September 1997
"Once upon a time, in a land in the far North, there lived a young man. His name was Nicholas, and he was the King of that land. Nicholas lived in a great stone castle, with his young wife, and a court of nobles and advisors.
One Autumn day Nicholas awoke very early and saw, through the lead glass of his bedchamber's window, that the morning was as clear and cold as ice. He rose from the bed, being careful not to disturb his wife, and crossed the room to the window. As he stood there looking out, with a warm fur wrapped about him, he felt a deep sense of wellbeing: he was young, the harvest had been rich that year, the kingdom was at peace with its neighbours, and he had married a fine wife. He was suddenly seized with the thought that such a day was too fine to waste on matters of state and so, with a sense of freedom he had not felt for years, he went softly down to the stable for his horse. As Nicholas walked his mount across the courtyard, both of them shivering in the early daylight, he was hailed by one of the castle's watchmen. Nicholas told him he was going for a ride in the forests round the castle, then bid him open the gate.
The light in the forest grew golden as the sun rose higher, though the air retained its icy edge. After he had been trekking for a time, the King found himself in a part of the woods he did not recognise. The area was more verdant than the season should have allowed, and the King noticed many more animals and birds than usual. The King rode on, happy to have discovered this pocket of Summer.
When the sun shone just above the treetops, indicating noon, the King looked about and looked for a place to stop and rest for a while. He saw a glade among the trees nearby. He entered, and found it to be sheltered from the cold. Grass grew on the floor of the clearing, and at its centre was a small pool and a spring bubbling up within it. The King tethered his horse by the pool, then he sat down to eat. The glade was surprisingly warm, so that after he had eaten, and drank at the spring, the King lay himself down to sleep for a short while. As he dozed, the King found himself musing on his current happy state. An image appeared to him suddenly: his father at the hunt, joking with his counsellors. Then he recalled his father's death three years ago, and his Summer mind was turned to dark, Wintry thoughts, until he wished his father were alive again, and that they both should live forever.
He awoke with a start at an unfamiliar sound: footsteps. A tiny man, no more than three feet tall, was crossing the glade towards him. The man was dressed all in brown, and his brown coat rustled like fallen leaves. The King rose to his feet and hailed the little man.
"Welcome," replied the man. He stopped a few feet in front of the King and bowed briefly.
"Who are you?" said the King, "And what do you want?"
"You should know better than to ask me for my name, little King. But I've come from our own court, and I've brought you a gift." The man's cloak rustled as he reached inside it. He drew out a small apple and offered it to the King.
"An apple? What would I want with that, when the storerooms of my castle groan with barrels of them?" said the King. The little man made the King nervous, for he was sure he must be a goblin of some kind.
The man tutted to himself at this, then said: "What do you think? This is the apple of immortality I'm offering. This is what you wanted, is it not?"
The King thought hard at this, for he knew the goblin men were devious and could demand impossible payments from those who accepted their hospitality rashly. But the King was also young, and thought the prospect of living forever to be worth gambling for.
"What do you want in return?" he asked. The little man laughed hard at this and pressed the apple onto him, saying: "Don't worry, Nicholas, it's a free gift. If you ever find that it's not to your liking then you can give it to someone else. But it'll be the last thing you'll ever give away, surely."
Then the King laughed too, and took the apple and bit into it, thinking how clever he had been to outwit the goblin folk. He looked down to thank the little man - but he had disappeared, and there was just an oak twig on the ground where he had been. The King pinned the twig to his cloak, then he set off into the forest in what he took to be the direction of home.
Somehow the little man's glade seemed to be very close to a part of the forest that the King knew to be near his castle, and so by dusk he rode through the gates once again, with an oak twig and an apple core as proof of his adventure. Over dinner the King recounted his tale, and produced the twig and the core. At first his counsellors laughed politely at what they took to be a joke, until they saw the King's face. Then they ceased to laugh, and began to ask many questions. Some recounted tales of the malice of goblins, until at last the King grew angry with them all and sent them away. The King sat in the lengthening darkness for much of the night, and not even the Queen dared to disturb his mood.
But the night passed, and the years passed, and the King aged as any ordinary man. The counsellors forgot about the story as the King grew older, and the King himself wondered if he had not dreamed up the little man - though he kept the oak twig. But as the King entered his middle years he found that he still had the vigour of a young man, and that he declined not at all as his fiftieth birthday approached. It was also at this time that the King noticed that his son, now a man in his twenties, had begun to look at him with an air of impatience. The King recalled his own youthful envy of the throne, and understood that even in his own home his welcome was not indefinite.
The King's wife died in the following Winter, and after a period of mourning the King saw that he must now act. He announced his intention to retire to a life of study and solitude in his remaining years, and that his son was to rule after him. He ensured that his son was secure upon the throne, then Nicholas left the castle for a remote tower, taking with him gold and many books.
Nicholas lived here for many years, learning a great deal and waiting for his name to be generally forgotten. He noticed that he had ceased to age, so that his appearance remained that of a man of some fifty years.
So after the tower and the books Nicholas lived in cities, or travelled in foreign lands, or lived apart from others, as the mood took him. As time went by he became very wealthy, with several houses, and caches of money in many secret places; for his neverending life meant that he must always be careful of staying too long in any one place, or letting too many people know him, lest his many constructed backgrounds and histories trip him up.
After many years, however, Nicholas found himself sitting alone in his rich house one dark Winter evening. The fire burned redly in the grate, and the room was full of fine ornaments. In the flickering light, Nicholas finally understood that he had been tricked. His future would be his past: he would move from place to place, and live in as much comfort as he desired, but he would always be isolated from his fellows - that or suffer as each new friend died, and know that the next was also mortal. He saw that he had been offered fairy gold, and that out of greed he had taken it. He wept, and cursed what he has become, then he fetched the oak twig from its strong box and cast it into the fire. Feeling weak, he sat down in his fine, stuffed chair and held his head in his hands.
A familiar voice startled him back to life. He looked up to see the little man in the chair across the fire from him.
"So you've tired of our gift, have you, Nicholas?" he asked with a voice full of ice and mockery. "I suppose you'd like to give it away now?"
Nicholas, caught between despair of life and, suddenly, fear of death, could barely nod his acceptance.
"But did we not agree something when we gave you our gift?" asked the little man. He sprang up from the chair, coat rustling like leaves blown in a Winter sky.
"Did we not say it would be the last thing you'd give away?" The little man advanced until he was just inches from Nicholas' face. "Wasn't that the agreement?"
A new terror began to dawn in Nicholas. He looked around the room; at the furniture, the paintings, the ornaments. "What do you mean? What do you want me to give you?" he asked.
"Don't worry about it," said the little man, eyes gleaming. "We've already seen to everything. We want you to help us play a little game."
That was the start of it. They took Nicholas away to a land beyond the North Wind, and they sold off all his property, and they dug up all his gold, and they put it all in a barn the size of a house.
Then they said to him: "This is the game: we will make things for you, you can afford to pay us, and then you must give away the things we make."
At first it was just a few items: they'd take Nicholas across the North Wind and leave him by a village. He would walk in and give away the fairy toys in the marketplace. Then the goblins would carry him back again. As the years passed his fame spread, and the goblins taught him the tricks of their craft: how to pass in to a house like a wisp of smoke (he was rarely uninvited), how to travel back ways to get around more quickly.
The goblins never tired of the game: they thought of the sleigh and the suit, and if it seemed to them that the game might end too soon then they'd just stop taking Nicholas' money for a while, saying it was their pleasure to work for him. At first Nicholas hated them, and hated the work that they had put him to. But as time passed he came to find pleasure in the giving; at first simply because it made him poorer. Later he found a joy in the act itself. He even came to forgive the goblins - until now - because they were the means by which he was able to give.
But now the game really is almost over; the barn is empty and you are the last on my round this year. This is their last twist of the knife - they've told me what you want the most. It's the last thing I have to give away - and now I have to give it away. I've told you my story so you will understand, but you will still come to hate me for it. I am very old now, I just can't go on any longer."
The old man in red gets up from my chair and walks over to where I'm sitting up in bed. A tear runs down his cheek and into his white beard as he produces an apple from his sleeve and offers it to me.
"Merry Christmas," he says.
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