done.

Now they’re all on vacation, having fun.

In Tahiti, Jamaica, Pittsburgh, and France.

Some to Texas: They like to square-dance.”

Where’s Mrs. Claus?” Emmy asks with awe.

“Bernice?” says a deer. “She’s at a spa

in California. Somewhere on the coast

bathing in the sun, as brown as toast.

“Santa always joins her on Christmas Day.

It’s their once-a-year chance to get away.

By the middle of January they come back

to start filling next year’s big toy sack.”

Lottie and Emmy spring from the sleigh,

dashing to Santa’s house straightaway.

The door is ajar. Blame the bad twin.

They push it open and dare to go in.

A hallway glows with warm twinkly light,

gilded, coffered, paneled-just right.

No sign of-Santa. But there’s some mud

the bad twin tracked in. Then-a thud!

A
thud from the cellar far down below.

No time to waste. The two girls go

to a massively timbered door they spy,

and down the cellar stairs they fly.

Down, down, around, and down some more

in lantern light to a cold stone floor.

A huge burlap bag, spotted with grime:

This is it-the scene of the crime!

U
ntie the knot! Quick, open the sack!

Santa’s inside! Pull the burlap back!

Off with the blindfold! And the gag!

Off with these ropes! Out of the bag!

He jumps to his feet, almost topples,

steadies himself, pops his ear stopples.

“Dear girls! How well you have behaved!

Without you Christmas couldn’t be saved.”

O
h,
this
is Santa, no doubt about that.

From his boots to the porn-porn on his hat,

he’s radiant, glorious, a sight to behold,

the elf about whom so many tales are told.

He laughs-
ho
ho ho!
His merry eyes shine.

His sweet, kindly smile is simply divine.

“You’re Emily. And Charlotte. I know you.

You’re two good girls, through and through.

I’ve never had to bring you lumps of coal

on one of my annual trips from the Pole.

Those were magic ropes, blindfold, and gag.

Only good kids could free me from that bag.”

Says Emmy, “The bad Claus is in the sleigh,

tied up tight. Now let’s be on our way.

We must save Christmas-it’s getting late.”

Lottie says, “Hold on a minute. Just wait.

I’m wondering why, at this magical Pole

your cellar is such a deep, dark hole.”

Santa winces, sighs. “Also dismal and dank.

And when we first moved in, it really stank.

We have a problem with ground-water seepage

and really persistent purple fungus creepage.

Girls, everyone has troubles, even Saint Nick.

So smile and be merry. That’s the trick!”

B
ack in the square in front of the house,

the little stuffed toys unload the louse

who’s wrapped up in jump ropes and Slinkys,

his mustache still secured to his pinkies.

He’s wide awake now and not half so fearful.

The real Santa Claus gives him an earful.

“What in the world were you trying to do?

Surely you’re not bad through and through.

Confused, misguided, no doubt about that.

You wear my suit well-especially the hat.

Always be nice to kids, give ‘em a smile.

They’ll all love you too-after a while.”

Emmy says, “Be nice, as you were taught.

When you’re bad, you’ll
always
be caught.

What if we told your mom what you’ve done,

then would being bad really be much fun?”

Lottie says, “You even hit me with a pie.

If your mom knew
it
all, wouldn’t she cry?”

Emmy shakes her finger. “Oh, shame on you.

Don’t you know before everything you do,

you must ask yourself how Mom would feel

to know you’d done it? That’s the seal

of approval and the guidance we all need

to help us be good and to do good deeds.”

T
he bad Claus’s eyes well up with tears.

He sniffles, then blubbers, when he hears

the girls mention Mother. “Oh, please!

But for the Slinkys, I’d be on my knees,

begging you not to tell dear Mama Claus

all the bad things I’ve done, because

“she’s the sweetest and kindest of souls

you’ll ever find between the two poles.

I’ve been thoughtless, so mean and bad.

But I never wanted to make Mama sad.

I’ve been as bad as a bad boy could be

because I never thought Mama would see.”

L
ottie says, “No one can fool his mother

any more than kids can fool your brother.

Sooner or later every mom always knows

if you’ve been bad or good. It shows.

Scary, I know, but that’s how
it
goes.

Now stop blubbering and wipe your nose.”

Snow begins to fall from the polar skies

as Santa says, “Girls, you are both wise.

I’m giving you two brand-new blue bikes