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Santa's apocalypse

By Mervyn Bendle - posted Monday, 19 December 2011


"Australia … bloody hell!" muttered Santa, before rebuking himself for the lapse in taste. But then he recalled the implications of what he had just learned and sighed audibly: "Bloody hell indeed!"

He looked again at the order. It was hard to believe. The full powers! The fury! The Wrath!

He stood before the double-glazed floor-to-ceiling windows that surrounded his massive office occupying the entire top floor of the Panopticon Centre, the headquarters of ClausCorp. Outside lay the limitless white expanses of the North Pole.

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And beyond that he could see the entire world. All the cities of the globe were open to his vision. He had merely to wish to see a place and the Panopticon loomed invisibly above it, opening up every nook and cranny for his inspection. The hidden-most corners of every soul were laid bare to his gaze. Entire nations could be judged.

And now it was Australia's turn.

Irrevocable. Absolute. Inscrutable. Unquestionable. Santa knew well the nature of these judgments. And he knew his duty. Steeling himself, he pressed the button on the intercom to the outer office: "Send in Count Odious," he ordered. Straightening up and vainly trying to suck in his ample belly, he awaited his dreaded guest.

How was it, he wondered moments later, that such a chill could enter a room? But now Count Odious stood before him: a tall, gaunt figure wearing an elegant black suit, a crisp white shirt, a Slytherin House tie, and a black pearl pin. Bowing formally, he took the seat offered. It was time for business.

"My dear Claus, it is so kind of you to see me at such a busy time. So many lovely presents, so much to do." He smiled thinly. "It must be wonderful to be able to reward so much …" he struggled with the word, "… niceness".

Santa waved away the ill-meant compliment and fixed Odious with a severe gaze that few people ever saw on the old man's face.

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"I think, Count, that we can forget the niceties. I cannot say that I agree with or even understand a decision like this," he gestured at the file he had received that morning. "But if it has to be done then I need your help and that of your minions. My elves, you know," he shrugged, "they build toys. They know little of the Wrath. I'm afraid that thousands of traumatized elves will be of little value in this exercise."

"Of course", replied the Count with an oily confidence and reassuring tone that only increased the chill. "Just as you have spent centuries rewarding good behaviour, so have I spent millennia inflicting punishment upon the wicked. Believe me when I say, it will be a pleasure!"

Santa sat quietly, trying to comprehend the enthusiasm with which Odious embraced his task.

"After all," the Count continued, "it is not often that one gets to operate on such an apocalyptic scale. Amongst my minions I have some very promising creatures, but they train mainly on simulations and, you know, even the best of these can't compare with the real thing. They need to get up to their armpits in some wet work. They need this."

Santa remained silent.

"And to be blunt," the Count concluded, "Australia has had this coming for a long time."

"Yes, I've read the file," Santa responded, making a huge effort to focus on the grim task at hand:

"Racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, climate change denial, Islamophobia, genocide, problem gamblers, economic rationalism, political incorrectness, capitalism, hate speech, hate media, destruction of old-growth forests, inadequate support for the arts, too much money for independent schools, Qantas, bogans, and so on … I've read the file, it's all there."

He hesitated. "But is it proportionate? To unleash the Wrath? I mean it's not Nazi Germany!"

Odious stiffened: "Isn't it? Many prominent people, influential people, opinion-makers, disagree with you. They're quite certain that Australia is the most appalling place!" He paused: "I mean it was these people who insisted on the review that led to this decision. They're adamant that Australia must feel the Wrath."

Santa was nonplussed: "You mean, they invited it upon themselves?"

"Yes, well no, not the ordinary folk, of course. But these prominent people did, although the more important of them will be out of the country when it happens, in Geneva, I believe, attending some UN conferences."

"But," Santa persisted, "surely many of these issues are not cut-and-dried, they have two sides. Isn't it a lot to do with freedom, divergent values, the desire to build a better life - democracy?" He stopped, noticing the sneer on the Count's face and sensing that he was sounding weak.

"It's just," Santa sighed, "it's just that … is it really evil on such a scale to justify … this?" and he gestured at the plan Odious had placed on the desk.

Santa already knew the broad outlines of what was proposed. It was to be an exemplary punishment - on a continental scale. Gigantic swaths of human settlement would be subjected to the Wrath, especially the suburbs: from Pakenham to Melton; from Frankston to Whittlesea; from Wollongong to Newcastle; from Manly to Katoomba; from the Gold Coast to Noosa; and from Brisbane to Ipswich. The entirety of Western Australia would be severely chastised, along with all the regions and the coastal towns. Canberra and Tasmania would be spared.

He knew what to expect. Things were to be done that the world had not witnessed for centuries, even millennia - horrific acts that lurked in the collective memory of humankind as the grimmest of dark myths. Vast forces were to be unleashed that would leave a traumatic scar across the Australian psyche that might never fade. There would be no mercy. No salvation. No deliverance. Only relentless retribution.

The Count recognized the signs of strain on Santa's face. "I understand Claus, you're used to giving away rewards, and these new arrangements that make you also responsible for punishments must seem strange." The Count almost felt pity for his new colleague. "And, of course, it was all a lot less complicated when we had Satan to look after all these … unpleasantries, but he's moved on."

"There's been regime change," he continued. "Jehovah's out; Gaia's in, and these people must learn to obey."

Odious opened the plan to the first page and pushed it towards Santa. There was silence and the chill deepened.

"Yes, you're right, of course," Santa yielded, his shoulders sagging inside his red suit. The Global Financial Crisis was rapidly eroding his superannuation and early retirement was no longer an option. Pulling himself together, he picked up the plan.

Outside, the world was suddenly transformed. The Panopticon hovered no longer over Artic wastes, but over the lands of a sunburnt country, her sweeping plains and ragged mountain ranges stretching to the far horizon. Her great cities hugging her jewel-sea, her people bustling about, oblivious to the final judgments being made about their lives.

Somewhere above them vast engines of destruction rumbled into action. Christmas would be different this year.

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About the Author

Mervyn Bendle is a senior lecturer in history and communication at James Cook University in Townsville.

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