• 2017-1

(Translations  Anya Pechkina)

There was nothing special about this intersection. Even from a bird’s eye view, it was a most common intersection, despite forming the crossroads of two of the most important city streets. One corner was occupied by a gas station, another – by a school, the third – by a bank, the fourth – by a bunch of small shops, a Laundromat and a shoe repair shop. Other intersections had corners crowded with theatres, churches, parks or restaurants. Birds would tirelessly circle over these, soaring and chirping in their bird-like ways, lit by the bright streetlamps and surrounded by wondrous sounds and smells. However, they flew right past intersections like this one without a second’s hesitation. And yet, one chilly February day, it was this boring intersection which became the destination for a silver cloud. It’s unlikely that anyone would be able to notice its light shadow amidst the weighty bluish clouds showering the ground with icy spikes. Would anyone even want to look up in such weather?

And yet, what a shame. Nobody (aside from a lone, sadly-crowing crow) would see how, for a fraction of a second, the sun brilliantly lit up that little cloud, transforming it into a gigantic, pearl-white wing. It may have been a simple mirage. Still, it did spark this story.

A shoe repair shop stood on one of these corners, huddled amidst cheap stores. Old-timers could confirm that the shoe stand had occupied the far corner of the intersection as long as the intersection itself had existed. Well, it had been a stand then; but now it was a lovely space with tinted, floor-to-ceiling glass at the entrance, proudly reading “Benzion and Sons” under a golden engraving of a boot. At the moment of the inexplicable occurrence in the sky, a 35-year-old man occupied the store. This was Benzion’s sole great-grandson. After all the wars, pogroms, and relocations, three of Benzion’s seven sons had survived, but then, in the end, only one was left. This one fathered four children, but again, just one managed to survive. This last one had a girl who never married, but gave birth to a son and called him Benjamin. Benjamin continued the family business, started by his great-grandfather, but never got around to starting a family. All because, for years, he’d been in love with a lady who was clueless as to his existence. How come? That’s difficult to explain. Firstly, he thought she was much too pretty for him. Like in that familiar fable of the ant and the dragonfly (or the ant and the grasshopper, as some know it): she’s the ethereal, elegant Dragonfly; he’s the squat, cumbersome Ant. Though a Dragonfly, she was no bimbo. This was her fifth year working in the neighbouring bank. The Ant would nestle against the shop glass, watching her hop off the bus and, barely touching the ground, high heels and all, glide towards the bank. He knows her name, Julie, from her nametag; he also knows her shoe size and many other such details. Oh, he doesn’t have her shoe size because she’d come in one day to have something fixed, but  no: This lady would sooner buy a new pair than fix an old one. Although he figures that all those pumps and boots worn on her pretty feet are not in her price range. Must be that  guy parking his Porsche at the cleaners twice a week, doting on her, closing the door behind her like a trap, does not skimp on presents. Never in the five years of him dreaming that she would come into his shop had fantasy ever become reality. At first, when the bank branch opened, he was absolutely sure that, one day, the Dragonfly would glide on her tattered soles and loosening fasteners right to his door. It was impossible that nothing would ever break or need repair. However, as time passed, Benjamin realized that their paths wouldn’t cross at this intersection. A year later, he opened an account in the new bank and would come over every week. Standing in line, he would try to keep himself from staring at the teller by the name of Julie. When he would come up to her counter, he would lose the ability to speak. She would glance up, without seeming to see him, as she dutifully followed the routine of smiling and then wishing him a good day. He would return to his shoe shop and take out a forged chest. In it lay his secret.

He had fashioned this secret with his own hands, following his grandfather Benzion’s old boot designs. Two astonishing circumstances had led to the creation of this secret and, every time he took out the elegant pair of dark chocolate pumps, he reminisced of how they came to be. That day the street was covered under mounds of wet snow fallen the night before. The Dragonfly struggled to fly through it, bogged down in the snow. She decided to alter her path. She walked so close to Benjamin, who, as always, stood by the glass, with his heart pounding. He wanted to run away but his legs refused to carry his body. She passed by, never glancing his way, leaving behind clear footprints in the snow. He seized the opportunity to run out and quickly, before anyone noticed, take measurements. He then held the cast of her sole, made from the print in the snow, in his hands like the greatest treasure. Soon afterwards, there happened to be a boiler leak at the shop, and some renovations were necessary. They took out the floor, opened up the basement, and found a waxed chest wrapped in tarpaulin. Workers had thought they uncovered buried treasure and were disappointed immediately upon opening it; Benjamin, on the other hand, was ecstatically happy. The chest contained leather samples, implements, nails, patterns, paints and thread. A shoemaker’s stash. The chest had obviously belonged to Benzion himself, judging by the dates printed on the samples. Everything had been miraculously preserved in mint condition. There was a box at the bottom of the chest, containing letters from Benzion to a young Mana Yasulovich, who would become his wife and Benjamin’s great-grandmother. In one of the letters, the groom wondered whether the bride liked the fashion and colour of the boots she received. He confessed, in the same letter, that, unfortunately, he was unable to find the colour of the leather she had ordered, specifically “coffee and cream,” and so decided to go with “dark chocolate” instead – it was fitting for the climate.

That same evening, Benjamin decided to create a pair of pumps from the Dragonfly’s imprint, taking the leather and nails out of the chest. He didn’t know why he was doing this or if he would even be able to present the shoes to her – but, frankly, he wasn’t planning that far ahead. He took the soft leather and the sharp nails and, with each movement of the awl and with each strike of the hammer, he drove words of love into those shoes. These words were stamped into the gold-rimmed bonnets on the soles and heels; they were strung onto the threads and the clasps. When his work was done, Benjamin was himself surprised at the weightlessness of the shoes. And they would have kept lying in that chest, giving the following generations reason to gossip about the strange habits of Grandpa Benjamin and his hidden passion. Only instead, in this time and place, a phenomenon occurred... one that masqueraded as a weather trick. The moment the Dragonfly hopped off the bus, Benjamin noticed how brightly the sun’s rays gleamed and how the slight shadow of a wing swept across the ground. He wanted to look up, but was unable to tear his glance away from her. She was so pretty today! Her hood slipped off her golden hair, spread out on her shoulders, her overcoat open to reveal new boots of a “coffee and cream” shade. She barely took two steps before stumbling over a broken heel. Her gaze immediately registered the shoe repair shop sign. She changed direction, limping with great difficulty straight towards the dumbfounded Benjamin. There were no other customers. Only she stood before him on one leg, a ballerina, handling him the broken boot.

“Could you fix this? I need it by 6pm today. I work nearby, at the bank. I’ll come back at the end of the day. Do you have slippers or something? Excuse me, I have to call a friend…”

Benjamin stopped her.

“Wait, try these on.”

The dark-chocolate heels stood right by the Dragonfly’s feet. He carefully, as if handling crystal, brought one up to her slim foot. Fighting the tremor in his hands, he put it on: it fit like a glove, gently cupping Julie’s foot. Without knowing why, Julie suddenly shivered and looked directly into his eyes.

“Oh, sorry, I hadn’t recognized you, sir. You’re a client. You usually come on Thursdays. And these heels are a perfect fit. They’re so beautiful! Too bad it’s still winter. Are they for sale? No? What a pity! Where could I buy them? You made them yourself? Unbelievable! Can a person really make shoes themselves? Oops, sorry, I’m spouting such nonsense! Please don’t think I’m one of those girls who don’t understand how candies get their fillings I’m only a blonde on the outside…”

The Dragonfly’s laugh resonated, clear and bright, through the shop. She stood up, walked around and grew dizzy.

“Say, what’s your name? Right, right, Benjamin… a rare name, I noticed that at work… Benjamin, it’s unbelievable, but it feels like I’m about to soar to the clouds. My feet are so light! You know I love dancing more than anything in this world? I’m going to a club today.”

Her mood suddenly dampened, but Benjamin was quick to reassure her:

“I would be glad to give them as a gift.”

The Dragonfly politely thanked him and declined, replying that she couldn’t possibly accept such an expensive gift, but if there was an appropriate price, she would pay it. Benjamin turned his face to the floor and muttered under his nose that they weren’t for sale. The fairytale was ending. Julie was leaving, having agreed to pick her boots around 6 and, meanwhile, if the shoemaker insists, she will wear the chocolate-coloured heels with pleasure. Benjamin looked on as she skimmed across the slippery road and disappeared behind the bank doors. The broken heel lay near the boot. Benjamin realized how deeply unpleasant repairing it would be. He was sickened by the thought of her going to the club in these boots, then kicking them off to get in bed with that Porsche driver. But what could he do? Of course, he could “fix” it, so that the heel broke off again in an hour or so. But what will she think of him? Hack! Talentless hack! And she won’t ever come in again.

While Benjamin was torn between jealousy and professionalism, inexplicable things started to happen to Julie. Standing and sitting at a bank counter for hours on end, day in, day out, she well knew the extent of exhaustion her poor feet had to bear. Benjamin’s heels kept her floating. She felt lithe and, most importantly, that a weight had lifted off her soul. Julie hadn’t told anyone how, for a long time now, she hadn’t had the strength to shake off the weight of a sluggish romance. At one point, she’d waited and hoped for him to say, having seated her in his Porsche, “Let’s go! Now I will always be yours. I’ve made my choice, and that choice is you!” However, the longer their relationship lasted, the less of it was left. They only brought love up as criticism. The calendar touted Valentine’s Day, but her mood would reflect a different February – grey haze, freezing rain. Julie looked upon her feet in chocolate heels once more. She could swear that they warmed her feet no worse than boots. Cold air from the automatic entrance door usually trapped her legs, but, today, she didn’t feel it. What she did feel was warmth. She thought of Benjamin once more. When he had been fitting her with the shoe, a pleasurable tingle ran up her spine.

“He hadn’t just been sitting at my feet; he was looking up with such loyalty,” Julie thought. “What did it remind me of? That’s it, a dog! A big, shaggy dog. Eyes like coal, black hair. Obviously kind and strong. No, but honestly, no one has ever touched me like that before! Sensitive fingers, evoking a tremble… Dear God, I’ve completely lost it! He and his shop had been only two steps away for five whole years, and it never crossed my mind! Yes, dear, that would be due to despair. And to think – he made these heels himself, as if specifically for me! How’d he know my size? Coincidence?!”

At half past five, Julie entered the shoe repair shop. Two women were standing at the counter, picking up their purchases. Benjamin, seeing Julie, stumbled and stopped, forgetting what he was doing. The women were leaving, but Benjamin just stood there, frozen. Julie smiled and uttered an unbelievable string of words. Unbelievable not only for Benjamin, but for herself, too.

“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t need those boots back. I never want to take these chocolate heels off. Please?”

Benjamin didn’t immediately register her words, but, when their meaning reached him, he immediately proposed. That evening, the couple danced – first, at a restaurant, and then, until morning, in a club. Benjamin felt pure bliss, like he was walking on clouds, and Julie soared above those same clouds in her chocolate pumps, drunk on love, lightness, and dance.

Had all this happened by sheer coincidence, or did the intervention of a white wing, or else its fleeting shadow that swept across that simple and boring intersection, bring this to fruition? Who knows…

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