To All A Good Night

The wind and ice tear at my beard, trying to rip at the flesh beneath. I feel no pain, have felt no pain for so long that the word has lost all meaning to me. I can hear the creak of the leather harness and the light jingle of the bells, hiding beneath the howl of the rushing wind. And I start my descent to the hot, sterile plain below.

Eduardo.

There's a piece of work that should have never seen the light of day. I remember him as a child. Even then, he left no question as to what kind of man he would become: vicious, cruel, without compassion or mercy.

Of course, I gave him very little. He always took what he wanted anyway.

But tonight is my night, as it is every year. Tonight, by the whim of fate, his little corner of the world is to be my focus, my project. While I can’t give it very much time - I’m on an extremely tight schedule- I promise myself that at least I will deal with this one, irritating matter: Eduardo.

I thirst.

A young girl named Selena had written to me with the hope and desperation peculiar to children, secure in the knowledge that the world revolves around them and yet beginning to sense that it does not. She asked nothing for herself, but begged me to find a job for her father, Angelo. Since the death of his wife this past August, he has done nothing but stare without focus at the television. Even now, he moves like a machine, tasting nothing, seeing nothing, haunted by the memory of his wife’s bullet torn body. She was an innocent caught in the crossfire of a gangland execution ordered by Eduardo, her only offence was being on the wrong street at the wrong moment. Angelo’s job as a photographer had been his passion, but he can’t focus on capturing life when his world revolves around death. Selena started doing all the cooking and cleaning, a child trying to replace an adult.

Of course, I can’t grant her wish and produce a job for Angelo, but I can go one better.

As he sleeps, I whisper to him. I whisper of love lost, of the great evils done to the innocent. I whisper of tragedy and grief, hopelessness and despair. And then I whisper of rebirth, of renewal, of hope, and of letting go. And he awakes sobbing, quietly at first and then in great shuddering cries. His voice rises in a flood of anguished grief against the injustice to his family, his plans, his life. In rushes Selena, and he clings to her like a drowning man; she strokes his hair and tells him "Please papa, it will be alright."

And it will. He needed to break down, and that is something I can help with. Now he will rebuild himself, as much for his own good as for his daughter. I wouldn't be surprised if he went back to taking photographs very soon.

Not surprised at all.

Eduardo. So much pain, so many lives touched by his fire.

I thirst. I make some more stops, saving my special project for last. There are some minor adjustments to be made first: the father who can’t keep his fists to himself, the mother who greets each day with Mezcal, the brothers who have not spoken to each other all year. I am good at breaking things down, as I've mentioned. There are few problems that cannot be solved by stripping the soul to its barest essentials. Sweet children grow up to become twisted by life, by circumstance, by the wrong word at the wrong time. In each face, no matter how lined, I can still see the child I knew, the soul peering through. I feel for them, and wish to repay them for their unwitting kindness.

But some cannot be helped.

It is time to see Eduardo. He has never been innocent, never a child. To his brothers and sisters he was a terror, to be avoided by any means possible. To his parents, he was a curse that they lived to regret. In the name of the government he had his own parents thrown in prison. His father was executed without formal charge, and his mother died soon after at the hands of her jailers. Eduardo was their oldest, their heir.

Eduardo grew wealthy from the stolen property of those who were foolish enough to have something he wanted. Friends, lovers, family; none were safe. Only those in positions above him were to encounter his subservience, but then it was only until he could find a way to usurp their position. Eduardo wanted nothing so much as absolute power, so that his darkest desires could be realized.

But, Eduardo grew too confident. He had been lax in paying tribute to his immediate superior, a brutish man named Cortez who had reached his own position through blind loyalty and raw violence. Eduardo had not only skimmed more than his fair share of the taxes, he had been making advances to Cortez’s girlfriend Elena. To seduce any man's wife is foolish, but to seduce the mistress of a sociopath is suicidal. And at this moment, Cortez is in a drunken stupor in Eduardo's living room, while his host is in the bedroom, undressing the drugged Elena.

I force open Cortez' eyes, and reach into his mind. I show him what Eduardo was about to do, what he had done, what he would do. I show him his own gutted body, and a smirking Eduardo standing above it. And I show him where the guns are kept, loaded and ready. Then I wake him from behind and disappear before he can see me.

The shots can be heard throughout the village. The screams of the mistress are quieted, and I know my work here is almost done for the night.

But I thirst.

I go to more houses, and in each living room or kitchen I leave something of value, something wanted with all the intensity only a child can possess before patience and obligation have taught their harsh lessons. And on each little neck, I leave a mark of my love. I don't take much, and the wound heals quickly.

And I live on.

Are you surprised?

\Well, why did you think Santa Claus flies at night…

…and lives forever?