Mahika Behani
18th January, 1938
Hi Nameless!
Yes, okay. I realise you still aren’t the biggest fan of me naming you “Nameless”, but you have to admit it has a nice kind of ring to it. It’s been 24 days since yet another successful year of spreading joy. As the countdown slowly starts getting closer and closer to 0 (it’s still at 341 days, we have time), I must admit I’ve been growing a little anxious. I think Mrs Claus can sense it; it seems to be interfering with her eating habits. I did try reassuring her that everything was fine- maybe there was a malfunction with our recording device. But I can barely even convince Cupid of that, and he’d believe anything. I hinted to him that maybe Mr. Wha Hel and Ms. Hubert finally fell in love and eloped, so they forgot to defrost the scanner all the way over in the south-west section, Quadrant A 087. I even wrote a poem- “The Bowheads Finally Tie The Bow”. Yes, I think I was rather clever with that. He simply snorted and went about his work.
I mean, I’m pretty sure one of the Quadrants didn’t record or report their data. Why else would our annual count of bowheads fall by close to 3.7%? Every single year, our numbers have stayed constant, or increased. Plus, the bowheads have been the most reliable source we could ever count on (You see my pun there- the bowheads oversee the recording devices every year, they’re surprisingly good with numbers. Oh my, I’m hilarious). Unlike the minkes- those ones come and go as they please. You of all people remember the disaster that nearly occurred back in 1837 (or 1842. I don’t quite remember the exact date, my memory seems to be failing me). Never again am I leaving those god forsaken minkes in charge of anything of importance. Although now that I think about it, I do remember Mr Nar Whale telling me that the minkes claimed some of their friends just ‘disappeared’.
I’m rambling now, and I should get back to Mrs Claus. We have to go up to the Vantage Point and watch the Lights. I’m telling you Nameless, if one thing’s kept our marriage intact all these years, it’s those Lights. Bless their soul. But my point of writing this was to tell you that the numbers have faced a severe hit across all sections- belugas, walruses, narwhals; even our loyal foxes. Mrs Claus did try to hint at them being unhappy and leaving because there weren’t enough cinnamon-spiced apple bites for all of them, but I think there’s another reason. Our customer service tends to be spectacular- ask anybody around the world. Unless of course, they received coal this year. Those tend to be a miserable bunch. But so far, everything else looks more or less on track to me. I’ll head off for a romantic evening now! Until next time.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
14th March, 2009
Ahh Nameless, where do I start. My head is spinning in circles and my heart feels heavy. Is this what it’s like receiving coal on one of the most joyous days of the year? I sometimes pity those on my naughty list. Talking about coal, I do feel obliged to stop digging more up. The humpbacks who carry it from Svalbard every summer seem to be falling sick, and if my eyes aren’t failing me, I do see significantly less amounts of coal than there were before. Don’t take my word for it though. According to me, the Lights are dimming year by year, but as Mrs Claus relentlessly tells me, that’s not actually possible. However, we seem to have lost another few Quadrants. I went to check the progress on the candy canes up in Quadrants F 563 - G 601, but I couldn’t see half of them. Prancer dug his hooves and came to a pretty impressive stop, given the speed he was going at. But instead of stopping at Quadrant G 579, we were left looking at the deep blue water. Not that I have anything against the ocean, but it seems to have eaten up my land. Maybe the complaints about the water “tasting as sour as lemon drops” are true. Never trust anything that’s sour- it’s one of my life mottos.
I’ve spent the last five nights worrying about the loss of Quadrants. My beard has thinned significantly, that’s how bad the situation’s become. I’m worried we won’t be able to reach our production requirements this year. The elves have no choice but to work overtime. Time to gaze at the Lights again. Farewell!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
17th June, 2024
Nameless, you’d think that hundreds of years of legacy, of being revered and loved and believed in would count for something. It’s certainly a heady feeling. The big red hat, the giant beard, the “ho ho ho’s”. The laughter and carols and lights strung up around the tree- knowing that the celebration is for me, in some way or another. Truly, I thought it would last. Not that I was invincible, of course, but that those moments would stay- the adrenaline and the quiet. The peaceful ones, too- chocolate chip cookies in the morning (which did wonders for my diabetes- is immortality really good for anything?), the elves in the workshop, the candy canes clattering to the sound of jingling bells. But I suppose all things must come to an end. I certainly didn’t expect this, though.
Iceberg no. 3007 melted yesterday. Mr. Pollab Air lived on it- nice fellow, bit easily stressed out (I’m sure the displacement will do him wonders). Recently divorced, children with his ex-wife on the iceberg across the bay. Maybe he’ll go stay with them for a while- the whole neighbourhood will probably need earplugs. The Shoppe is nearly out, and when the inventory finally runs out, well, then we’ll have a problem. Mrs Claus and I have moved further inland, which means further away from the iceberg colonies. Communication has been hard, but I’m sure we’ll manage. Rudolph has been so tired from delivering messages that his nose has dulled to a dim light (at least that’s why he says he’s tired. I suspect a more nefarious occupation keeps him up at night, if the missing cookies are any sign).
Moving inland hasn’t been “the worst tragedy to befall us” as Mrs Claus has been harping about. I wouldn’t quite mind getting a tan myself; it’s been a while since I’ve been on vacation. Given the sweltering temperatures though, I think the tan is bound to happen sooner or later. Mrs Claus finally agrees that the Lights aren’t as radiant as they were before, but she says it’s to do with clouds covering them. In all my years, never have I seen as many clouds as there were last night up here. We almost missed the Lights. That would have been catastrophic for our marriage. Pray that we get a good glimpse of the Lights tonight, or I’m sure you’ll hear about how pretentious Mrs Claus is, or snippets of our now frequent altercations. Anyways, I better get going.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
12th November, 2061
Well, I guess this really is the end then. We’re down to just 23 Quadrants now. No Nameless, you heard that right. The hundreds of thousands all reduced to this meagre number. All my years of handwork and spreading joy. What do I do now? Mrs Claus left 341 days back. The Lights completely disappeared 89 days before that. I went back and read my previous entries to you. I feel like I didn’t take the situation seriously enough. Sure, I joked around and spent countless sleepless nights worrying, but I can’t help thinking if I could have done anything to stop it, rather than plainly observe my world come crashing down. I meant that in the most literal sense. I don’t know if this is the Universe’s way of rubbing salt in the wound, but the second I wrote that, the remnants of Quadrant C 291 slid into the darkness below. That leaves us with 22 Quadrants; and that’s being generous. Most of them have holes the size of my sleigh. Hopefully the fresh ice water helps with the acidity. I can barely dip my toe in the ocean without it curling up.
The sinking of C 291 means that Plab Bear has disappeared as well. I don’t know if you remember our dear friend Mr Pollab Bear, but Plab was his great-great-great-great-great granddaughter. She was one of the last of those friendly creatures. I let them hop on over to my Quadrants since their Icebergs sunk one by one. I would light a candle in remembrance, but the heat is unbearable as is. I’m afraid I’ve become unrecognisable now. My majestic beard has amounted to a few wispy strands of white hair. I guess it’s poetical in a sense- as my home melted one Quadrant at a time, my beard followed course. Oh how I wish I could flip a switch and everything would go back to normal.
The countdown’s changed. It’s no longer at 43 days. It’s at 430- the number of days since we crossed the point of hope. Well, I don’t know how accurate the countdown is now anyways. With the increase in the ocean levels, days have become longer as the Earth rotates slower and slower. Mrs Claus leaving signified no going back, no more second chances. It’s just Rudolph, Vixen and I. Occasionally there’s the lone bowhead flapping around in the ocean. The desperate efforts to move about and somehow find food barely classifies as swimming. I think I deserve the biggest lump of coal this year. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for not taking some sort of action. It’s not like I didn’t see the signs- they couldn’t have been clearer. Goodbye, Nameless. I’m not sure if there will be a next time.