A Midsummer Santa

I have a great deal to say about luxury.

The one who first taught it to me was the Old Man. It was his hobby—a deliberate habit of wasting money. Hee-ju said that was the most traditional form of luxury there is.

For someone like me, who will not waste money no matter what happens, luxury means wasting time.

The feeling of carelessly using up something you have always been careful to save.

The only time a postman's life leaves over is the wait at headquarters until the next assignment comes down. In truth, that interval is given so you can heal your injuries and secure supplies. Spend it carefully, though, and you can set aside a little to waste.

The way I waste time is by finding cracks in the everyday.

Nothing grand. I just go looking for things I have never experienced. Newness has a meaning all its own, and the method is simple: walk the buildings of the complex, one after another. Roam places you would never otherwise have reason to visit, and now and then you find something you had not seen.

They say people in the old era set out on journeys for exactly that kind of experience. What I was about to do was not so different. I had merely chosen a safe destination.

Well then. Let's go traveling.

Sometimes you go out looking for prey and end up the prey yourself. A higher predator, stalking the one that hunts. Today was like that.

"You there!"

"Hm?"

"Yeah, you! Get over here a second!"

A slender man, calling to me from a narrow alley on the outskirts of the complex.

"And why should I come just because you say so?"

"Whoa. Attitude."

I meant to ignore him and keep walking.

"Help me!"

He had a gift for making me want to ignore him even more.

"Hey! I said help me—where are you going! Hey, Attitude!"

Then, belatedly, he chanted the magic words.

"Five rounds of ammo!"

"What's this about?"

"Really simple."

I stepped into the alley and found a small side door. A warehouse he seemed to be in charge of.

"Facilities Management?"

"The pay's enough to make you cry. You?"

"Postman."

"Want me to cry with you?"

"Get lost."

The warehouse was state property, of course. The first things to catch my eye were a sled sunk under dust, a Santa suit, and a reindeer mascot costume. More odds and ends sat behind them, but the dust lay so thick they were hard to make out.

"You happen to know what this is?"

"Gear from a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Christmas event."

"Oh? How'd you know?"

"I saw it myself."

The end of the year, nine years back. Most people didn't even know what Christmas was. I hadn't either. Headquarters justified the whole thing with a speech about commending everyone for their hard work over the past year, and so on. Welfare, or whatever they were calling it.

"You remember what it was about?"

I'd been an active hunter then, which was how I'd landed a good seat. I watched with my colleagues, and what they said is still vivid. No need to recite all of it. In the end they all said the same thing.

"If they've got money for that, they could've issued us one more consumable."

Why waste money on something useless. Fools with no sense of what luxury is worth. And it had been one of the best experiences I'd ever had at headquarters.

"You're asking if I remember the event?"

Like it was yesterday.

Santa wears a thick suit, red with white accents. The colors are the exact reverse of a postman's uniform. The only thing worth noting is the belly—evidence of a man who eats well. Beyond that, nothing much. There is a sled, and reindeer to pull it. Presents too, supposedly, inside the sled, but there is no world in which gifts for every child alive would fit on one small sled. The reindeer are only there for the atmosphere. The sled, most likely, flew on its own. Not the sled from the event. The one in the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠myth. Flying reindeer are nonsense. It was an age that launched every machine it had into the sky, so the sensible reading is that flight belonged to the sled itself.

"I remember all of it."

"Oh... You really did see it? You've been at headquarters longer than I thought. You look young."

"How old are you?"

"Me? Twenty-seven."

"I'm older."

"Want me to call you big bro?"

"Please get lost."

"Big bro's temper is no joke."

"Just call me Postman."

Anyway, I'd assumed everything from the event had been scrapped. Instead it had been shoved into a place like this.

"I picked the right guy! Grabbed you at random, and you actually remember Christmas!"

"So when do I get the five rounds?"

"Help me and I'll hand them over right now!"

"I take payment up front."

"Come on."

"Then goodbye."

"Two up front!"

"Three."

"Two!"

"Then I'm not—"

"Three. Fine, three."

I was in the middle of wasting time, but it wasn't as if I was going to turn down ammunition. Hear him out. If it was nothing, ignore him.

"What do I have to do?"

"Get this. They say the warehouse is out of space, so they're disposing of all this as waste. Does that make any sense?"

"Why wouldn't it."

"This beautiful stuff, waste! Does that make sense to you?"

"So what are you going to do about it."

"Well... it's an order, so I suppose it does have to be scrapped."

And?

"But even if we scrap it! I want to see it one last time! Christmas!"

Strange one.

"Santa on a sled or not, Christmas comes at the end of the year. It's midsummer."

"If this sled moves, that's Christmas!"

"Just say you want to see the show—"

"I want! To see! Christmas!"

Was this guy the same type as me?

The subway, then airplanes, and now Christmas.

But something was subtly off. The air around him was nothing like Tofu's. There was no scent to the way he talked about Christmas. Someone lost alone in a perfectly useless obsession ought to give off that smell. He didn't. I catch it better than Clock-out Man does, too.

Anyway, I understood what he was asking.

"So you need someone to play Santa? If you were about to tell me to put on that reindeer suit and pull the sled, you'd better be ready."

"Uh... is that a no?"

"Try me."

"But look, your body's not a Santa body. You're in too good shape. Santa needs a little fat on him, or he doesn't taste right."

"That's disgusting."

"What? Anyway, your gut's sucked flat. You're not Santa at all."

"But I am a reindeer?"

"Once the mascot suit's on, everybody looks the same. Pulling a sled takes strength, and you've got the body for it. I thought you were perfect!"

Not that the warehouse keeper looked any more like Santa. If anything, less. He was slender, the way I'd been as a boy.

"I've got to cast a Santa too, and that's the bigger problem. Where am I supposed to find some lucky bastard with a gut?"

I had the uneasy sense that the problem didn't stop there. There were two reindeer suits. There had been two reindeer at the event as well. For accuracy's sake, only one of them had a red nose.

"There are two suits."

"Ah, I need one more strong person. Two reindeer, one Santa. That's what it takes."

"...You think you'll find three people willing to help with garbage like this?"

I was only hearing him out because it was me. And I had no intention of wearing that suit either.

"Heh."

The warehouse keeper put on a face I suddenly wanted to punch.

"Time to hear the real plan?"

Once I heard the warehouse keeper's plan, it was clear this hadn't come from any pure love of Christmas. It was a kind of moneymaking. So there had been a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠reason that smell was missing.

Maybe that's for the best.

Partnering with a practical man is easy. The arithmetic is clean. Good for a light bit of playing along.

"Well? Now that you've heard it! The plan of yours truly!"

While the Christmas show played in the plaza, he meant to set a collection box out front and take money. Voluntary admission. Ammunition, medicine, that sort of thing. By his account it was absolutely not begging, and this was—if you could believe it—an official event with state approval.

"No matter how I look at it, it's begging."

"Ah-ah! Look carefully."

What he held out was a performance permit issued by Administrative Headquarters. So this was actually real.

"They approved this?"

"I suggested we might as well use it once before it gets scrapped. It was an event the state prepared with real ambition, once upon a time. You could say Administrative Headquarters saw meaning in carrying on the spirit of those days."

"According to the permit, Administrative Headquarters takes a set cut of the revenue."

"While we're at it!"

"Hm."

The last performance I'd seen inside the complex had been that Christmas event. If anything, shows like it are more common out in the world beyond. Just the other day, the bastards at the Human Meat Factory had even gotten a free performance out of me.

There might be more people watching with interest than you'd think.

It did feel, more or less, like a crack in the everyday.

"For a job like this, five rounds isn't enough."

"Huh? I'd say even this is a lot. Honestly, how much admission is anyone going to pay to watch? Two reindeer, one Santa, five rounds apiece. That's half a magazine gone for me! And I have to cut Administrative Headquarters in on top of it—"

"I'll take a set percentage of the revenue."

"What?"

Administrative Headquarters' share, as written on the permit, was thirty percent of the take.

"I'll take thirty percent too."

"Are you robbing me!?"

"In exchange, what if I bring you one reindeer and the Santa?"

"Oh...?"

The permit also listed a start time, and there wasn't much of it left. Actors had been lined up in advance, the warehouse keeper explained, and every one of them had quit at the last minute. He'd have no choice but to take my offer. If I walked, he was back to finding three people from scratch. Accept, and that worry was over.

"Well?"

"...You really can bring them?"

"Obviously."

I couldn't actually promise it. I'd talk big now and think about the rest if it fell apart.

"Thirty percent of the revenue might come to less than five rounds, you know. Admission's voluntary."

"Then you're the one who comes out ahead."

"No changing your story later?"

"You worry too much."

A Santa and a reindeer. I knew the right actors.

I put in a radio call, and as it happened this gentleman was on break as well.

"Kid, long time no see!"

The Physiognomist.

"You calling to get the radio back? I've been having a pretty good time with it!"

The Physiognomist, who'd served as a temporary colleague. He'd pulled his weight a few times along the way. In truth I'd simply stayed off the channel; he and Boss had traded plenty of calls. The Physiognomist said he was bored, and judging by how readily Boss played along, Boss had been just as bored. Kkamagwi, though, didn't answer even when called.

"Hold on to it for now."

It had turned out more useful than I'd expected.

"Oh? Then what's the occasion?"

"Do you happen to know Santa?"

"Hm? You want to go hiking?"

A drinker's belly. Made for Santa.

"Your network among postmen is pretty wide, isn't it?"

"Ha-ha! Take that away and I'm a corpse. Ah, don't get the wrong idea! I'm not saying I'm a corpse!"

Useful in so many ways.

"Could you track down one postman for me?"

He wasn't a postman the Physiognomist knew firsthand, but by asking through a colleague of a colleague, they found him quickly.

"A reindeer... what is that, sir?"

"What else. You."

When the job called for a body, it was Hocheol. By luck, he was on break at just the right time too.

"You're saying if I only put this on, it's really five rounds, sir?"

"The warehouse keeper will give you three up front. What do you say?"

"Looks doable, sir!"

A mascot suit that covered the whole body. Moving in it wasn't all that uncomfortable, either. You only had to stand upright and walk on two legs. The person filled it from the front legs up to the reindeer's head; from the torso back through the hind legs, it was an actual doll. A reindeer that walked on its front legs while the back ones dragged. The suspiciously long neck came free of charge.

"You'll have to put some strength into it, though. You've got to pull the sled."

The sled did have wheels, hard to see. Between its own weight and the Santa riding on it, the job still wasn't light. Once the wheels got rolling, the acceleration would make it easier to haul. The problem was that this was no sled race. You had to manage the speed, stop and start, and move slowly, and that took real strength.

"Nothing to worry about, sir!"

"You've got strength to spare."

I was the one who needed worrying about.

"Well, damn. You really cast them that fast?"

The Physiognomist and Hocheol, each handed three rounds on the spot.

"This gentleman really looks like Santa, doesn't he?"

"I'm asking you what that even is."

"He doesn't know what Santa is."

"Huh? He can't go in not knowing!"

"So I gave him the general idea."

I'd passed along the minimum he needed.

"I heard he's an old man in a red suit who hands out presents to good children. And if you cry, he beats you. But how am I already a grandfather at my age!"

Then came a problem I hadn't expected.

"This won't do! You want me to wear this? In this heat? I run hot as it is—this is too much!"

The reindeer suit had some thickness to it, but nothing like the Santa suit. Thick enough that wearing it in midsummer was a fine way to collapse.

"Elder, the red suit is Santa's symbol. You have to wear it."

"Who are you calling elder! Agh, I'm not doing it!"

"Aack! I'll give you more ammo...!"

"Still too much! I have to perform in this, you said? How am I supposed to stay cheerful while I'm pouring sweat! Get me a thin Santa suit!"

No such thing existed. Looked like I'd have to step in.

"Might be better to just wear summer clothes outright."

"That doesn't make any sense! You said you remembered the event properly!"

"Of course I remember. That was a winter event. In this weather, putting on a thick suit and pretending it's winter won't feel real to anyone."

"You think so..."

So long as we had the rough shape of the thing.

"Got any red clothes?"

"Never been too fond of red, is the thing."

"Hocheol? The warehouse keeper?"

"None, sir."

"I don't grow red clothes."

Neither did I.

"Ah, I've got it! Kid, you wait right here!"

"You've got some?"

"A summer feel is fine, right? I'll bring it, so wait!"

"Elder! You've got ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to hurry! We have to start soon, sir!"

A complex-wide announcement, then. Teacher Myeong and Min Yeo-jin would have heard it too. Surely those busy people wouldn't come watch.

I should start getting ready.

I'd begun pulling the mascot suit on, piece by piece, when—

"Not that one. You two, switch suits."

The red-nosed costume Hocheol had been putting on ended up on me.

"That's Rudolph. You know what that is, right?"

"Tch."

I'd known, which was why I hadn't wanted it. Rudolph had lines.

The Physiognomist didn't appear with the new Santa suit until right before the show was due to start. And then—

"How is this a Santa suit! Aack, it's all ruined!"

The warehouse keeper could wail all he liked. The Physiognomist was perfectly calm.

"I'm telling you, nobody's going to care anyway. Why are you like this? I only found out what Santa was today myself, ha-ha!"

He thrust his belly out with confidence, baring his upper body as if to boast that his physique was the true credential for Santa. His lower half was covered by one extremely short pair of bottoms.

"How about it, kid. Don't I look nice and cool? Santa in a swimsuit!"

If he had actually brought a swimsuit, the way he claimed, we could have bluffed it as a Santa adapted for summer.

"What you brought is called trunk underwear."

"Eh? This is underwear?"

"It looks exactly like what I wear, sir. Shall I show you?"

They went back and forth, but there was no helping it now.

"Um... Mr. Postman? How about we give up on the red suit and you just wear some normal clothes, properly?"

"Eh? A minute ago you said I didn't look like Santa."

"You don't look like Santa now, either, so..."

"Forget it! I don't like that! The red suit's the symbol, isn't it? If we're doing this, we do it right!"

"Haa. It's ruined..."

Ruined or not—

It was time.