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Eleven Minus One

Anita G. Gorman

    The situation was new to the people of the twenty-first century. They had endured colds and the flu and various viruses, the names of which they could no longer remember. But this situation was different. They called it a pandemic which was much, much worse than your ordinary epidemic. People were being quarantined or were isolating themselves. They had to wear masks and keep six feet apart. And when the governor of their state issued an order that no more than ten people were to congregate in one location, the Anderson family of Ashleyville became somewhat panicky. After all, they had nine children. Add in two parents and they were over the limit.
    Adeline Anderson, the fecund mother of this large family, was the first to panic. “Oh, no! What should we do? One of us has got to go!”
    Albert Anderson, the obviously potent father of the family, was skeptical. “Are you sure that the ten-person limit applies to families?”
    “The governor just said that no more than ten people were to be in any one gathering. It certainly sounds to me like we have to get rid of a family member in order to comply with the law.”
    “Adeline, that sounds ridiculous.”
    “Maybe so, but things have become really ridiculous these days.”
    Her husband sighed. “You’re right. We’d better hold a family council to figure out what to do.”
    And so they all assembled in the living room, the parents, Adeline and Albert, and their nine children: Arthur, Allen, Adelaide, Ambrose, Anne, Adam, Abigail, Alexander, and the youngest, Ansgar.
    Their mother spoke first. “My children, you are, as you know, so dear to your father and to me. However, something has happened, something unusual and difficult. We are in the midst of a pandemic, which is much worse than an ordinary epidemic. Here is our dilemma. Our governor has decided that gatherings of more than ten people are now forbidden, in order to slow the spread of this awful virus. It seems that one of us has to leave, since there are eleven in our family. But who shall it be?”
    Then it was Albert Anderson’s turn. “Children, we thought about having either your mother or myself disappear for a time, but that would be rather difficult and unworkable. It seems to us that one of you nine children will have to leave this house, so that we may comply with the governor’s new ruling.”
    There was silence. The nine children looked at each other. No one seemed ready to leave their happy home. Then Ansgar spoke up.
    “Could the one who leaves live in the backyard, maybe in the tree house?”
    “That sounds like a great idea,” said the relieved mother of nine.
    Then suddenly all nine children wanted to exit the family home and live in the tree house. It was, after all, summertime.
    “Wait,” said their father. “You can’t all live in the tree house. Only one of you can do that. We have to figure out a way to make this fair. OK, I’m going to put some papers in a bag. All of them will be blank, except for one. That one will say ‘Tree house.’ OK?”
    They all nodded as Albert Anderson prepared the little bits of paper. He wrote the word Tree House on one and then mixed the slips in the paper bag. Then one by one his nine children put their little hands into the bag, some hoping to be exiled to the tree house, others not so sure they wanted to leave their safe bedrooms.
    Then suddenly Ansgar screamed. “It’s me. I get to stay in the tree house!”
    The rest of the children looked at their youngest brother with new respect.
    Their parents looked at each other. “Ansgar, you’re only six,” said his mother.
    “I’m big enough to stay in the tree house. It’ll be fun. I’ll bring my guys with me.”
    “Good idea,” said his father. “It’s probably just as well that we decrease the teddy bear population inside the house during the pandemic.”
    And so that night Ansgar Anderson and his guys climbed into the tree house. His mother gave him her cell phone, just in case. She made sure he knew how to access their landline and Albert’s cell phone as well.
    Ansgar had milk and cookies for what he liked to call his midnight snack, regardless of the time he participated in it. He also had a flashlight and some books. After his snack, a good-night call to his family—which took a while, since there were so many of them—and putting the guys in their bedtime poses, Ansgar went to sleep. Then, sometime in the middle of the night he heard a noise. It sounded like someone climbing up the steps of the ladder to the tree house.
    Ansgar grabbed his flashlight and woke up his guys. “Who goes there?” he asked, in his most commanding voice.
    Then the top of a pointed hat appeared, and a face with a long white beard. It was a little old man, much older than Ansgar but much smaller.
    “Who are you?”
    “I am the tomte. I thought that since your name is Ansgar Anderson, you might like a visit from me.”
    “How do you know my name?”
    “Well, never mind that. I keep track of things. I thought you might like a little company while you are living in the tree house.”
    “You said you are a tomte. Is that what you said?”
    The little man was now seated cross-legged on the floor of the tree house. “Ja, that’s what I said.”
    “And what is a tomte?”
    “I am like a gnome, but I’m not a gnome. I’m a bit like Santa Claus. I give out presents on Christmas Eve to the children in Sweden. I’m called a jultomte, a Christmas tomte. Right now I’m on vacation, and when I learned your name I knew I had to say hej, as we do in Sweden.”
    “Why? I know my name is different, and kids sometimes make fun of me.”
    “Your first name is a fine old Swedish name. And Anderson is a fine old Swedish name. And I traveled from Sweden. Now, while I am visiting in your country, I do want to visit lots of different people, not just those with Swedish names, but I thought I would start with you since you’re by yourself in a tree house.”
    Ansgar looked at his teddy bears. “I have my guys with me. I’m not exactly alone.”
    “And why exactly is a little boy like you in a tree house for the night?”
    “The governor said that because of the virus there couldn’t be more than ten people at any one location. In my family we have eleven, nine kids and two parents. So one of us had to go to the tree house. I pulled the right little piece of paper out of the bag, so I got to come here.”
    “Hmm. Are you sure the governor wanted to break up large families?”
    “We didn’t ask him. I don’t know. Maybe not. Sounds kind of weird.”
    “Perhaps I should visit the governor.”
    “Do you know where he lives?”
    “No. Do you?”
    “No. Mr. Tomte. It’s OK. I like it in the tree house.”
    “How long will you be here?”
    “Well, I’ll have to go inside sometimes for different stuff. I suppose that one of my sisters or brothers can take my place. We can take turns. That way there won’t be more than ten people in our house at one time. Except for my guys, when they go back. But I think that’s OK.”
    “It probably is, young man. It’s been very nice meeting you, Ansgar. But let me give you a little piece of advice.”
    “Sure.”
    “If I were you, I wouldn’t tell the rest of the family that a tomte came to the tree house. They wouldn’t understand and might not believe you.”
    Much as he wanted to tell the world about the little man with the red hat and the long white beard, Ansgar knew somehow that he could not tell anyone about the tomte, not his mother or father or his eight brothers and sisters. The guys knew, but they never talked to anyone else so that was OK.
    The pandemic finally ended, and groups of more than ten were allowed to congregate. Little Ansgar grew up but never forgot his encounter with the tomte.
    Years later Ansgar Anderson studied Scandinavian folklore, specialized in tomteology, the study of the tomte, and wrote his doctoral dissertation on little old men with red pointed hats and long white beards. The professors on his dissertation committee thought that Ansgar Anderson’s writing had the ring of credibility. At his dissertation defense, one of them remarked, “Why, it seems as though you believe in the reality of the tomte.” Ansgar Anderson just smiled as he looked out the window of the conference room. A little man with a pointed red hat and a flowing white beard was waving at him.

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