“You are correct Mr Jael. I will trust you with this painting.” Garty said this with a little concern. The picture had never left his possession in almost five years.
“This is not very printable,” Jael says, picking up the little painting and scrutinising it.
“It may not turn out as you wish.” Jael says shaking his head vigorously.
“Can you touch it up then? I can pay you,” Garty says laying two shiny gold coins on the desk, hoping for success.
“I notice you are very artistic…” Garty adds, indicating the drawings on the desk near Jael’s elbow and the special pen standing in a superior brass and crystal inkwell filled with black ink. Garty spots a twinkle in Jael’s eyes and is hoping for approval and success.
“It’s possible,” says Jael, picking up the coins, pulling out a drawer and placing them inside, closing the small drawer. He then picks up a key from a tray and locks the drawer.
“One cannot tell if thieves might be watching,” he says, glancing out of the window to the street.
“I understand.” Garty said, searching through the window for a sign of thieves. He sees nobody out there at the moment.
“Now, these are the words I need to be alongside the picture.”
He dictates the words to Jael.
Jael writes them down precisely as Garty says the words, using his superior pen.
“This will appear in tomorrow’s news,” he says. “And if you want to place it there for longer than a day, it will cost more,” he adds.
Garty dips in his purse to find another two coins. He placed them on the counter. “Four days, is that enough?”
Jael nods his head.
“That’s enough to cover the cost of calligraphy, art, posting and advertising, with all your own words copied precisely, errors and omissions excepted.”
He stares at Garty to get his final approval.
“Of course! Thank you Mr Jael.” Garty smiles and continues. “I shall return to collect the original painting on Friday, if I may?”
“That will be suitable for our joint purpose,” Jael replies amicably. “I will keep it in your file.”
He reaches for a large manilla envelope on a shelf behind his desk and places the notes and painting inside, with all details intact. He seals it with a warm wax seal that Garty earlier noticed on a wax burner sitting upon a second shelf behind the desk.
Garty feels greatly satisfied and leaves the building. He already savours its success! This may be my last town and stopover? His wishes are ardent in this matter. Surely this advertisement is the linchpin? Garty decides.
Before he returns to the Maud Inn, Garty pauses to visit to the local cobbler a few doors from Jael’s Newspaper office. Everything is conveniently located, Garty notes, enjoying the short walk and fresh air, with aromas of apples cooking, ink from printing, and camphor Laurel burning. Together with a fresh breeze, flowering trees and an abundance of spring buds popping their heads. Every house has a small garden in front and this made for a paradisiacal ambience that Garty loved. I could live here for ever, he thought. Garty strides through the open doors of Cob’s Shoes. He looks towards the sunlit corner on the easterly facing side of the workshop. Smells of fresh polish, burning rubber and boiled coffee beans erupt in Garty’s nostrils.
Every corner of this town has its distinctive smells, he cogitates deeply.
“Good morning,” greets a young man with sandy coloured hair and blackish grey eyes glancing at him from his cobbler’s last where he is hammering studs into a sole with gusto.
“How are you today, Sir? What can I shoe for you?”
He laughs and Garty laughs with him.
“You shoe can do something,” replies Garty. They laugh again for a moment, bonding over their personal, silly little jokes. He decides to add another pun and continue this frivolous laugh party. “I am well heeled, thank you,” Garty informs, thinking what an enjoyable personality this young person has.
“You must be Cob?”
“Hah, well said. I am Cob!” the lad replies, reaching out to shake Garty’s hand. Firstly wiping his palm on his woollen, grey jacket, leaving a shadowy mark.
“Garty” says Garty as he reciprocates the welcome hand. Firstly removing his leather and mail glove, exposing pale fingers.
They should be friends forever, both thought. Their eyes say it all as their souls collide in merriment.
“I need some new soles, and a few stitches for my boots,” Garty explains, removing his feathered cap and pushing his cape behind his shoulders as he stands before the workbench of the cobbler.
“Soles and stitches are our business, so this happens to be your lucky day! Just a moment,” the cobbler says, as he removes the tan leather shoe from the last and places it by another shoe on a shelf. As he turns again towards Garty, he mumbles an excuse. “Otherwise I should not know my left from my right.” He tilts his head left and right as he utters the words. “Heel and toe are never mixed up in my head!”
“I might ask for a dance but my shoes are killing me,” Garty replies. They laugh again. Everything they say seems funny!
Garty then removes one boot and places the long leather object on the workbench counter, feeling positive about this experience.
“This boot is in a bad state of decay. Not well-heeled as you suppose, Garty!”
Garty nods. They laugh again.
“I am certainly not well heeled, or toed for that matter,” Garty says. His heart beat a little faster as he wonders whether banter and laughter is the trade mark of Cob? He had met jovial people before and he did not have complete trust in their abilities. This man should be a jester for the king, he muses, not a cobbler, unless his cobbling is superior to another?
Cob tossed the boot in his hands like a piece of dough being kneaded for a pizza oven, or a meatball from offal, with expert accuracy and speed. He is clearly experienced in boot mending, Garty thinks, feeling relief swish over his thoughts like a wave of the sea. For once in his life, his doubts are confounded and completely incorrect. This is a good cobbler for sure! Witnessed by his dexterity in handling a boot as easily as forming a meatball without superior meat. Garty decides that, these boots are literally dead meat that need a superior fix! Oh no! He wants me to leave them here! Or to make a new pair! His toes curled at this prospect.
“Time for new boots, methinks,” he adds, looking into Garty’s eyes and seriously admonishing him without words. “A time to buy and say bye-bye?” Cob says seriously.
Garty’s heart drops. He struggles with this idea for a moment before replying. He loves his comfortable boots and wishes to repair them for one hundred years if possible. Now that his money is almost vaporised, he struggles with the thought of not only losing his boots but being barefoot for a season. Or even one day! And who would give him a new pair, certainly not the king!
“I cannot afford a new pair of boots right now. Could you make an exception and try to repair them today?” He removes the second boot as he speaks, sitting on a complimentary wooden chair, sprinkled with shades of polish, provided for those who wait.
The young cobbler looks kindly at Garty. He could be a king, or the son of a king, Garty notes his demeanour with reverence.
“You seem like a genuine person, you have honest eyes,” Cobb tells Garty.
He can obviously read faces, Garty thinks. He’s a kindred spirit! His interest in the face of a princess had quadrupled over the years and the picture in his pocket was imbedded into his mind at last. Garty wonders does this man knows something about the kidnapped princess, or does his interest only pivot around feet?
“What are you trying to say, exactly?” Asks Garty, becoming slightly frustrated momentarily. Of course I am honest! Occasionally, I have slipped up without bad intentions! A naked women passed through his visual cortex. He shakes the image away as his hair flicks too.
“I am thinking of loaning you another pair of boots until I can do a good job on these,” he says following a moment’s silent thought.
“I have a rather large foot,” Garty says, bringing his foot into view, standing on one leg. “Big Foot could be my middle name.”
Garty removes his big foot from the counter and measures each foot against the other. One may be bigger than the other, he reckons, wiggling his toes sticking out from holes in his black knitted socks.
Cob gives him a surprising answer that he would not have dreamt about.
“Big Foot, or big feet, Garty, I have some rather large boots right here, practically made for someone with a large foot,” says Cob, bringing out a fine, shining pair of knee high boots from underneath the counter.
Garty steps back in awe!
“These were made for a tall general who never returned, sadly,” he adds. “Nobody has collected them in ten years, so I guess they are not needed. I have heard that he may have expired and gone through the vale.” He drums his fingers on the counter as his blackish grey eyes stare into Garty’s now misty focal features.
Garty is taking his words in and trying to withhold his feelings bubbling wildly. Can this be a dream coming true? For so long now his dreams had turned to nightmares and he is now extremely cautious about feelings of gaiety, even mild feelings.
“They are flexible, yet firm, great quality. One cannot procure such a quality product these days. Quality has diminished with too many players in the cobbling business. Please try them on, if you will, Mr Big Foot,” he adds happily. Garty senses his friendship and wants these boots more than anything now!
Garty reaches over and picks up the tanned pair of boots slowly, amazed at what he notes as boots fit for someone of a much grander and higher position than himself. Exquisitely designed and made for comfort, he notes, almost aghast at their beauty. He gingerly shoves his right foot into one and tugs the leather into place around his calf.
“Hmmm, not a bad fit indeed!”
He stamps on the floor for a few seconds, wanting to dance with happiness. “Maybe I should learn to dance,” he adds, twirling around. “Let me try the second boot, Cob,” he says to the cobbler. Now he feels more joyous than he has done for months, and simply because of the most luxurious pair of boots that he could not afford in a million years!
“Perhaps you should join a circus?” Cob says.
They laugh for a long time. It is such an absurd idea, Garty thinks; but, totally amusing, Cob thinks.
He presents him with the second boot as though it is a sword on a red velvet cushion, precious, worthy of a Knight.
Garty tries it on. He marches upon the shop floor for a few moments, peering down at these new boots. The leather is smooth as a silk cloth and strong as the skin of a dragon.
“If I had loads of gold I may be tempted to buy them, but today it is not possible for me to do so. I must also return my old boots to the king shortly,” he says slowly as his facial features appear downcast.
“I hear that you are on the king’s business, so I understand completely, or very well. You shall use these boots for a time, without cost, and when you return, bring them back and I shall give thee thy boots repaired. Hopefully the leather will not tear as it has become very thin in parts.” He is shaking his head as he studies Garty’s old worn boots. “But for you, my friend, I shall do my utmost so that you do not part with your boots this week.”