[bxrrsr@gsa.pbz: Fwd: Rudolf: The True Story]

RUDOLPH'S LAST GOODNIGHT

-- by DARREN DAVIS

The anger swelling in Rudolph's heart was the most dangerous kind of anger, 
born of disappointment in people he had once looked up to,  people he 
wanted to be.  He watched the elitism and disdain that had  kept him on the 
outside turn to sycophantic appreciation.  He'd  suffered so much at their 
hands, but now that he could be of use, now  that they could use the very 
thing they had so mercilessly ridiculed,  now he could join their exclusive 
little club, their inner sanctum.  They were practically begging him.  And 
the old man, the jolly old elf,  that gin-reeking tub of guts was the worst 
of all.  The great giver,  the kind benevolent saint of charity was an 
alcoholic, adulterous lout  who, nine months out of the year was the living 
manifestation of  torpor, inert as an iceberg and twice as cold, and the 
other three  months a ruthless, fascist slave-driver with no concern for 
anything  but his inflated reputation. And what of next year?  If the 
weather  were clear would they let him ride with them?  Would they give him 
the  place of honor at the head of the team?  Somehow he doubted it.

The phone rang.  He lay motionless on the couch and let the machine get 
it.

"Rudy, buddy, howyadoin?  It's Dash.  Look, I'm having a little 
get-together.  Mostly just the guys but I think some babes may be  there.  
Stop by if you get a chance.  And hey, great work last night.  You're the 
greatest man, I mean that.  Okay, hope to see ya there.  Bye..... Did I 
say this was Dash?  Okay buddy, bye."

He didn't move, pressed into the couch beneath a blanket of hatred and 
disgust.

Dash was one of the worst offenders.  When it became obvious that Rudolph 
was going to be accepted by the team Dash, without missing a beat, had 
turned his vicious attention on another young buck with a harelip named 
Otto.  During their smoking breaks on some of the  rooftops Dash had done 
impressions of Otto that had caused both lines  to laugh so hard the big 
man had threatened to whip the whole team.  Rudolph remained facing front, 
unable to speak and hating himself for  it.  It was this same 
self-loathing that was fueling his present rage,  and the knowledge that 
he would go to the party and try to belong to  this group he was quickly 
coming to hate.

He lay on the couch and wept.

Rudolph arrived at the party high as a kite with his nose a brilliant 
red.   It was an open secret that the whole team frequently used cocaine, 
but Rudolph was new to the team and new to the drug.  They had finished 
late last night and were stopped over in Iceland for what Donner called, 
"the old man's once-a-year thing," when Vic had passed Rudolph the small 
envelope.

"There's plenty where that came from, just don't let the old man see  you 
with it."

As he was leaving for Dash's party he saw the envelope on the coffee 
table.   He picked it up and, thrusting his nose into the white powder 
inhaled the whole amount.  He had never felt so powerful, so limitless, 
so ready to take on those eight smug, self- important, glorified 
pack-mules.

Blitzen answered the door of Dash's apartment as high as Rudolph was. 

"Whoa, Rudy, turn down the beak man, you're blinding me." 

Rudolph's hoof went instinctively to his nose before he realized  Blitzen 
was making a joke.  Too often in the past he had heard the same  kind of 
joke thrown at him like a knife, looking for blood..  Now  Blitzen was 
trying to break the ice by admitting, in his own indirect  way, that he had 
taunted Rudolph before as an outsider but would now  tease him as a friend. 
 Given time he would come to discover that  Blitzen jabbed at everybody as 
a sign of affection, lacking the tools  or the courage to express his 
feelings in any other way, but for now it  only served to remind him of the 
humiliation he had been forced to endure.  Rudolph lowered his hoof as 
Blitzen shifted his weight nervously.

"Sorry buddy, just a joke.  No hard feelings right?  Look, you really 
came through for us last night and that was cool.  You are super-cool," 
he said as he put his arm around Rudolph and gave him a brotherly 
squeeze.  Rudolph broke from the embrace silently and moved into the 
party.

Throughout the evening wherever he went, whatever cluster he  approached, 
the circle was immediately enlarged to include him.  They  listened when he 
spoke and laughed at his jokes.  Women looked into his  eyes and held his 
gaze, some even declining their head and staring at  him in a way he was 
unaccustomed to.  In short, he was a celebrity.  He  had finally gained 
access to this social circle and done so in such a  resounding way he felt 
as though he was not only lighter that air, he  was air, the stuff of life 
and inspiration.  He was in their lungs, in  their blood and brains.  He 
had become them.

He was off in the dark corner of a dark room with a young Doe named Dondi 
when he heard laughter coming from somewhere in the apartment.  He thought 
at first the laughter was directed at him, having so often  been the 
victim of it, but it soon became obvious that a group had  formed in one 
of the front rooms and was laughing at something out  there.  Dondi tried 
to pull him back into her embrace.  He looked at  her, her eyes large and 
soft in the dull red glow of his nose, her eyes  an invitation to the 
dance, and yet the laughter drew him away from the  warmth of her breath.  
He stumbled through the dark hallway and out  into the larger room where 
most of the group had gathered to watch  Dash, standing in the center of 
the room doing a cruel imitation of  Otto, the harelip reindeer.  When 
Rudolph entered the room Dash glanced  in his direction and winked but 
didn't stop the show.  To Rudolph it  was the clearest signal yet that he 
had become a member of the group.  He had a sudden impulse to vomit.  Here 
was Dash mocking poor Otto in  the same way he must have mocked Rudolph at 
countless parties before.  And Rudolph was expected to join in, to laugh 
along with the group as  though he hadn't once been victim to its 
derision, as though a lifetime  of scorn could be forgiven with a nose 
full of fine Blue Flake and the  warm and willing arms of Dondi .  There 
came a howling Rudolph thought  was the frozen Arctic wind, but when the 
room became silent and shifted  its attention away from Dash, Rudolph 
realized the howling was coming  from himself. The silence stretched tight 
across the room like the  head of a drum while Rudolph looked from face to 
face searching for a  ounce of shame, embarrassment even, but finding 
none.  Then the  laughter started, slowly at first, like a dribbling 
faucet, nervous and  unsure.  Building in intensity and confidence, the 
room was soon  stuffed and overflowing with it, pressing on Rudolph like 
the jaws of a  vice.  He made a move for the door but was stopped by a 
hoof on his  shoulder.

"Where ya' going Rudy," Prancer said. 

Rudolph shook the hoof loose.

"Fuck off Prancer," he said, and shot out into the black-ice Arctic 
night.

Rudolph wandered with no destination for the better part of an hour,  his 
tears falling in frozen shards and crushed beneath his hooves  while his 
mind tried to free itself from the effects of the alcohol  and cocaine. The 
cocaine made his synapses fire at a much faster rate  but the alcohol 
served to cloud and misdirect them. By the time he  arrived at Santa's a 
course of action had cemented itself in his mind  he was powerless to 
redirect. He slipped silently into the workshop  and moved to the large 
mahogany case on the far wall. He opened it  quietly and pulled down the 
Remington 12 gauge, pump-action shotgun.  With great care he loaded the six 
shells into the magazine and put six  more in the pouch around his neck. He 
would start with the jolly old  elf and then, when they were sure to have 
partied themselves out, he  would go back to Dash's place and visit the 
herd. He racked the slide  to load the first shell.

He'd go down in history all right.  Yeah, he would.