WOLPERTINGER SEES RED

by James Lincoln Warren

Jakob Linnaeus Wolpertinger, my friend the Mad Scientist, spends every month between December 6 and January 6 sitting in front of his fireplace in a rocking chair, staring at the empty hearth with a side-by-side twelve gauge shotgun in his lap. A few days ago I dropped by the Secret Laboratory in the Gloomy Castle to invite him to go caroling. He was having none of it.

“Bah! Humbug!”

“This is hardly what I’d call the holiday spirit,” I told him, sipping my eggnog.

“That’s what you think,” he snarled. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m waiting for Santa Claus. He shows his fat face in the old inglenook and I’m going to let him have both barrels.”

“That’s sick.”

“It’s smart. Trust me, he’s not who you think he is.”

“What do you mean?”

“The first clue is his name. Haven’t you ever noticed that ‘Santa’ is an anagram of ‘Satan’?”

“That’s just a coincidence. ‘Santa Claus’ is just an American corruption of the Dutch ‘Sinterklaas’, itself a corruption of ‘Sint Niklaas’, which is Dutch for ‘Saint Nicholas’.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘Exactly’?”

“December 6th is Saint Nicholas’s feast day. We won’t be safe until after January 6th, the twelfth day of Christmas. He could show up any time in the interim with his unholy offerings.”

“Saint Nicholas is the patron saint of children. Of course he’s bringing presents.”

He snorted. “Patron saint, my left foot. Why do you think another name for the Devil is ‘Old Nick’?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious. Here’s another clue: Where is Santa’s headquarters? The North Pole, that’s where.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“I’ll tell you so what. According to Dante, the Ninth Circle of Hell is made of ice, and that’s where Satan resides. The North Pole is made of ice, and that’s where Santa resides. Coincidence? I think not!”

He leaned forward in the rocker, warming to his theme. “Why is it that both of them wear red suits? And what about the elves? What about the elves?”

“So he runs a union shop, elves only. Big deal. I’m pro-union myself. What could be more benign?”

“You know nothing. What do you suppose elves really are? Immortal supernatural beings with magical powers, that’s what. What do you call immortal supernatural beings with magical powers that work for Old Nick? I’ll tell you. Demons, that’s what you call them. The word ‘elf’ had no positive sense until the 1870s—and that was propaganda, my friend. Etymologically, it comes from Teutonic mythology—álfr in Old Norse, ælf in Old English—where they were portrayed as bringers of fell diseases, as both incubi and succubi, as the bringers of nightmares, and as abductors of infants from their cradles. Nice, right? And that’s who are making Santa’s toys for him. It’s a clever ploy for burgling souls.”

“That’s insane.”

“You refuse to see the truth. There’s more. Another name for the Devil is ‘Beelzebub,’ a.k.a the Lord of Flies. Now how does Santa get around? He flies, that’s how. Another coincidence? Don’t make me laugh. The evidence is overwhelming. Why do you think he comes in through the fireplace, anyway? What goes on in a fireplace in the winter? Fire. Hell-fire, my friend.”

“A minute ago you said he lived in the ice.”

“Don’t quibble.”

I threw up my hands. “Well go ahead, be that way. But don’t expect any presents from anybody. By the way, where is your assistant Ivor?”

“Home for the holidays. A-wassailing and stuffing figgy pudding into his bottomless maw when he should be here helping come up with diabolical inventions.”

“If you want to be diabolical, and since you think that Santa Claus is the Devil, why are you trying to keep him out?”

“‘A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds / adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines’,” Wolpertinger quoted Emerson. “I’m none of those. I’m a mad scientist, remember?”