The shoemaker was dying.
Brandt had watched him for some time now, ever since he had been reduced to living in an alleyway after being betrayed, beaten, and robbed.The shoemaker, Alvin, always gave him coins when he saw him.A few times, he looked as though he'd wanted to say or do more, but always had withdrawn instead.Which was fine.Brandt would not be anyone's burden, and the shoemaker had been busy enough even before everything had gone so wrong.The kindness he showed was more than enough, and since that first time, when he'd given Brandt enough coin to eat for three days straight, Brandt had watched him when he could.
Brandt's home was a large wooden crate covered with scraps of cloth and pieces of old furniture and construction leavings to keep out the worst of the wind and rain.His hearth was an old, cracked cauldron he'd filched from a trash cart.His clothes were taken from trash heaps and the charity bin at the temple.His shoes were a size too big, full of tears and holes, patched with whatever Brandt could find and a needle improvised from a piece of metal found in the trash, and wrapped in rags to mitigate the snow.His days were spent begging for coin, begging for work, or spending the little coin he had on food and keeping himself and his clothes as clean as possible.If there was one thing he missed about home, it was that there'd been no shortage of water and it was free to everyone.
His view, as he sat in the cold begging people to show him pity, was the shoe shop across the street.He'd applied, not long after recovering from being beaten and robbed, but the proprietor he'd spoken to had taken one look at his sorry clothes, his sorrier shoes, and told him to get lost.
Not even a month later, that man had departed, taking the assistant with him.Brandt had seen them many a time, when Alvin the shoemaker was out, intimately embracing, despite the fact one was Alvin's partner and the other their employee and friend.He had wanted to tell Alvin, warn him he was being betrayed, but he didn't know how or if it was his place.If the cheating lover might find and beat him, leave him to die in the street.As it was the heart of winter now, instead of warm summer, he might not survive that happening a second time.
So he'd kept his silence and watched the traitors with contempt—and been relieved when their dirty secret finally came to light one gloomy, storm-soaked day when Alvin returned well before he was expected and caught them kissing in the workroom.As there was an enormous window there, mostly to provide light but also so people could see the effort that went into their shoes, Brandt had seen the entire terrible confrontation.
Eventually, the traitors had left, looking remarkably miserable for people who should have at least been relieved they no longer had to hide their oh so deep and abiding love for each other.
Alvin had closed the shop that day, drawn the curtains, and judging from his haggard appearance the next day, had spent the day and night drinking.Since then, all the life had gone out of him.He was always cordial to his customers, but his smiles were empty, obligatory things.He no longer hummed or whistled.He didn't bring flowers to the shop just for the pleasure of having flowers.He didn't leave early to go to dinner or have people over to eat with him on his lunch break.
He'd lost weight, no longer bothered with any jewelry except his pocket watch.His beautiful russet hair was always dull and tied back, no longer beautifully arranged with pins and clips and ribbons.His brown skin had lost its healthy glow; he no longer painted his nails.Even his clothes were always browns and grays and blacks, as though he were in mourning.Well, he more or less was, at that.
Every day Brandt watched, hoping something would change.That he would find someone new, friend or lover.That he'd hire a new assistant at the very least, so he was not drowning in work.But every day he remained alone, withering away by the hour, and Brandt worried there would be nothing left of the shoemaker by spring.Sometimes, he worried Alvin would not even make it to winter solstice.
Only ten days away now, winter solstice was the longest and darkest day of the year.It was a time for celebration, a moment of triumph.After solstice, the nights would grow shorter and the days longer.Winter was declining, and spring would soon arrive.
One of the busiest times of year for shopkeepers, and Alvin was no exception.Even now, well past the closing of the shop, he was busy working.Cutting pieces, laying them out in neat little rows down the length of a long bench where people would normally sit to try their shoes on, ensure no final adjustments were needed, ready to be sewn together the next day.
Soon Alvin would go home, sleep for what remained of the night, then return shortly after the sun rose.He would stitch the shoes between dealing with customers, taking new orders, counting money, and all the other chores that went with owning and running a store, exhausting himself to the bone day after day.Doing the work of three people because the other two had betrayed him in the worst possible way.
Neither of them deserved the misery they were in.Both victims of people who had violated their trust in the worst of ways.Strangely, perhaps stupidly, Brandt was angrier about how the shoemaker had been treated than himself.Perhaps because he was long used to it—betrayed by family and friends and community, betrayed yet again when he'd come to this town on the slim chance of a new start.
The shoemaker did not deserve his hurts.Not once had Brandt ever heard a bad word about him around town.He was loved, admired, respected.His lover and friend had been forced to leave town because everyone was so angry with them.Yet where were all those people now?Why did no one show up to help him?Why did no one make certain he was eating and resting?Why did no one try to make him smile?Surely someone was capable of finding him suitable help.
And yet here he was, ten days from solstice, utterly alone, drowning in work and heartache.
Brandt couldn't bear it.
So he waited by his little cauldron fire, filled with a couple of logs stolen from the snotty candy shop owner, until Alvin the Shoemaker had departed for the night.Then, heart in his throat, Brandt crept through the shadows, avoiding the soft light of the streetlamps, slipping into the alleyway between the shoe shop and the milliner next to it.
The lock took only a bit of gentle coaxing to open for him, and then he was inside.Scents of leather and wood washed over him, a faint hint of the fire that had been recently put out.
Arrayed on the bench were all the pieces needed to make five pairs of shoes, each one a work of art.Brandt stepped toward the bench, then stopped, looking at his dirty hands and worn clothes.He always strove to be clean, but life on the street made that a hard goal on the best of days.
So first he went in search of a place to tidy up, and found even more than he'd expected: a bedchamber, probably once used by the backstabbing assistant, with a truly impressive washroom attached.Oh, to lounge around in a bath that was not used by countless other people.To have fragrant oils and beautiful, flowery soaps again.
Instead, he simply stripped off his outer layers and hung them up where normally a robe or towel would go, then rolled up his sleeves and scrubbed his hands and arms thoroughly.
Sufficiently cleaned, he returned to the workshop, took up the first set of shoe pieces, and set to work.
Dawn was just beginning to tease the sky when he finished.If only he'd had time to polish them all.Oh, well.He arranged them neatly on the bench, every pretty pair, then rushed to the washroom, gathered his things, and slipped from the house and back across the street.He'd sleep for a few hours, then go about his day, maybe collect enough coin for a decent meal.Despite his exhaustion, he lingered on the street, standing against the wall, out of the way and easily ignored, to wait and watch.
Alvin arrived just a few minutes later, exhausted and downcast, shoulders drooping as he went about his usual routine of turning on lights, making tea…and then he froze.If only Brandt were close enough to see his face.
What he could see was Alvin moving frantically about the workshop, as though looking for something.A note?Or maybe to see if anything had been taken.That shouldn't hurt, as it was a reasonable assumption, but it did hurt all the same.
When he finally stopped combing the shop, Alvin returned to the bench and picked up each shoe, touching them gently, turning them over and over—and then he set them down, and his entire demeanor changed.His shoulders were up, his movements lighter, and he almost looked as though he might be whistling or singing.Brandt's heart sped up.He had started to think Alvin would never do that again.
He watched for a few minutes more, soaking up Alvin's happiness like a balm against the cold, hard day ahead of him.Eventually, he returned to his crate and burrowed beneath his pile of tattered blankets, and for the first time in weeks, fell asleep with a smile on his face.
When he slipped back into the shop later that night, rested and with a little food in his stomach, there were six pairs of shoes waiting to be sewn together.He looked around carefully, half-expecting Alvin to be lurking somewhere to catch him in the act, but the shop was empty.
This time, he paused to use the beautiful bathtub to rinse out some of his clothes.He flushed with shame to take advantage so, but he hadn't been able to afford wash water that week, and he hated to let his clothes fester overlong.Surely just borrowing water wasn't so terrible?
