By James Gonda
December 1899
It was a dark and snowy night in the heart of Europe. Saint Nickolas had requested a special meeting with Krampus, the half-goat, half-demon creature who punished naughty children.
Every year before Christmas, Krampus would send Saint Nick a list of disobedient boys and girls. These children were to be apprehended and remanded to the lake of fire in middle Earth. Saint Nick would then remove these kids from the master list. This information was essential to know who got presents and who did not.
But on the most recent BAD list, Father Christmas begged to differ with a name scrawled in Krampus’ hand. There were extenuating circumstances in the life of this child, a boy 11 years old, that Krampus was not privy to. The benevolent Saint Nick felt called to have the boy’s name expunged from the list.
Saint Nick and Krampus met in the back room of a drinking establishment. A busty barmaid brought them ale in tall pewter mugs. They exchanged pleasantries. They lamented how busy they were. They agreed they both needed a break. Then they got down to business. Saint Nick started. “There’s a boy on your list who should be removed. He lives in a very harsh environment. His father beats him every day.”
“What boy?”
“That boy over in Hafeld.”
“Who?”
“The boy whose father keeps bees.”
Krampus thought for a moment. “Oh, right, I know the little angel.” He nodded. “His father beats him. So what? That does not give the boy a license to act out. I also know he slaps his sister around and disrespects his teachers.”
Saint Nick sipped his ale. He spoke sternly. “Now listen, Krampus. Not too long ago the boy ran away from home. Well, he’s only a child. How far could he possibly go? When he came back, tired and hungry, his father beat him more severely than usual.”
“That’ll teach him.”
“Then later when the boy went to pee, he saw blood in his urine, from the beating.”
“A harsh turn of events, for sure.” He took a drink of ale and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Did you hear what happened when report cards came out last term? The child in question used the card to wipe his bottom, after he saw his poor marks. Howdaya think that went over?”
Saint Nick chuckled. “I can explain that too. The boy is in the wrong school. He’s a sensitive child. His father is pushing into math and science. He’s a budding artist! The poor marks were his way of rebelling. Why, we all rebelled against our parents as children.”
Krampus grunted. “I don’t understand your support for this kid. He’s a wicked little boy. I only see him turning into a wicked adult. Who knows what trouble he’ll stir up?”
Saint Nick spoke tenderly. “Now Krampie, this is only one child out of thousands I’m asking you to spare. We’ve known one another for a very long time, and I have never made such a request. See, I believe deep down he’s a good boy with a bright future. He sings in the church choir. He’s thinking of becoming a priest.”
“I thought you said an artist.”
“A priest and an artist. And if you’re not sold on the boy, then please consider his mum.”
Krampus looked confused. “Come again?”
“This past summer she lost her younger son, a sweet and kind-hearted child, to measles. Now if she were to lose two boys in the same year, well, you must agree that her grief would be unbearable.”
Krampus sighed.
He scratched his cheek with a long and curved fingernail.
He folded his hairy arms across his chest and stared at the tabletop.
At last, he broke his trace and took a swallow of ale. He slammed the mug down and then belched. He looked to Saint Nick. “What’s in it for me?”
“What did you have in mind? I am Saint Nick after all. How ‘bout a bicycle or a toy train?”
“How ‘bout no?”
“Perhaps then you’d fancy a food item?”
“Such as . . . ?”
“I have a ton of fruitcake with your name on it.”
“I like fruitcake.”
“Of course you do.”
“How much fruitcake are we talking about?”
“Enough to last ‘til next Christmas!” Saint Nick laughed. He reached over and squeezed Krampus’ shoulder. “Now whaddaya say, old boy?”
Krampus pondered the proposal. At last, he said, “Only this one child, right? You’re not gonna make a habit of asking for more exceptions, right?”
“No, of course not my dear Krampus. I would never impose on our friendship like that.”
“I’m not an unreasonable . . . creature. All right, you have a deal. I will refrain from taking the boy for one year’s supply of fruitcake.”
“Now that’s the Christmas spirit!” Saint Nick clinked his mug against Krampus’ mug and then took a long drink. “You’ve done the right thing. You won’t regret it, I promise.”
“I hope you’re right.” He reached into his pouch and extracted a heavy ledger with the names and addresses of naughty children. He opened the book. “Tell me again the boy’s name? Did you say it? I’ll cross it off.”
“Oh dear. You’re right, I never mentioned it, please forgive me. The youngster was christened Adolphus but they call him Adolf. Adolf Hitler.”