The Brothers Kringle

Wood floors. Wood walls. Wood ceiling. And a giant wood desk. The older man sat in a study that would be the dream of any termite.  He quietly wrote into a leather black book with a fairly expensive ink pen. No computers. No sign of any other type of technology.  The room was strictly old school.  It looked more like 1890 than it did 2011.

A rustle from the other room gave way to a loud crash. The man at the desk didn’t even flinch. As he continued to write he said,  “You’re late.”

A man in a red fur-lined coat walked into the room, brushing ashes off of his arms. “You’d think you’d leave the front door unlocked.”

“You’re the magic one in the family.”

“Ho, ho, ho.” Santa looked at his brother and just shook his head.  “Do I detect bitterness my little brother?  Just because everyone thinks you live at the South Pole and come and steal kids’ toys?”

“I can’t tell you how much I despise that.”  Santa’s brother Craig Kringle waved his hand over the table. A chess set magically appeared. “Just because you were the first born you got to take over the family business — as Ben Folds sang, ‘You got the keys and I got Jackson Cannery.’ It’s not fair.”

Santa ignored his brother’s remark. “Sorry I’m late, btw. Rough night. Lots of kids just weren’t asleep this year. And then I got shot at over Iran.” He took off his jacket and slung it over a chair. He grabbed a chair and sat down on the other side of the big oak table his brother was sitting at.  He reached toward the chess set and picked up a piece.

Santa moved his first pawn. The chess game had begun.

“Business is up 34% this year thanks to the bailout. God bless the Federal Reserve. Yup, my bonus was off the charts.”  Craig Kringle ran a huge and highly profitable hedge fund.  He chuckled as he moved his first pawn.

The two brothers had been competitors since they were young boys.  Their father had died 100 years ago and that launched a huge fight.  Kris legally outmaneuvered his brother and took over the family empire.  Their whole life had been a chess match.

“How is Kris Jr. handling more responsibility?”

“He won’t need a bailout, if that’s what you mean.”  Kris enjoyed taking every shot he could at his brother.  He made his next move.

“You know you look childish running around with elves and giving away toys.” Craig made his move.

“How many people did you lay off this year?  How big was your bonus because of it.” Santa moved another piece.  Craig’s face cringed.

Craig lifted his hand and a drink floated into the room.  “Bourbon and water?”

Santa lifted his hand and a hot chocolate appeared.  “No thanks.”

Craig made a bold move. “Check.”

Santa chuckled. “Ho, ho, ho.  Always the risk taker, aren’t you little brother?” Santa quickly made a bold move of his own and took Craig’s Queen.

“Always the goody two shoes.  The world is so over you, brother.  Greed. Power. That’s what people want now. Not ‘Goodwill on Earth and Peace unto Man.’  You are going to have to realize that.  I’m winning now.  Dad messed up when he gave you everything.” Craig made another move on the chess board.

“Daddy issues again?” Santa looked his brother in the eye and waved his hand. The piece moved itself.

“No. Just reality. While you’re out there eating cookies and milk, I’m raking in big money.  Do you know how many politicians I now control? Washington might as well be called Craigville.” He moved a piece and smiled a toothy grin. “Check.”

Santa rubbed his beard and studied the board. Then a twinkle in his eye revealed his next moved — he was just glad they weren’t playing poker.

“Little brother, good and evil have battled since Cain and Able. You and I are no different.  You might think you have the upper hand, but people still believe in me. They believe in good. They crave hope.  Remember the reason for the Season my little brother. Remember the baby in the manager.”

And with that, Santa moved his Queen three spaces.  “Checkmate.”

Craig Kringle waved his hand again and the chess board disappeared.  Santa stood up, finished his hot chocolate and then put on his coat. “Same time next year?”

“Same time next year. You know you won’t keep getting lucky. Oh yeah, say hello to Mrs. Claus.”

“Will do. Merry Christmas, little brother.”

And with that, Santa put his finger next to his nose and disappeared up the chimney.