High-Five to the Hero

by Vita Murrow

  “I wish I could have upheld the tradition of generosity this shop had as its legacy,” Lyman mourned, “but now I am the one who is in need.”

  One dark and rainy night, as Lyman prepared to close the shop for good, something caught his eye. It was a small box. Inside he found a portion of leather, trimmings, and beads. Some of the very best materials, mementos from when he started out.

  It was just enough to make one last pair of shoes. Lyman dutifully measured and cut the materials. He recalled his younger self as a new cobbler as he worked. But he was too tired to continue. So he went to bed in his loft above the shop, resolving to finish the shoes in the morning.

  When the sun rose, Lyman returned to the final project. But upon seeing his workbench, he froze. For there, gleaming in the sunlight were the shoes—completely finished!

  Lyman picked up the shoes to examine them more closely. They were so well made. Every stitch was fashioned expertly. It was as if someone had slipped into his mind, Lyman thought. Then it occurred to Lyman, perhaps someone had actually slipped into the shop!

  Lyman panicked. He backed away from the shoes suspiciously.

  “Help! I’ve been … burgled!” he cried.

  People came running at once. Someone blew a whistle and the constabulary arrived, two detectives, Clog and Mule. They whipped out magnifying glasses and notebooks and took in the scene.

  “Why do you think you’ve been burgled?” they asked Lyman.

  “It’s these shoes,” Lyman explained. “Last night they were in pieces and now look!”

  “Ummm … That sounds like the opposite of a robbery,” mused Detective Clog.

  “There are no signs of a break in… .” Detective Mule surmised.

  “Someone was here,” Lyman protested.

  “If there’s no evidence of a crime, our work here is done,” Detective Clog concluded blandly, and the detectives departed.

  Lyman refused to accept this. He got down on the floor and looked for clues. He spotted a disturbance in the dust. Upon examination, it appeared to be a tiny footprint.

  Lyman was wondering who it might belong to when he was interrupted by a customer.

  “Excuse me? These shoes are divine! I see they are the last pair. I’ll give you 100 for them,” a stylish gentleman said.

  Lyman was shocked. That was big money. It was enough for him to make another pair, even a second he could donate. So he accepted the generous offer.

  That evening, Lyman cut out two remarkable shoes, unlike anything he’d done before. Oddly, the challenge brought a smile to his face. It was something he hadn’t felt in years. As before, intending to continue his work the next morning, Lyman left the project in pieces and went to bed.

  When he awoke, Lyman was met with a familiar yet still arresting sight. Again, where he had left only cut materials, sat two completed pairs of shoes!

  He knew the constabulary would be of no help, so instead he called his former mentor Ötzi. Ötzi had years of experience and while he was nearly blind from the detailed labor, and his joints were tight and tender, he was always there for a former apprentice.

  “I need your help with a mystery!” Lyman explained. “I left out unfinished work and woke to find it flawlessly completed. Look!” He held up the two pairs of shoes.

  Ötzi’s curiosity was piqued. “Have you looked around for clues?”

  “I found a little print on the floor, a tiny smudge. I’ll show you.” Lyman grabbed his magnifying glasses and Ötzi put the loupe to his eye.

  Sure enough, the smudge remained right where Lyman had seen it. Only this time it was not alone. Alongside it sat an identical little smudge.

  Ötzi stared. “It looks like a set of footprints.”

  “But whose?” Lyman worried.

  Their discussion was interrupted by two customers who had spotted the shoes.

  “Those are divine!” said one friend to another.

  “Both traditional and cutting edge!” the friend replied. “You know who would flip over them?”

  “Why, the City Kids’ sports programme,” said the first.

  “Indeed! We’d like to purchase these shoes for 400 and commission a set of five for an organization we are patrons of. Would 1000 cover that?” said the second.

  Lyman was speechless, so Ötzi accepted on his behalf.

  “How am I going to make four pairs of shoes by tomorrow?!” Lyman said, aghast.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll lend a hand,” offered Ötzi.

  The two set to work. Lyman found materials, including cool bits of flare he knew the kids would appreciate, while Ötzi sharpened tools. Together they cut and measured patterns.

  “It’s been so long since I’ve been busy and had company in the shop,” Lyman mused. “This is really nice. I almost wish I didn’t have to close the place.”

  “What makes you think you need to close? Seems to me you’ve plenty of business,” Ötzi observed.

  “Huh,” thought Lyman.

  Ötzi was getting on in years and his eyes tired quickly so they quit early. Lyman bid his mentor good night and retired. Content to finish the shoes in the morning, he soon fell fast asleep. He was awoken early the next day by a banging on the shop window. It was Ötzi. Lyman raced to let him in.

  “What is it?” Lyman asked urgently. But Ötzi merely pointed.

  Lyman followed Ötzi’s finger to a row of pristine and polished new shoes fit for active kids. Exquisitely sewn and expertly finished with lightning rod details. Beside the shoes he could see not one, not two, but four tiny smudges. More footprints!

  Lyman and Ötzi exchanged awed looks. But they scarcely had time to investigate, for word had quickly spread that Lyman was newly inspired and back in business. A line had formed outside the shop. The line outside turned the flat line of Lyman’s mouth into a long overdue smile. All the midnight magic was beginning to change him. His work was enthusiastic, and it spoke to people.

  Lyman hired Ötzi and they came to specialize in overnight orders. Whatever they cut out in the evening was always finished the following morning. Both soon became quite wealthy.

  They were able to return the brand to its status as a donor of shoes to those in need. One day they received a warm thank-you card from a recipient. But the acknowledgment left them feeling empty, as the success wasn’t theirs alone.

  “It doesn’t feel right,” Lyman said. “I don’t know who to thank for our success.”

  “We need to solve this mystery before someone else does,” Ötzi said. “Let’s stay up tonight to see who is giving us this helping hand.”

  Lyman agreed and that night the two—veiled in dark trench coats—lay in wait. Just as Ötzi was about to nod off, Lyman nudged him. There, creeping from the shadows into the moonlight, strode four shifty … Elves?! They were barefoot and wore only paper bags as clothes, which rustled as they stepped. Why, they weren’t scary at all. In fact, they were rather gentle and jovial.

  The elves took their place at the workbench, picked up the cut-out pieces and worked so unbelievably quickly and nimbly Ötzi and Lyman couldn’t look away. The elves did not stop until they had finished everything. Then they placed the completed shoes on the workbench, and quickly ran away.

  “It’s elves who have breathed new life into the shop, into me in fact!” Lyman whispered.

  “It’s elves we’ve to thank,” wondered Ötzi.

  “We must show them our appreciation,” Lyman said.

  “But how?’ Ötzi asked.

  “I’ve got it!” Lyman jumped into action. He gathered scraps from the work room. “They were nearly bare, all they had were those paper bags. Let’s sew some clothes for them.”

  “I can knit stockings, and we should make shoes for each of them too,” Ötzi added.

  The following evening, when everything was finished, Lyman and Ötzi set their presents out instead of unfinished work. Then they hid in their trench coats again. At midnight the elves came skipping in, ready to start their work. When
they saw the little clothes instead, they at first seemed puzzled, but then delighted. They quickly put them on, and sang:

  We’re dressed in our attire you see,

  No longer little cobblers we be!

  Their song complete, the elves scampered out of the shop, and never did return.

  With the mystery dispelled and the elves unbound, Lyman and Ötzi reflected on what they would do next.

  “We can’t keep up with overnight orders, but you can still make great footwear,” Ötzi said.

  “Actually, what inspired me most was being able to help; to provide shoes for those in need. Even making those clothes for the elves. It brought my heart back to life,” Lyman said.

  “What’re you saying?” Ötzi asked.

  “I’d like to convert the shop into a space devoted to spreading goodwill and connecting the community with clothes and shoes. We all have ways we can help one another, and this is mine. No matter how small we may be or feel.”

  The two soon launched The Shoemakers’ Secret, a house of philanthropy and service dedicated to making sure everyone in the city, from the youngest to the eldest, had access to shoes and clothing if they needed it. No matter the season and no matter the reason and no matter the size.

  When they saw the little clothes instead, they at first looked puzzled, then delighted.

  Anansi

  In ancient times, there lived a character whose story has been told for hundreds of years. Whose roguish qualities and playful nature shaped his time and his people. His name was Anansi.

  Anansi had a big personality and liked to hear himself talk. He spun wonderful stories that captured the attention of everyone he met. He gestured with drama and accentuated with his wiry arms and long fingers; he was like a spider spinning a web.

  People lingered on his every word. They listened patiently when his advice was spot on. His recommendation for curing a cold was well conceived. He made an excellent substitute teacher, as he kept all the kids laughing. And, with his collection of colorful town anecdotes, he was a great tour guide. Anansi even charmed the animals: dogs curled at his feet and warthogs rolled over to have their bellies scratched. Since he had everyone’s ear and fancied himself knowledgeable on just about everything, he also had an opinion on nearly everything too.

  When it was time for a town project, he broadcast:

  “This place needs a stadium, let me tell you.”

  He had a judgment on every wedding match;

  “Yeah, they’re much too young,” or, “I tell you who they should marry.”

  Even old scholars weren’t immune to his unsolicited advice.

  “You’re lecturing chemistry, I’m well read on the subject. You know some say I discovered …” He could easily overtake conversation.

  “I hear Anansi reads ten books a day in just as many languages,” speculated a man cooling off with an icy drink.

  “No way, he has a melon filled with the wisdom of the ancestors hidden in a tree only he can climb! That’s why he knows so much,” countered the man’s dining companion.

  “I think he’s overrated. If he really knows everything, why he is hanging out with us?” joked a playful youth at the bar.

  This youth was not alone in their thinking. Probably because they were one of Anansi’s six children. And children are the first to point out when their parents aren’t cool. Anansi’s children were Goliath, Red, Golden Silk, Cam, Wolf, and Taran. Each was talented and hardworking in their own interests.

  Goliath was an athlete and stone thrower, Golden Silk a weaver who adorned themselves in trains and capes. Cam was intuitive and sensitive, always feeling things deeply and able to spot trouble from miles away. Red was an expert hunter, butcher, and chef. Wolf was a shrewd builder and engineer, and always looking for ways to make things better and stronger. Little Taran was drawn to water and recorded patterns in rivers and streams.

  The children loved their father, but rolled their eyes at his know-it-all nature. Anansi brimmed with knowledge yet didn’t know how to slow down and appreciate the expertise of his children.

  “Leave that water nonsense,” he’d say to Taran. “That’ll never get you anywhere. Work on your people skills.”

  “Goliath, you’re plenty big, why don’t you push yourself as a wrestler?” he’d say as he posed. “I could have been a professional, I could teach you a thing or two.”

  “Cam, you look like a wildebeest, if you focused less on others, you’d have more time for your grooming routine,” he’d preen, touching his own hair.

  One day, Anansi went on a journey. His children were grateful for a respite from his know-it-all nonsense. His destination was a long way from home. Of course, Anansi didn’t take advice on how to get there, and naturally got lost immediately.

  As the hours wore on and darkness fell, so did Anansi! Right into a deep crevasse. In the crevasse, waiting in the darkness, lay a crocodile. Its jaw unhinged to welcome Anansi. There he sat facing his certain demise, all alone with not a soul to witness his dilemma.

  Well, almost alone. For although he was far away, Cam sensed that Anansi was in trouble.

  “Father is in danger!” Cam called to the others.

  “Are you serious?” Taran complained.

  “I’ll bet he went unprepared,” sighed Red.

  “How bad is it, does he need help?” Wolf asked.

  Cam nodded.

  So the six children of Anansi undertook the rescue of their father. Cam divined just how far Anansi had gone and determined where he might be.

  “Follow me!” Wolf paved a road with wooden boards and stone slabs.

  The way was clumsy with many twists and turns. The six siblings plodded through the night, into dense forest and across a river. Finally, they came upon a jagged array of rocks and boulders, like teeth poking up from the mouth of the earth.

  “This is it!” Cam announced. They began to call for their father.

  After a while, when no response was heard, the group grew fearful.

  “Where is he?” said Red.

  “Quiet,” said Goliath. “I hear breathing.”

  The group walked to a gaping crack and peered below. There, they discovered a great crocodile. Their father protruded from its open mouth!

  “Father, are you OK?” Cam exclaimed.

  A muffled affirmative could be heard.

  “I think they are both stuck,” Taran spoke up.

  “If I could reach in there, I could gently take care of that croc. But I can’t without falling in myself,” explained Red.

  “I think I can figure out a way to divert the river we passed. We can flush them both out,” Taran suggested.

  With Taran’s direction, the six moved boulders and rocks to divert the path of the river. It was a long haul and even though the night was dark and cold, much sweat was spilt. After several hours, the faint trickle of water could be heard in the once dry area.

  The group raced to the crevasse where their father waited in the crocodile. They watched as the river arrived and flooded the crevasse. Soon the crocodile wriggled free and floated up to a level where Red could reach it.

  With a swift tug Red wrangled the beast and sat astride it like a horse. The others watched with unease. Red carefully coaxed the crocodile’s jaw open and the rest of the crew pulled Anansi out to safety.

  The group were relieved to have their father returned to them. They embraced and patted one another on the back.

  “That was incredible!” said Cam.

  “Couldn’t have done it without you,” said Wolf.

  “You’re a regular croc whisperer,” said Goliath to Red.

  “Taran’s the genius,” said Red.

  “That was intense,” said Taran.

  “Glad that’s over,” said Golden Silk with a sigh.

  Anansi, on the other hand, played it off like it was no big deal.

  “Not your average walk in the woods, eh?” he boasted.

  The rest stared in disappointment.


  “Are you not even going to give us a thank you?” Goliath started.

  “For what? I was just about to get myself out of that predicament. I was negotiating with the crocodile. You know me, I speak the language of animals.”

  The rest of the family let out a collective groan.

  Suddenly, a great gust swept over the family. Everyone ducked except for Anansi. Which was most unlucky, because it wasn’t a breeze, it was the draft of a great bird! It was larger than any vulture or eagle and it reached right out and grasped Anansi in its claws.

  Anansi wriggled and thrashed, he kicked and pawed at the talons that held him, but to no avail. The bird was strong and it climbed into the air.

  “Quick, what can we do?!” shouted Wolf.

  “Help me gather stones!” called Goliath.

  The team bent along the ground and filled their fists with rocks. Goliath flipped their shirt into a pouch, and all helped fill it with knuckle-sized stones. Then with eyes to the sky, Goliath in a flurry of force pelted the stones in the direction of the bird. The great beast dodged, it swerved, and it dove. Anansi remained in its grip. The bird climbed higher into a shield of clouds.

  There was one final stone in the arsenal. Eyes closed, and with a deep breath, Goliath shot the stone like an arrow into the clouds above. The stone made contact, and moments later they heard the cry of a man.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

  The sound grew louder and closer and Anansi appeared above them in the sky. He was falling fast.

  “Heeeeeeeelp meeeeeeee,” Anansi’s voice cried out.

  “Now he wants our help?” an exasperated Wolf let slip.

  Swiftly and quietly Golden Silk ran forward, tearing the fabric train from their waist. It was their own design, beautiful flowers and stripes. The fabric billowed in the breeze as Golden Silk ran. The rest of the siblings understood at once what needed to be done.