Forgotten Dreams of Eternity: Lost Odyssey: Thousand Years of Dreams

(Short Story -XX.) *The Story of Old Man Greo*

Forgotten Dreams of Eternity: Lost Odyssey: Thousand Years of Dreams

Copyright © 2011 Sky_Knight

(Short Story -XX.)

*The Story of Old Man Greo*

Old Man Greo was known as the best shoemaker in the country.

His shoes were light as leather and tough as steel. They were also expensive--three times higher than anything else on the market. People who did not know his reputation were so shocked to hear what he charged they would say:

"The old man must be making his shoes for his own amusement!"

Of course, this was not the case. He had become a craftsman's apprentice at a tender age, and whenever he learned one master's skills he would move on to more talented shoemakers. Before he knew it, he found himself making shoes for the grandchildren of his earliest customers.

Greo was such a skilled craftsman, he could make any kind of shoe the customer ordered, but he was best at, and most enjoyed making, thick-soled traveling shoes.

All his customers agreed. "Once you've traveled in Old Man Greo's shoes, you can't wear anybody else's."

Some would say. "You know what it's like to wear his shoes? You don't get tired the same way. You just want to keep walking--as long and as far as you can. You almost hate to get where you're going."

True craftsman that he was though, Old Man Greo rarely talked to his customers, and he could be downright unfriendly. Complimented on his work, he wouldn't so much as smile. Instead, he would put another piece of tanned leather on his wooden shoe last and start hammering away.

The only time the old fellow would crack even the slightest smile was when a customer visited his workshop to place an order.

Not that he was ever thrilled to get an order. What he most enjoyed was when a customer brought him a pair of shoes that had outlived its usefulness. He would stare lovingly at the worn-down soles and the disintegrating uppers, and he would actually talk to them!

"You've done some good traveling, I see..."

His regular customers would never dispose of their old shoes themselves because they knew how much he enjoyed this. Neither would they do anything so foolish as to clean the shoes before handing them over to the old man. He wanted them straight from the road--covered with dirt, oil-stained, and stinking of sweat.

"These fellows are my stand-ins." he would say, choosing an honored place for them in his storehouse.

"They take my place on the road, you know. They've done their job. I hate to throw them away just because they're no good anymore."

Proud craftsman though he was, Old Man Greo never wore his own shoes.

He couldn't have worn them even if he had wanted to.

His legs were gone from the knees down.

A terrible illness had attacked his bones when he was very young, and the legs had been amputated to save his life.

The old man had lived his long life in a wheelchair. He had never once left his native village.

This was what he meant when he said that his shoes did the traveling for him.

"Haven't seen you for a while."

Old Man Greo says without looking up from his work as Kaim steps across the threshold. His back is toward the door, but he can tell from the sound of the footsteps when a regular customer has entered his shop.