Jingle, jangle, jingle the shiny silver bell sang. The roar of city evening rushed its way in and swish the glass door whispered as it closed quick. The slap of dry leather on the black tile caused the butterflies in Katherine's tummy to fly that much faster.
“Just a moment, please,” Katherine called out. Her visitor muffled a response.
She laid the French hammer down, her clear blue eyes focusing on a distant memory, not paying attention to the modern-day version of Crispin's Bones scattered about the wooden workbench, the awls, the cutting nippers, the skiving knives, the leather shears, to name but a few of the implements, all silent pieces of history longing to tell their story. All Katherine could see was Nicolai standing at the very same spot, black ringlets tinged white streaming about his broad shoulders, a favorite pipe clenched between his teeth, a master of the Gentle Craft for many a year, his large callused hands fashioning calf, kangaroo, kid, even cordovan leather, into a fine pair of men's or women's boots.
Katherine sighed to herself and reached for a hairbrush. Glancing toward the round mirror above the workbench, she began brushing at the short ivory curls surrounding her statuesque features. The years had really been good to her. Only a trace of the crow bore its mark around her eyes and at the corners of her full lips. Quite a few men had tried charming their way into her heart over the years too, but she still missed her Nicolai, husband and best friend of twenty-four years, father of four wonderful children, and a man blessed with hands that carried a touch of magic in them. Hands that could have reshaped the world if he had so desired, hands that could massage an aching body into restful sleep.
A young Katherine met Nicolai Klausen one sunny afternoon in 1959, when visiting The Bootery with a mutual friend of theirs. Although twenty years his junior, the sparks erupting between Katherine and Nicolai eventually led to a long, but sweet courtship. Once married, Nicolai had taught Katherine the repairing aspect of the Gentle Craft, referred to as cobbling in the old country, a trade she still prospered at. Katherine didn't need to work, but wouldn't give up the business. It was all she had left of her Nicolai. She could smell him, could taste him, she could pick up a tack hammer and feel his presence, his spirit of life. Katherine even wore his old brown leather apron, altered to fit her tall, slender frame, the layer upon layer of dried yellow cement upon the apron's surface like a road map to his inner soul.
Katherine sighed once more and turning away from the workbench, stepped toward the windowed opening in the partitioned wall. Rubbing her hands together, paying special attention to her fingers, she studied the visitor a moment through the glass. His hunched, dark-suited figure faced her. He was scanning one of the Lexol leather care leaflets she kept for customers, but a large black fedora was hiding his true form. Katherine had a thing about seeing an individual's eyes. It was a habit she had learned from Nicolai, a practice serving him well, right up until his death. Tapping on the glass, she held up a single finger to indicate one moment more. Soft green eyes, framed by a slender tanned face, blinked once in answer to her request. A thin white mustache smiled with him. She nodded and looked past the visitor to the big display window, its outer fringes lined with artificial ivy and blinking white lights. The faint glow of the street lighting told her it was almost time to close.
Katherine sauntered back to the workbench, hung the apron on a hook beside the mirror, smoothed out some imaginary wrinkles in her knee-length cotton dress, the pink and purple stripe design a favorite, and a bit too flashy for a woman of her stature. That's what Megan, her oldest daughter, had told her anyway. She smiled to herself, remembering the lunch the two of them enjoyed that day when the dress came up, and turned to make her way out front. The ringing telephone interrupted her step, though.
Not one to spend any more money than was needed, the rectangular box at the back of the store, with its round finger-dial display, an instrument celebrating more birthdays than she, was the only telephone in the shop. Grimacing at the interruption, Katherine turned again and traipsed over to the intrusive black device. Her tan Rockports treaded lightly on the timeworn wooden floor.
“The Bootery. Can I help you?”
“Katherine?” a familiar, low-pitched voice asked.
“Speaking.” Her heart raced like a thirty-year old.
“Do you know who this is?”
“Yes. I do.” She twirled the black cord around a finger, then gasped at the mistake.
“Are you all right, my love?”
“It's just my arthritis, Nicolai,” Katherine answered. “Age is finally winning the war.”
“Don't you fret, my love. It won't be long now.”
“Will I see you this evening?”
“If things go well, yes.” Nicolai hesitated a second. “I have to go for now, my love.”
That click of silence was deafening. Katherine hung the receiver on the two chrome hooks and pulled a wheeled desk chair close, easing down on its cushioned seat, gently rubbing the finger she wound with the phone cord. She wasn't sure what to think, considering the dream she had last night, but knew Nicolai's voice like she knew her own. Had he been that stranger?
Katherine had settled into their four-poster bed, snug under the patchwork quilt, a present from Nicolai's sister when they first married, and was leaning back on fluffed up pillows, reading her nightly Bible verses. She wasn't sure when sleep overtook her, but remembered being visited over and over again by a stranger. She'd opened the living room door, the kitchen door, the bathroom door, even the automatic door at San Luis Market, and a darkened silhouette would be standing at every entrance, beckoning her to follow with the movement of a single finger. Not feeling threatened in the least bit, she had finally acceded to the stranger's request, watching with surprise as her form was whisked away. Katherine wasn't sure what she had witnessed - perhaps the dream of death - but awoke quite refreshed and knew in her heart she would receive a visitor at the shop that day. It was the one door she had never opened.
Still massaging the finger, Katherine discovered she was feeling much better. Those butterflies in her tummy had eased considerably, and her eyes began scanning the oblong space of the store. If it was her time to go, this would be the last time she could enjoy a good look at Nicolai's shop.
Against a white wall was the bulk of machinery used to refurbish shoes, boots, and sandals. There was the chain-stitch McKay, the K-model outsole stitcher, and the Auto-Soler nailer, with a table between each, then came the long, lathe-like Landis finisher with its trimmers, sanding wheels, and rotating shine brushes. Katherine had made it a point to keep each piece of the ancient equipment cleaned and well-oiled, just like Nicolai had. A lengthy shelf was situated above the grass-green machinery and a smorgasbord of supplies lined the seasoned wood, from Vibram sales to leather full sales to Cat's Paw rubber heels.
In the middle of the floor was a rectangular workstation. Nearly half the length of the shop, underneath the aged plywood surface were myriad poster board-size sheets of soling material. There was plantation crepe and air crepe and neoprene crepe and Birkenstock crepe, the thickness and colors as varied as the types of footwear on the street. At the end of the workstation, close to where Katherine sat, a foot-operated patching machine reflected the ceiling's fluorescent light off its glossy black surface. Installed upon a cast-iron stand, the wide pedal below the long-arm Adler had been worn silver with Nicolai's boot prints, sewing not only footgear, but purses and coats and a thousand other items.
Against the wall facing the machinery, another workbench ran the length of the store. Three waist-high shoe and boot lasts stood tall like a permanent guard an arm's length away, and there were two sections to this work area. The right side was where the majority of bottoming repairs took place, and the other had been designed originally for Nicolai's hand crafting, but now catered to what her husband referred to as fitting. These two work areas were separated by a splitter, a heel wheel, and a five-in-one, and there were double-decker shelves above the workbench, with still more supplies lining their spaces. Zippers and snaps and rivets and buckles and tassels and half soles and leather heels and nylon plates and a multitude of things serving a purpose of some sort at some time. There were, of course, shoes and boots and purses and belts and many other items scattered about, dotting the shelves and the benches, some standing upright, some on their side, some of the repairs complete, some still under the surgical light.
Katherine's favorite place in the shop, though, was behind her. She rotated the chair around and rose to her feet, walking toward the paper-covered bulk. Lifting the ink-free paper, countless hides and skins were piled upon one another on a broad table. They were natural in color, several shades of brown, gray, navy, white, cordovan, and black. Some were small, some were extremely large, some were suede, some had a grainy surface, and some were as smooth as the California sun. Taking a supple piece of navy calf in her hands, she brought it close to her face and drew in its scent. The aroma was like the ingredients of a full-course meal. Spicy, yet bitter, yet sweet, the smell reminding Katherine of Nicolai and his hands of magic, fashioning the likes of boots no one could ever match. Katherine stepped back as a tear rolled off her cheek, the droplet shattering into tiny fragments as it hit the wooden floor, her blue eyes blurring with his memory. She really missed those hands.
A long moment passed and Katherine straightened her shoulders. Laying the calfskin back on the table, she meticulously covered the leather, then sauntered back to the workbench and plucked a Kleenex out of the decorative box. Satisfied with her quick study in the mirror, Katherine lightly touched Nicolai's apron and turned to make her way to the waiting customer.
“I'm sorry it took so long,” Katherine said in a sweet manner.
“Oh, that's all right, ma'am,” the gentleman replied in a distinct southern drawl as he removed the black fedora, revealing a head of wavy, short white hair. “I just hope that phone call wasn't anything too serious.” His soft green eyes appeared genuinely concerned.
“Nothing to fret over, but thank you for asking.” Katherine clasps her hands together and discovered the ache in her fingers had disappeared. “So, what can I help you with?”
Before he could speak, a tune began playing and the gentleman reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a silver-colored cell phone.
“These darned things can be a royal pain sometimes.” He aimed an index finger at the instrument, but halted in mid stride. “Mind if I take this call?”
“Go right ahead,” Katherine chimed with a smile.
“Hello?” The gentleman listened for a quick second and his soft green eyes narrowed, then looked quickly at Katherine with a questioning glance.
“Are you Katherine Klausen?”
“Yes.”
The gentleman held the cell phone out. “It's for you.”
Katherine opened her mouth to speak, but wasn't sure what to say. She didn't know this gentleman, and as far she knew, had never seen him in her life. So, why would someone call her on a stranger's phone? For that matter, how could someone call her on a stranger's phone? A touch of anger gathered in her mind and she took a step back.
“Mrs. Klausen,” her visitor said in a light tone, “I don't have a clue as to who this is, but the gentleman on the other end suggested I ask how your hands are feeling.”
His white mustache smiled with him, but Katherine could tell he was troubled. His soft green eyes told the whole story. She had to admit, though, that something was askew. Her hands were feeling wondrous, and she hadn't even taken a dose of Excedrin. She reached for the phone.
“Yes?”
“Katherine.”
“Nicolai” Katherine turned on her heel, then swiveled back to face the visitor. A suspicious gaze had entered the Southerner's eyes.
“Katherine, my love, I'll be there shortly, and just tell your guest 'yes' when he asks his question. Love you, beautiful.”
This time, the click of silence made her head spin. Katherine handed the cell phone back, her tummy warm with true hope. Nicolai was coming!
“Now would you please explain what just happened,” the visitor demanded in his crisp, southern voice as he pocketed the cell phone.
“Why, yes,” Katherine said, thinking quickly, shifting her eyes over his shoulder to the shelves to the right, not really seeing the myriad retail products. “Ever since my husband passed on, I spend a lot of time alone here at the shop, so my brother had some type of new security system installed. It's suppose to be able to eavesdrop on any form of electronic device, or something like that, and when he discovered I hadn't arrived home on time, well, he intercepted your phone.” Katherine gave him her best smile.
The look on his face was one of astonishment and disbelief, which caused his white eyebrows to crinkle toward his soft green eyes. He began looking all around and his line of sight fixed itself on a position at the ceiling. Katherine shifted her head around and her eyes upward, spotting what he was gazing at. A darkened half-bubble hung there, a defunct security camera hidden within its enclosure. At least she thought it had been broken. Two blinking red lights were winking their eyes at them. His white mustache smiled as he did.
“Mrs. Klausen, ma'am,” the Southerner said in a sheepish manner, “I'd like to apologize for my behavior.” He looked up at the darkened half-bubble for a quick second, then reached into his coat once more, pulling out a folded document. “To get back to the manner at hand, I have a proposition for you.” He unfolded the papers and slid them across the gray Formica.
Katherine eyed the legal-size papers, recalling Nicolai's words and knew at once what had been placed in front of her. This gentleman wished to buy The Bootery. She placed her hands on the smooth countertop, her eyes shifting left to right, noticing that some of the Meltonian polishes never did sell, but added a fullness to the color scheme, thought the cash register could use a good cleaning, made a mental note to restock the Lexol leaflets, then realized what she was doing. She looked up at the visitor, tilting her head to the side a bit.
Jingle, jangle, jingle the shiny silver bell sang. A tall, beefy gentleman ambled into The Bootery and swish the glass door whispered as it closed quick. Wearing a white pirate's blouse and black pocketless trousers tucked into a pair of handcrafted black Wellingtons, Katherine's heart raced as she took in the presence of Nicolai. His paunch was a bit fuller than she recalled - probably why he had adopted the wide red suspenders with gold clasps - and he had aged, the long, lustrous curls as white as mountain snow. He had even grown a bushy, white beard. It was still her Nicolai, dazzling her with diamond-blue eyes and that million-dollar smile, and she rushed around the counter into waiting arms. The feel of his hands upon her back, her shoulders, her face, a pleasure untold, but as their lips drew close, her heart shuddered a beat. That familiar Nicolai smell was missing!
Katherine remained in her husband's arms, though, and looked deep into those eyes of his, searching for what she didn't know. Perhaps the truth, perhaps a falsehood. It had been over twenty years since Nicolai had stepped foot inside The Bootery, the scent of leather upon his person a reminder of his lifelong craft, over twenty years since that fateful day of passing. Katherine's heart shuddered another beat and watched in surprise as her hand clutched at her bosom, and was even more surprised when she saw her form crumple to the black tile. A hand firmly clasps hers and turning, Katherine looked up once more into Nicolai's eyes.
“Mrs. Klausen!” the Southerner's voice rang out.
Katherine swiveled her head around and watched the gentleman kneel before her still body, pluck the cell phone out of his jacket, and punch in three numbers. She glanced down at her own form, and the flowing white dress she now wore astounded her senses. Matching white boots completed the outfit, and wiggling her toes against the smooth satin lining, Katherine wasn't sure what to believe.
“Yes, ma'am, I need an ambulance - ”
Katherine once more turned toward those diamond blues. She started to speak, but Nicolai placed a single finger to his lips, his eyes asking her to be patient. New movement captured her attention. The EMTs had arrived and were hard at work trying to resuscitate her still body. A scant second later, and the Southerner was surrounded by patrol officers and a plainclothes detective, the gold shield outside her coat pocket proclaiming its authority. Another second passed, and the tanned-face gentleman with the soft green eyes, who sported a mustache that smiled as he did, stood alone in The Bootery. Surrounded by silence and a thick air of sadness, he spoke quietly into his phone. Little could he know that newfound joy was just inches away. And another second passed.
Jingle, jangle, jingle the shiny silver bell sang. A tall, robust woman pressed her way into The Bootery and swish the glass door whispered as it closed quick. Wearing gray sweats and blue-gray Nikes, long dark curls hung from a thick ponytail. Her step was light and sure as she approached the waiting gentleman. The woman offered her hand.
“Asa Sommers, I presume?”
“Yes, ma'am,” the Southerner answered, clasping her hand. “Call me Asa.”
Nicolai scooted around his wife to get a better look. Katherine just stood there, not watching the meeting taking place between Megan and the Southerner, her mind not quite accepting what had occurred.
“My love, our eldest daughter has grown even more beautiful!”
Katherine turned at the sound of her husband's voice, his form aglow with fatherly pride. She again glanced down at the flowing white dress, the white leather boots. She could not yet accept that her death had truly occurred, and yet she had witnessed the event. What happened to the bright light everyone spoke of? Where was the vast warmth of love she had been taught would exist? Katherine lifted her eyes to Nicolai's form and an inkling of the truth spoke to her. He was that brightness, he was that vast warmth of love. She held out her hand.
“Nicolai,” she whispered.
Her husband shifted his attention in that direction, and taking her hand, gently drew Katherine to his side.
“My love, I hadn't forgotten you,” Nicolai whispered back, hugging her close. “It's just been so long since my eyes could embrace our daughter's beauty.”
Jingle, jangle, jingle the shiny silver bell sang. A child of nine plowed his way into The Bootery and swish the glass door whispered as it closed quick. Tall for his age, one look would tell anyone he was his mother's son. Short, black wavy hair, the cheekbones broad and proud, a snub of a nose, and a smile that could melt the snows of the Sierra Nevada, he continued his youthful stroll without a thought to caution. His black jeans and red 49ers pullover were school-worn tumbled, and it was Katherine who moved to get a better look, pulling Nicolai along.
“Mom, Dad told me to tell you we needed to hurry,” the nine year-old declared. His black Converses squeaked to a stop beside his mother.
“Yes, I suppose we do,” Megan answered, looking first at her son, then at her wristwatch. She put a hand on her son's shoulder. “Nick, can you say hello to Mr. Sommers?”
“How do you do, young man?” the Southerner said, extending his hand.
“Hello, Mr. Sommers,” Nick replied, quickly shaking Asa's hand.
“A 49ers fan, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I follow the Giants, myself.”
A smile like Nicolai's beamed from Nick. “Did you watch the game last Sunday?”
“Yes, I did,” Asa grumbled, throwing his hands up. “Six seconds left in the game and New York blows it.”
“Yeah, and San Francisco's going to - .”
“Nick, you run and tell your father I'll be just a moment.”
“ - win the Super Bowl”
“Nicolai K!”
“Yes, ma'am.” Running toward the glass door, Nick grabbed the handle, the shiny silver bell jingling and jangling, but stopped and swiveled around before he went out. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Sommers.”
“Likewise, Nick,” Asa called back. The Southerner eyed Megan. “That's a fine boy you have there.”
Katherine watched as Nick sped away, arms crossed as if hugging herself, turning to Nicolai when the glass door swished shut. A hint of chilly night air had filtered in.
“Isn't he precious?”
“Yes, he is, my love.” Nicolai slipped his arm around Katherine once more.
“You know,” she said in a quiet voice, laying her head on his shoulder, “Nick was named after you.”
“That must have been your idea.”
“No. I never said a word.” Katherine raised her head, moving a hair away from her husband, turning in his arms. “I sure wish you could see all the grandchildren.”
“We will, my love.”
Katherine's eyes brightened, and cuddled up to Nicolai's warmth as the Southerner closed his hand over a key.
“I really don't mind,” Asa said as Megan grasp the legal-size document. “It'll give me a chance to get a feel for the place.”
A quiet moment passed as Megan scanned the papers. “Didn't you say Mother never had a chance to look this over.”
“Well, Mrs. Klausen might have glanced at it for a few seconds, but then the door blew open and when she went around the counter, your mother - .” The Southerner faltered.
“It's all right. You can say it. She died.” Megan's blue eyes were ice cold. “So explain to me why her signature is on this document.”
Asa gave Katherine's eldest daughter an incredulous look as she handed him the proposal, and Nicolai whispered to his wife.
“It's time for us to leave this place, my love.”
“There must be some mistake,” Asa muttered, “but an easy one to remedy.”
The Southerner ripped the papers in two. Just as he did, jingle, jangle, jingle the shiny silver bell sang and the torn pages flew out of Asa's hand. Swish the glass door whispered as it closed quick. The papers danced in the air, miraculously bonded themselves together, then the intact document drifted down to the black tile. Asa and Megan eyed one another, waiting a few seconds before they squatted down together, but it was Asa who retrieved the papers.
“Well, I'll be,” Asa remarked in his southern drawl. He handed the document to Megan.
Megan's eyes grew wide. “This isn't possible!”
“Possible or not, your uncle's signature is under your mother's.”
“My uncle's? Where did you get an idea like that? Nicolai Klausen is my father.”
Asa glanced up at the darkened half-bubble, but kept his thoughts to himself, and the white mustache smiled with him. The blinking red lights were gone.
Nicolai and Katherine made their way out into the chilled night. She was a little taken aback by what she saw, but remained silent as her husband handed her a long, red coat, the white fur collar thick and plush, himself slipping on a similar garment. Snuggling up to Nicolai as he whisked them away through the night, Katherine gently turned his face close to hers. When their lips met, Asa was locking the door to The Bootery. He swiveled around onto the deserted sidewalk, watched the fading taillights of Megan's van, adjusted his black fedora one more time, and then pricked his ears toward the continuous singsong of small bells above him. Jingle, jangle, jingle they sang. Swish the glass chariot whispered as it sped away.
A reverse call search is your means to discovering out any number that calls your or a loved one’s mobile call number. Conducting a reverse call up search is not as easy as calling your local 411 telephone service, rather, a searcher ought to find, access and search a database of telephone number ownership details such as provided by directory cell phone.
Jim Santiago