The Catcher in the Sky: Rudolph’s Memoirs by Holden Caulfield
If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like with all those phony reindeer sonsofbitches calling me names, and how Santa managed to even deliver toys before he had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth.
In the first place, that stuff bores me, and in the second place, Mr. and Mrs. Claus would have about two hemorrhages apiece if I told anything pretty personal about them. They can be quite touchy about things like that, especially since they’re very big deals in the toy delivery business. They really are, too. They’re nice and all — I’m not saying that — but they’re also touchy as hell. Besides, I’m not going to tell you my whole goddamn autobiography or anything.
I’ll just tell you about this madman stuff that happened to me last Christmas back when it was real foggy, remember? I guess that’s when certain people and certain reindeer finally noticed how having a very bright red nose could actually be useful. It was like they’d never even thought about being different might be a good thing. Most all of them wanted to be all just like each other. It could drive you crazy, it really could.
Oh, maybe I forgot to tell you that I was up in the North Pole, which despite everything you hear, can be a pretty crummy place. It’s crazy how cold it gets up there, cold like you wouldn’t even believe. I mean, your nose would probably be red, too if you ever had to live there, it really would.
Anyway, Santa came over to visit me. He’s a very big deal in these parts, but deep down he’s a pretty good guy if you get to know him and all. He’s got a sleigh, one of those fancy imported jobs that can do about a billion miles an hour and cost a couple of fortunes. He’s got a lot of dough, though, what with all the money he made out in Hollywood. He’s a very big deal out on the coast. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s the movies. Don’t even mention them to me. I mean, to hear him talk, you’d think he was a very big deal everywhere and I dunno, maybe he is, but still nothing annoys me more than people who are always telling you what big deals they are. I’m not even kidding.
I mean the North Pole is a pretty elite place, if you want to know the truth. You’ve probably heard about it. At least you’ve probably seen the ads, anyway. They’re always advertising in those fancy holiday catalogs. They advertise in practically all of them, always showing some very good looking hot-shot reindeer with an important old name like Donner or Blixen or Stradtlader, pulling a sleigh through the sky, like as if all you ever did in the North Pole was play polo and make toys and pull sleighs all across the damn sky. What a riot. It was like one day a year, if anything. And you were supposed to have a couple of heart attacks if you didn’t make the sleigh-pulling team, like it was practically the most important thing in the world.
Besides, a lot of reindeers I knew up there couldn’t even fly, for crissakes. Most of them are a bunch of phonies, if you want to know the truth.
Anyway, I forgot to tell you about the ads. Underneath the picture of all these very fancy and important flying reindeer pulling around this very important sleigh with fat old Santa in it, it always said something like:
‘For centuries the North Pole has been molding young reindeers into splendid, clear-thinking flying sled-pullers fully prepared for delivering toys around the world’.
Strictly for the birds. They don’t do any damn more molding at the North Pole than they do at any other pole. And as for splendid and clear-thinking, a lot of those reindeer I knew up there could be mean sonsofbitches. I mean, they would call you names and laugh at you if you were any different from the rest of them at all. Like I said, most of them were very privileged, if you know what I mean. That stuff drives me crazy, it really does. Don’t even get me started.
I guess what I was going to tell you about was how all of a sudden that Christmas Eve, when it was foggy, when fat old Santa came over to me and asked me to guide his sleigh. He said it like it was the most important thing in the world, like as if guiding a sleigh would be the kind of thing that would make you go down in history or something. As if all anyone ever dreamed of was going down in history. I mean, I’m not even sure if I wanted to go down in history. I’m really sort of shy, if you must know.
So he complimented my red nose, sort of like he’d never even seen a red nose before, going on and on talking about how bright it was sort of as he’d never even noticed. Santa talked a lot. He really did. So I pulled the sleigh and all, up in front of all the other phonies. I’m not kidding, it was pretty crazy, too. It really was.
Anyway, I don’t even know what I think about all that.
I’m sort of sorry I even told anyone about it, if you want to know the truth. About all I know is, I sort of miss everybody I told about. Even old Prancer and Vixen. Especially around the holidays. It’s crazy, it really is.
It’s sort of funny, I guess. One thing I know is don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody. Who nose, anyway?
Recent studies at the North Pole Reindeer Prep Academy have shown that clapping has a strong correlation with receiving great holiday gifts.
If you’re Lit Up with the holiday spirit, you might enjoy this tragic true story of an heroic man made of snow whose very existence included the seeds of his own demise:
