He said nothing.
“No, I mean it,” I protested. “And it’s kinda fitting. After all, doesn’t legend say Santa began as Saint Nicholas?”
He said nothing.
My skin tingled. My pulse raced. “No… Now hold on a minute.”
He said nothing.
Oh. My. God.
“If my phone worked in this realm, you’d better believe I’d be on it right now, Googling when Saint Nicholas was around. So why don’t you just put me out of my misery and tell me?”
He shrugged. “About the third century A.D.”
I was lying naked with an impossibly old man, who looked my age.
“The legends are true?”
He nodded. “I became Santa Claus somewhere between 1773 and 1774. Some Dutch families in New York decided to get together to honor the anniversary of my death. Then, of course, I wasSinterklaas. It was an abbreviated version ofSint Nikolaas, which was the Dutch for Saint Nicholas.” He sat up, and I joined him. Santa—Nicholas—stared into the fire. “The legends are true. And my appearance in those legends has changed many, many times. Did you know, for example that before 1931, I was depicted as a tall, gaunt man? Then there was the time someone drew me as this spooky-looking elf.” He bit his lip. “In fact, during the Civil War, I was supposedly an elf who supported the Union.”
The Civil War… I couldn’t get my head around the dates.
“The tan coat gave way to the red coat. And somewhere in 1820, Americans started the tradition of Christmas shopping, and I got incorporated into that. Then someone wrote that poem,The Night Before Christmas.” He grimaced. “And suddenly I was the chubby guy with a belly that shook when I laughed. I mean,really?”
“And it wasn’t as if you could set people straight, right?”
“Exactly! They put up a life-size Santa model in Philadelphia in 1841. Nothinglikeme.”
My head was still spinning. “The anniversary of your death?”
“December 6.”
“What year?”
His gaze met mine. “343. Of course, I didn’t really die.”
“But… Saint Nicholas was a real person. People saw you. Peopleknewyou.”
He nodded.
“Then you weren’t just… created. Was that a lie?”
“No, just another secret I wasn’t sure how to share. Someone took a human being who liked to give gifts, to be kind and helpful to others, and made him immortal.”
“Did this someone give you achoice?” I demanded.
“Not exactly. I was ill, you see, on the point of death, and the next thing I knew…” Another shrug. “It took a while to adjust.”
A wave of sorrow crashed over me. “I am so, so sorry.”
He frowned. “For what?”
“You’ve been all alone, all that time. I’m amazed it didn’t drive you crazy.”
He got up off the couch and went to add another log to the fire. “At first, I thought my solitude was the price I paid for immortality. Maybe whoever created me didn’t think I needed a partner. Maybe they felt I didn’t need the distraction. It took until 1849 for Mrs. Claus to make an appearance, in a short story by a Christian missionary.” He turned his head, and I was relieved to see his smile. “I have to be honest, I laughed when I saw that.”
“When did you know? That you were gay, I mean.”