Merry Christmas

"My wish has come true at last. I can die without regret. Little brother... live well enough for the both of us..."

The plaza went solemn in an instant. Who knew a square at high noon could fall this quiet.

"..."

Rudolph had a line around here. My mouth had frozen shut. The scene had lurched off its tracks, so I couldn't deliver what I'd prepared — but that wasn't the whole of it.

This stage isn't a place an amateur like me can step into.

Only the god of acting belonged up there.

Every face in the crowd wore the same expression. Mouths smiling. Eyes crying. Only the Administrative Headquarters staff in one corner, spray cans and firecrackers in hand, looked lost.

By the original script, this was the moment the brother — granted a new life — should have been singing a carol for joy, and Santa should have been riding the sleigh offstage. The staff were only holding the props meant to dress that exit. Fake snow, you could forgive. Firecrackers were another matter. They did not belong in the picture as it stood.

Santa and the brother finished their song.

"Ah... our good Seokga has left us like this."

"..."

Even the corpse acting looked first-rate now. Freshly dead.

Santa turned toward the crowd.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! No need to grieve so much. Life and death are a cycle. Reincarnation... anyway. Dry your tears, all of you. Look at the person close beside you. Love your neighbor as yourself."

That old man definitely knew something.

"Well then. I ought to give the little brother a gift."

We could have ended it there.

"Mister, just wrap it up!"

"There you are, our Rudolph."

"...?"

"If we're to grant Seokga's wish, I'll be needing you."

"What are you trying now. No — I don't care what it is. Just don't. Don't do any of it."

"O Rudolph—"

"I said don't."

"Become human!"

"What the—"

Santa yanked the costume clean off him.

"Rudolph! Tell us how it feels to be human!"

"..."

I'd been shortsighted. The casting was a complete disaster.

"Rudolph! Come on!"

What he'd peeled off was only the top half. Reindeer, from the neck up. The legs and the torso were still on me.

"Senior! You've got to take the rest off! Right now you're half man, half beast, sir!"

"..."

"Rudolph? Speak, I say!"

"Ha... let me just get this off too— aagh!"

Thud.

"Senior? This isn't a comedy, is it, sir?"

"I understand, Rudolph! Two legs must feel terribly strange. Of course you'd fall!"

"Oh, you're keeping the details accurate? As expected of you, Senior...!"

It had been a long time since I'd felt like this. Not since the old man's cabin, if I had to guess. Stripped bare.

A true crack in the everyday.

Santa's hand dragged me to center stage. On the way I stepped on the brother's hand, and he didn't so much as flinch. Corpse work so committed you could have put your nose to him and sworn you smelled rot.

"Now then! Our Rudolph will—"

From there, the memory goes thin. A few scraps, nothing more — the sense that I'd matched Santa's rhythm, and that was all. The show tore past in a blur. What I do remember is catching familiar faces in the crowd, here and there, for a second at a time. I'd have been better off remembering none of it.

A firecracker burst. Snow came down.

"Ho! Ho! Ho! Merry Christmas!"

"Senior! Merry Christmas, sir!"

While Hocheol hauled the sleigh off alone into the back alley, the burnt-powder reek of the firecrackers wound around my whole body. It felt as if winter had arrived.

Left on the stage: a corpse in the middle of a masterful performance, and a Rudolph who had become a man.

"Hey, Rudolph! What are you doing!"

A staffer, spraying snow and shouting.

"The carol! The carol!"

The show was supposed to end with the brother singing. Raising a corpse might have been too much to ask.

I glanced at the corpse's hand. It was giving me a light little wave. Everything had been left to me, and every eye in the crowd had gathered there with it.

My memory grew fainter still.

The firecrackers stopped. The snow kept falling.

Only after it was over did I check. The collection bins were buried under offerings until you could hardly see them. All six of the bins that had been set out.

"Rudolph! Thank you, really!"

The brother had gone back to being a warehouse keeper.

"What did you coach Santa? That was unbelievable!"

Come to think of it, where had everyone gone?

"Santa and the reindeer?"

"Ah, they took off. Said they had to get ready to head out on a mission."

So the physiognomist had made that whole mess and simply left. I'd have to hit him on the radio before long.

"You paid them what we promised?"

A mess was a mess, and a promise was a promise. I hated to admit it, but on that stage the physiognomist had been excellent. Hocheol must have nearly broken his teeth, dragging the sleigh off by himself at the end.

"Of course! Five percent each."

"Huh? Not five percent. Five rounds. Five rounds of ammunition."

"The gate receipts were enormous. Promise or not, sending them off with five rounds would have been shameless. Five percent came out to about twenty rounds apiece. They walked away with that."

So the money had been a feint. From the start, what the warehouse keeper had wanted was the acting. Not that he had no greed for cash — but he could share it, was that the idea.

"Spare me the nice-guy act."

"What, you can call it a Christmas present."

"It isn't Christmas."

"Oh, by the way!"

"Mm?"

"Your acting was incredible. You should have played the brother, not Rudolph."

...Was he mocking me? How ridiculous had I been up there? If I couldn't remember, it must have been seriously bad. They say people have a talent for erasing their own painful ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠memories.

"Your acting was the incredible one."

"Oh, a master's recognition is always welcome! An honor!"

"Master, my ass."

"Eh?"

"Don't you dare mock—"

Thud.

Staff from Administrative Headquarters came over and set a sack down beside me.

"Six standard-issue rifle magazines, every one packed with military rounds. Your share, Postman."

A windfall.

"Any thought of doing it again?"

Mm? He meant that performance just now?

"We've decided not to scrap the props. Seemed like it might be all right to do it every year."

They'd tasted money and lost their heads. Ignore him.

"Not interested."

"We can take good care of the pay, too. I'm thinking of proposing we revive cultural welfare."

"The pay only comes through if the proposal gets accepted, doesn't it?"

"Well, yes. But even if it doesn't, if the box office is as good as today—"

Naive.

"That was a stage going up for the first time in nine years. That's why. Do it often and people get used to it. You won't see receipts like these. One more time and it'll already be over."

"Hmm... could be. But we've got talented actors, so I think there's still a chance."

"Then go talk to the talented actors."

"That's what I'm doing right now."

Everyone was itching to make a joke of me. I didn't even want to know how hard they'd laughed.

"The middle-aged postman and the warehouse manager were tremendous, but the lead really ought to be you."

"Planning a comedy next time?"

"Hadn't thought of that. Confident there ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠too, are you? Whatever you want is fine by me."

I wanted to tell him to get lost. I didn't. This wasn't a moment I could afford to stand tall. Tch. Never doing this crap again.

"Woo Jungkook!"

Teacher Myeong.

Out of the blurred memory, one face came back sharp.

"Woo Jungkook! Woo Jungkook!"

It gave me the creeps.

"You've got the wrong person."

"Ah? Oh, right. I mistook you. Sorry."

"Yes, well then, goodbye—"

"It's Rudolph, isn't it? Sorry for getting the name wrong."

"Get lost."

Since I wouldn't play along, the headquarters staff latched onto the warehouse keeper instead. Looked like they were making him an offer much like mine. He'd said he wanted to be an actor. Wish granted.

"Mr. Rudolph? When did you start practicing your acting?"

"From the moment you get lost."

"Heh."

"What's so funny?"

"The acting was good. You sing well, too."

"What exactly did I even— no."

"Hm?"

"Just don't say anything."

"Heh..."

Before he left with the staff, the warehouse keeper came up to me one last time.

"You said you wouldn't do it, right?"

"Obviously."

"Well, for someone of your caliber, it's too small a stage."

"If you're going to keep talking nonsense—"

"Still, if you ever change your mind, say the word! Merry Christmas!"

With that he went off to Administrative Headquarters with the staff. I heard later that it was his last time clocking out as a warehouse keeper.

"Hehe. See you later, then."

"You're still here? Get lost ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before all your patients drop dead."

"Hehe."

"That smile is genuinely ugly."

"Pfft. What a jerk. Merry Christmas, then!"

She bounced off, delighted with herself. Trip. Fall. Do it. Still, Teacher Myeong was fine. She'd already seen me in every pathetic state—

"Oh, Mr. Jungkook?"

"Great show, Mr. Jungkook!"

"Impressive. I've revised my opinion of you."

The three Jo siblings.

"You've got the wrong person."

"You're a person now, though, right?"

"I was always a person."

"No way. I saw what I saw."

Did I really have ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to go out on a mission with these people?

"I got your note. Relieved to hear you'll be looking after things."

"Thank you, Mr. Jungkook! Merry Christmas!"

"Feels like we'll be seeing each other again soon, but until then — Merry Christmas."

Merry could freeze to death.

"Do I have to give that greeting too?"

"You don't, so get on with wherever you were going."

"Is that so? What a relief. Then— ugh!"

Maybe it was the medical knowledge. Jo Shin-hye knew how to make a blow hurt without putting much strength into it.

"Merry..."

"Hurry."

"Merrchrismasbye."

And after that.

"Teacher! I was seriously moved, you know? Suhyeon's my witness. I was crying my eyes out — you saw, you saw, right?"

"...Yes."

"Hm? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Anyway, it's training time, so — Teacher! Merry Christmas!"

"..."

"You too, hurry up!"

"...Mr. Postman. Merry Christmas."

And after that, too.

"Enjoyed the show. This is my family. My wife, and my daughter—"

Bae Guk-jang and his family, their faces strangely dark.

"Thought I'd clear my head, with something important coming up... Well, it wasn't bad. You sing well, Jungkook. By the way, there's something I'd like to discuss with you later, just the two of us — my family... Mm. We'll talk about that another time. Is this when one says Merry Christmas? I'll see you later, then."

And last came faces I hadn't expected. I couldn't have named them one by one, but I knew the faces.

"Well. Didn't think I'd be seeing you in a place like this."

"Not bad. Is there anything you can't do?"

"That was fun!"

The Waste Disposal Squad.

"You all on break too?"

"No, we were on standby. Didn't you know? That sleigh and those costumes were all slated for disposal."

Ah. Right.

"But suddenly they're not scrapping them? Works for us."

"Got to see the show and skip the hard labor!"

"Ah, if every day could be today~"

"So this is what they call Christmas?"

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Postman."

That didn't mean there was no waste at all.

"What's in there?"

"Ah. Spent firecrackers."

The snow from the spray cans had melted away long ago. I'd wondered if the firecrackers had melted too. No — they'd just cleaned up fast.

"How do you throw these out? Some special handling?"

"Nah. Just the trash."

"Hm."

The smell of burnt powder crept into my nose.

"Want me to toss them?"

"Huh?"

"You said you just throw them out."

"Well, yeah, but..."

"You were glad to have nothing to do. Leave these too and you won't have any work at all."

Only then did they grin.

"Whoa. You're really just helping?"

"Feeling bad about what happened underground? It's fine. We've forgotten all of it!"

"From the outside, it could look that way."

"There's a coworker who got treated and lived because of you. Not that... you've probably never gotten a thank-you for it."

And that was how the trash ended up in my hands.

I tried to enter the chicken coop and got stopped at inspection.

"...Trash?"

"Check it if you want."

Nothing wrong with it. Really just trash. When they asked why I was bringing it in, I said no reason. There was no rule against hauling garbage inside, so I passed without trouble.

Chicken Coop 202, again. I dumped the firecrackers into the trash can beside the bed. The smell of burnt powder filled the room. I closed my eyes, and the cold started at my feet. Days with no way to light a fire had always been like this.

When the old man's missions ran longer than expected, the supplies would stop, and we'd be left like routed soldiers with our feet stuck fast. There was something we always did on those nights. First you worked your hands inside your clothes and warmed them as hot as they'd go. Then you took the feet beside you and kneaded them, both hands, hard. Nothing stopped you from rubbing your own feet with your own hands. No one ever did.

"Hyung... it's so cold I can't sleep."

"When the old man gets back, we'll be able to light a fire."

"No guarantee of that, though~"

"Don't listen to Hee-joo."

"Hey, why!"

In the end we hit the limit. Burning books was the only choice left. We'd obviously catch hell for it, but it beat freezing to death.

"Squirt. Merry Christmas."

"Huh?"

The first person to ever say those words to me was Hee-joo.

"This."

A line in the book she was ripping apart and feeding to the fire.

"It's a greeting you're supposed to use when it's really cold."

"What does it mean?"

"Just... something nice, I bet? Oppa, do you know?"

"Mm. It's a good meaning. Squirt. Merry Christmas."

The moment he finished, she threw the whole book in.

"Aaah!"

"What?"

"...I thought the meaning might be written somewhere in the book."

"Maybe it was."

"Then why..."

"What if we looked it up and it wasn't something nice? Me and Oppa already said it."

A thought only she would have. The book that had given us Merry Christmas charred and curled. The smell of burning caked itself thick across our faces.

"Squirt?"

"Squirt."

"Yeah?"

The two of them looked at me steadily, faces smelling of char. My turn.