“Night Divine” by Samantha Hunt (fiction, ’99)

An excerpt from “Night Divine” by Samantha Hunt (fiction, ’99) published at The Cut:

Night Divine

Elves leave messages for my kids. Sometimes it seems like the elves have been drinking. I bet they get jolly come December with the end of a year’s labor in sight. I know I do. The elves write, “Ganymede, Jupiter’s ginormous moon, is named for a prince kidnapped by an eagle.” Or the elves write, “There’s 22,000 pounds of cheese in a tunnel in New York. That cheese does not belong to you, kids. It’s Nacho Cheese.” Odd facts. Rotten jokes.Usually there are no gifts involved. The elves are frugal, like me. I’m not interested in raising monsters.

I can foresee the questions that might swarm around this elf tradition, like: Is Santa so unfair he sends messages to only my children? Or you might wonder: How do the elves get to my middle-of-nowhere house each night?
Here are your answers: Santa, in harmony with the whole wide world, is unfair. My kids haven’t had a dad for two years. If you want to trade elf messages for a father, you got it. Second answer: The elves don’t have to get here. Santa employs local, seasonal help like any department store. Which probably only triggers more questions in this economy. Does Santa pay a living wage? Can I get a Santa job too?

But zip it. Please. Questions chip away at belief in stuff and we are trying to believe in stuff. It’s Christmastime.

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