Solomon’s Shoes

Solomon H.Corey went to the local merchant to purchase three pairs of shoes on a sunny Saturday’s afternoon and he never returned home. This was not unusual for Solomon. He had a habit of disappearing without explanation and then strolling home two or three days later. He would disappear wearing only the clothes on his back and a smile. He would return wearing new clothes and the same broad, carefree smile. No one in the village thought much about Solomon’s eccentricities as they were more than familiar with his habits. He was enigmatically odd and he cultivated that image.

Solomon lived alone. The kids in the village called him Solo which was clever since it was both an abbreviation of his name and his marital status. The nickname was born on the tongues of the married men who couldn’t ever seem to understand why Solomon was solo, but Solo he was. Solomon loved to play with the kids and was forever carrying out practical jokes. He was famous for his playfulness and his seemingly endless sense of humour. The men, thick fingered from working the land, could never get a grasp on what made Solomon tick.

Chester Fanjoy had the thickest fingers of all the men in the village. No one noticed this other than Solomon and perhaps Chester ’s mousy little wife who undoubtedly had Chester ’s paw prints all over her. Chester and Eliza had eight kids that they struggled to feed and clothe during the best of times. Although Solomon would never have mentioned this on account of his perennial politeness, he often thought Chester ’s thick fingers complemented his rounded shoulders and sloped forehead rather well. Solomon had read Darwin ’s On the Origin of Species and he knew that Darwin would have taken a special joy in meeting poor, hapless Chester . Solomon had a fondness for Chester in spite of their relationship.

Solomon was not shy with the local ladies but considering that this was the year 1877, a wink coupled with that wonderful smile was considered to be on the verge of scandalous. It wasn’t so much the wink as the way it was expertly delivered. Some said that he had a nervous twitch that caused him to wink sporadically. The same men who gave him his nickname made this observation. Funny that he never seemed to wink or twitch at the men. The women knew better and tried to catch his eye.

His leafy green eyes seemed to reflect the natural world into which he was so often immersed. He would think nothing of casting his green eyes toward the pages of a great book, whiling away the afternoon in the shade of the great oak behind his shingled saltbox home.  Solomon’s eyes were oversized in every sense of the word. You saw the smile first but it was the eyes that held you in their grasp. His gaze was a lighthouse and you were a ship lost at sea. He could draw you onto the rocks or guide you to safety. He had that kind of raw magnetism.

His eyes and mouth were bridged by a strong Roman nose. It started uninterrupted at his brow and slid strongly downward until blossoming slightly at the tip. His nostrils flared every so slightly but not so much to suggest aggression. A dimpled chin supported the lips that stabled the smile. He was a handsome man.

Solomon would often visit Akerley’s general store and trade quips with the store’s proprietor, Hansley Akerley. Their convivial banter made the visits more than just a shopping experience, it was entertainment for both.

“Good morning Mr.Corey,” beamed the bright eyed shopkeeper.

“Good morning Hansley. Today would be the perfect day for you to start calling me Solomon or even Solo if you wish,” offered Solomon.

“I would be delighted to call you Solomon. Whatever you wish Mr.Corey,” said Hansley with an irreverent twinkle in his already luminous eyes.

Hansley knew who buttered his bread and went out of his way to make his customers feel appreciated if not outright loved. His concern for his customers was genuine and he thought of them as his friends. He knew more about some of his customers than they knew about themselves. If the village had a pulse it was embodied in Hansley Akerley. The store itself was the heart, pumping life sustaining goods and goodwill into the body of the village. The shelves were stocked with clothes, shoes, produce, bread, grains, bread, cheese, butter, candles, meat and candy. Everything that you would expect to find in a general store was in Akerley’s. The store was also filled with compassion and caring but it couldn’t be purchased, it had to be earned.

Hansley knew Solomon as well as anyone, probably better. He knew that Solomon almost always came to the store to purchase supplies on Saturday. Solomon would typically roam the store patiently and slowly fill his basket with goods. Hansley would record the purchases in a dog-eared, leather covered ledger and Solomon would periodically settle up his account as he had done just two weeks prior.

Solomon placed his basket on the timeworn wooden counter and proceeded to unload the bounty he had found. Hansley was perplexed as to why Solomon would purchase three pairs of shoes, a silver locket and not a nibble of food. Professional discretion, in spite of their amicable friendship, kept his curiosity curbed. Solomon insisted on paying for this day’s purchases immediately. Hansley drew his eyes away from the basket and met Solomon’s eyes rather awkwardly. The world stopped for a moment and the beating heart of the store listened to itself in silence. Perhaps it was Solomon being Solomon but on this particular Saturday, something was different.

The pensive moment was shattered by the sound of raucous cheering from outside the front of the store. Hansley and Solomon peered through the ancient glass of the storefront windows to see a group of men huddled around two men locked in combat. Small boys orbited the circle wildly, dust flying from beneath their dirty feet.

“I see Chester ’s at it again,” sighed Hansley with a rising hint of amusement.

“He never gives up, the big lug,” added Solomon with a headshake and a grin.

Solomon turned to Hansley, dug deeply in his pocket and pulled out a collection of coins.

“I’d like to purchase ten candies as well if you’d be so kind as to choose them on my behalf.”

Solomon never bought candy and this only served to pique Hansley’s curiosity. Hansley handpicked a selection of enticing candies from the pig bodied glass jars that sat strategically on the shelf behind the main counter, far from probing little hands. The candies were placed into a small bag which Solomon slipped into his pants pocket. Solomon said see you later but his eyes seemed to say goodbye. Solomon opened the door, allowing the commotion outside to filter in and settle on the shelves like unwanted dust. Hansley watched nervously as Solomon left the store and was swallowed up by the ensuing fray.

Chester Fanjoy rested his well worn elbow on top of a dirty grey pickle barrel and scanned the crowd for victims.

“Who’s next?” he barked.

“I am,” said Solomon without any hint of irony.

The pickle barrel posse went wild with hilarity. The mere thought of Solo arm wrestling Chester was too much for most of them to take. The dirty little boys held their jaws lest they should fall to the ground. Chester easily weighed fifty pounds more than Solomon and his mass was concentrated in his back, chest and arms. Chester was a box of nails, not as tall as Solomon but his vertical inadequacies were more than made up for in sheer breadth. Solomon was a healthy man but standing next to Chester he looked like something that had been recently exhumed.

“You’d better call Dr.Walters,” exclaimed an anonymous voice from the middle of horde.

A wave of uproarious laughter filled the air causing nearby birds to flee their nests.

“You can use both arms if you like, Solomon,” taunted Chester .

“I’ll start with one,” stated a demure Solomon and then added “let’s make it interesting.”

“What do you mean?” quizzed Chester .

“A bet. If I win you’ll never arm wrestle again and you’ll spend every Saturday afternoon with your family.”

This was something to which Chester should have given more thought. He enjoyed arm wrestling more than anything else, arguably more than spending time with his family. Chester gave it little thought at all as there was not a chance of losing.

“What about when I win?” Chester grunted pleasantly, clearly savouring his pending victory and its spoils. “What will I get?”

Solomon pulled the bag of candy from his pocket. “You’ll get something to share with your family.” He then reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “You will also receive this envelope but, should you win, you will not be permitted to open it until Monday.”

“What if I open it today?” a defiant Chester challenged.

“Then you will be disappointed and so will I. Will you  swear on this sacred pickle barrel that you will not open it before Monday if you win?”

“Okay, okay,” conceded Chester .

“It’s not that I don’t trust you Chester but I’m going to give the envelope to Hansley for safekeeping. He’ll either give it back to me in a minute or he’ll give to you on Monday. It’s that important to me.”

Solomon couldn’t really count on Chester to do anything other than drag his knuckles on the ground when he walked.

Hansley had left the store a few moments earlier and had been witness to Solomon’s plan. Solomon gave the envelope to Hansley with a smile and what might have been a wink. He spun around and approached the pickle barrel.

Solomon removed his jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeves, placed his right elbow on the edge of the pickle barrel and offered his smooth hand to Chester . Chester ’s heroic fingers dwarfed those of Solomon’s. His saucerlike palms encased his opponent’s with little hope of escape. Their forearms tensed as they prepared for battle. Chester looked flushed and enraged. Solomon looked calm, wise and confident. Milton Carpenter put his own ample hands on top of Solomon’s and Chester ’s. He carefully centred their arms to ensure an equitable start and on the count of three he let go.

Surprisingly little happened at first. Solomon appeared to be holding his own. The crowd became hushed and birds once again flew overhead. Solomon’s long lever-like arm had given him an advantage that Chester hadn’t taken into consideration. Slowly and surely Solomon began to bend Chester ’s arm backwards until Chester ’s giant knuckles were inches away from the vinegar stained edge of the barrel. Solomon knew he had won but savoured victory over his brother-in-law for a few precious seconds longer.

“Had enough?” a focused Solomon asked of Chester .

Chester couldn’t summon the strength to answer. He was fighting for his life, or his lifestyle and all his energies were wired to his gravely twisted arm. Solomon decided that he had enough fun at Chester ’s expense. Rather than pound Chester ’s submissive arm into the pickle barrel lid he slowly and surreptitiously allowed Chester to battle back to the vertical. The crowd exhaled its collective breath and again became animated with hoots of encouragement for Chester . Solomon permitted his own arm to gracefully retreat with cold molasses stealth until finally his knuckles were laid to rest.

Solomon handed the bag of candy to Chester and gave him an assuring pat on the shoulder. He then looked at Hansley and firmly said, “Monday.”

He then turned his back on the crowd, picked up his jacket and basket with the shoes and silver locket and then walked down to the wharf. A riverboat spewed smoke into the already warm air as it prepared for departure to Saint John . Crates of produce were heaped high on the aft deck. The trip would take a full 24 hours as the riverboat hopped from wharf to wharf down the eastern side of the lake and river. It was a happy time. Solomon stood proudly on the wharf, cautiously distant from the edge as a childhood experience had made him fearful of the water. He waved to his friends as the riverboat pulled away and they waved back

Solomon watched until the riverboat was out of sight. The people on the wharf dispersed and Solomon was alone with his thoughts in the fading afternoon light. Solomon took his shoes off and placed them on the edge of the wharf, carefully inching his way to and from such a precipitous place. He then proceeded to place a new pair of shoes on his eagerly awaiting feet. He sat on the wharf until all light had faded. The leathery smell of his new shoes permeated the night air and with those shoes he proceeded to walk out of town and toward the southwest. He never stopped walking until the last of his three pairs of shoes were no longer serviceable. Here he began his anonymous new life, far from his comfortably familiar past. The silver locket found a home and Solomon desired nothing more than what he had found.

On the Monday after the arm wrestling match an unusually motivated Chester Fanjoy rose early in anticipation of his walk to Akerley’s store to claim his prize. He had already married Solomon’s sister and he wondered what further treasures could be mined from the Coreys. He left his tumbledown farm house without doing his morning chores and would have skipped along the road if that had been permissible for a man. He burst through the doors of Akerley’s store only to find a somber looking Hansley inside. Hansley, visibly upset over the apparent loss of Solomon to the dark lake waters, was not welcoming. Nevertheless he handed the envelope over to Chester . Chester ’s meaty fingers tore open the envelope to find nothing more than a piece of paper inside. He furrowed his brow and projected a look of disappointment.

“What does it say?” asked an illiterate Chester .

Hansley reviewed the contents and then pronounced in an unaffected monotone, “It’s the deed to Solomon’s house and land.” Nothing more was said. Chester left the store and slowly made his way home to his wife and eight kids.

A year after Solomon’s mysterious departure the people of his village, lead by Hansley Akerley, erected a headstone in the local cemetery. It sat under the outstretched arm of a lonely maple tree. The inscription read:

In Loving Memory of

Solomon H.Corey

Departed this life

Sept.8, 1877

32 years

At the foot of the headstone stood Solomon’s shoes.