Santa's Saucepans by India Roberts
It was snowing in the secret place where Santa and his helpers live. Over everywhere else, but the North Pole, a rain cloud sifted hail into rain and rain into hail, making men and women’s faces uglier than before with their disapproval of such weather.
The closest he could get to seeing what Santa was doing in the middle of the night, out in the tool shed was behind an evergreen tree strung with a few yellow lights. Rudolf could never know, but the fantastic nature of his nose acting as a stand-alone light to guide Santa’s sleigh each special night was only fantasy. It was actually the case that his nose lit up from the absorption of external sources. It would take the smallest amount of light, the stars on a clear night, the distant street lamps below, some believed, even the glisten of an eye could be enough, but nobody has ever had the chance to determine whether this is true.
A clattering of sauce pans inside the shed should have been heard by all the residents if there were any hills or mountains surrounding the red and white painted town, but it was only a plain flat ground, a safe place for snowmen and women and children and recently, snow-dogs to land.
‘Which pan of sauce is it?’
Through a small box window pane, Rudolf saw there were a many hundred sauce pans, none of which he had ever seen before. Some shiny and some dim, but all silver and gold.
‘Beautiful, you were beautiful Patricia, yes, it could be you. It could be.’
His master was never one to have expressed any losing of the mind.
‘Oh but Georgina, I loved you, I liked the freckles, and remember I bought you a very good gift, despite what a naughty girl you’d been.’
Rudolf leaned in smelling the coffee that was far richer and exceptional than any he had smelt before. And the yellow lights strung around the tree moved with the breeze close to Rudolf’s nose so it glowed brightly outside Santa’s window.
‘My dear, my dear it must be you. That’s it. I will go to Mr Postman and ask for all thoughts from you, for you must be true,’ he turned round, ‘Rea?’
Santa looked out the window and Rudolf, seeing he was spotted, began to dig through the snow. ‘I wonder if I dropped it here?’
‘Nothing much. I’m looking for something… I dropped.’
‘I see.’ Santa held a golden saucepan behind his back, the sheen of it was bright, causing Rudolf’s nose to glow
Rudolf lifted his head high and took in a deep breath preparing him for saying something he’s stored for a long, long time. ‘I’ve dropped my willingness to keep myself from asking questions.’
‘Why am I here? Why is there no… No grass? Why do the snow men melt and what are you doing?’
‘Alright, alright. There is no grass here, because of the snow. Snowmen melt where snow is not always found
and I am trying to find the right saucepan to make snow with.’
Rudolf peered closer and Santa stepped back, stroking the golden pan with his thumbs, away from his deer’s sight.
‘Are they alive?… The pans, I heard you talking to them.’
Santa grew red in the face.
‘Alive! Well of course not! I’ve never heard such a silly thing.’ He drew back towards the door.
‘Wait! Where are you going?’
Santa turned round as fast as he could. He opened the door and pushed in with his round tummy stopping him from slipping away quickly. He was somewhat slower at running since the ‘Mrs Santa’ had enough of feeding him and looking out to the tool shed and wondering about the pans.
Now Rudolf stopped him, pulling him out from the door with his teeth. The golden sauce pan fell through the air and onto the ground, hissing sharply as it touched the snow. A large hole surrounded it where the snow had melted.
Rudolf frowned at the ground. The hole was so deep he wondered what was underneath. A strong wind came from the south, rattling Rudolf’s bells and almost taking Santa’s hat with it. The saucepan rolled to the side revealing a patch of grass. Rudolf’s eyes widened, his last memory of grass lay by his mother’s side, the first sound of bells, the last sight of his mother. It was grass that he amongst the other reindeer dreamt of each cold night.
‘There must be more of it,’ Rudolf meant to say with Santa’s jacket crammed between his teeth.
Suddenly, Rudolf had a grand idea. He threw Santa flying across the snow and onto the ground. Next he walked into the shed, looked around at the many glimmering pans. He took the nearest silver by the handle and tossed it out onto the snow. Again he saw the snow melt and small flecks of grass appear from around it.
Santa began to clamber up. Rudolf hurled another. He was too slow. He turned to the wall made of thin logs.
Stamping his hooves he tensed his body focusing on the wall. Santa was up on his feet, looking wearily over to the shed.
‘No, get out of there, right this instant!’
Rudolf blew out a long deep breath, rattling the saucepan against one another causing a shrill almost scream-like rattle to clamber between them. Santa began to jog to the shed, holding out his sausage like fingers. Rudolf took in a deep breath and charged at the wall with his antlers that smashed through the wall and fell to pieces into the snow along with the reindeer, who, only a little scratched, shook his head from a head ache. With such force, each saucepan fell onto the ground erasing every patch of snow in sight.
The eleven peered out of their stables.
