Beekman Missed His Chance
A Tale Feather Story
This story unfolded in response to a question that often came back to me, “Why do I do so many things? Why can’t I just pick one thing and do that?”
The buried judgement within that is that doing lots of things is somehow flaky and irresponsible. One doesn’t find success when they are “all over the place”. It bothered me. I didn’t like being flaky and changeable and yet this seemed like a fundamental part of my personality. I do lots of things. I’m interested in lots of things. I like trying new things AND I often don’t say “no” to new opportunities. Like Substack. A friend and mentor suggested it and I immediately said “yes.”
So I wondered, “Why is that?”
A few days ago I went into my Records and this story met me there. I found a former self that had some real wisdom for me. A message that lined everything up for me. Maybe it will land with some of you as well. Enjoy!
Oh, and this story, like all the Tale Feather stories, is for adults. It contains some adult themes.
Beekman was a brittle man with prematurely thinning blond hair, pasty skin and the ability to be seem invisible even when standing in front of you.
His knees were knobby and tired and his hands were cold, moist and apologetic. He was insignificant and knew his place: in the corner doing what he was told to do.
He lived in 12th century Flanders, a principality within the lowlands of northwestern Europe in what would eventually become Bruges in Belgium. The township was then called an urban commune, organized according to the needs and desires of Count Baldwin the fifth and his family. This township had several workshops and a forge, a market and in the middle of the central highway that led to the Count’s manor, was a shoemaking and repair shop. The shop was where the Count’s cordwainer designed and constructed the royal family’s new shoes. It was also where two cobblers repaired their shoes, as well as the shoes of those who worked in the commune. The cordwainer used cordovan leather, highly prized and imported from Spain, as well as silks and velvet. The cobblers often repaired shoes with domestic leather, burlap cloth and one of the cobblers still worked with wood, building and repairing wooden clogs. The cordwainer had two apprentices that often cut and stitched the leather, and the cobber had a journeyman and one apprentice, and thus, there were six skilled men in the shop at any given time.
Beekman was not a cobbler, nor a journeyman or apprentice, but the shop’s sweeper or rubbish man.
He lingered in the corners waiting for bits of this and that to fall, and he would sweep it up, separating what was still usable from the unusable. Like many cleaners, he slept and kept his few possessions in the back corner of the small shop behind a simple curtain. He worked all day in the rest of the shop tidying after the craftsmen, and at night he slept on the floor. Beekman washed in a wooden bowl, ate out of a separate bowl, and went outside to for his toilet. His life was the same every day with very little surprise or change.
He did have one moment that gave him great joy and was something he looked forward to: every evening once all the craftsmen were gone and he finished cleaning the shop, he went on a nighttime walk. Now, this may seem like an unremarkable source of great joy, but one must keep in mind the times. This was high middle ages in northern Europe, when Dukes and Barons and Counts were constantly maneuvering for power, cutting off family and anyone else that got in their way. Spies and mercenaries were regularly deployed to get information and if necessary commit acts of violence in service to the new leader of the land. It was not the safest time to be out alone at night. So Beekman literally took his life in his hands to slip out the back door of the workshop, wind his way along the Leperlee river until he got to the larger buildings closer to the Count’s castle. Beekman liked to see the buildings, their beautiful craftsmanship and decoration – but mostly he was interested in seeing the royals. He wanted to see what the fancy rich people did: how they walked and talked with each other, what they looked like eating and, if he could, overhear their conversations.
He had specific spots from which to spy—one was from behind an alleyway toilet, one was from the low branches of a tree and another was from a dark alcove along the side of the basilica, or house chapel of the Count. It was from this dark vantage point that he saw a group of men enter a nearby building that he had never noticed before.
This was strange because Beekman was sure he knew every building around the castle but this one had never caught his eye before. He saw four well dressed men in capes and tall boots open a thick wooden door and disappear inside. Then he saw two more men, only this time they had women in beautiful dresses alongside them. When they entered, Beekman took a risk, crossed the walkway to the other side and went to one of the low windows that was shaded from moonlight by a tall tree. He settled and only listened at first, but when he could hear the sound of chanting, he slowly made his way to the window to peek in.
What he saw did not make sense at first.
Men, and perhaps women, were dressed in strange costumes with frightening masks. Some masks looked like animals while others looked like men with mustaches and large noses. Everyone wore robes and they seemed to be involved in some kind of religious ceremony. Beekman was fascinated and even a bit excited by the sight. He stared as some circulated around and then saw a few couples find each other and perhaps dance? He was confused. It was at once very animal, brutish and yet, elegant and refined.
Beekman had had no experience with women. He was raised by his father, if that could even be called “raised” but he never spoke with women let alone had any relationships. He was generally frightened of most people and didn’t know what to do with a man’s attention, let alone a woman’s. So when he looked to see couples dancing and … perhaps being intimate … he watched wide eyed and amazed. Plus the chanting and quiet music made him swoon and start to imagine himself among them. He could see himself in robes and a mask moving around the room, dancing and perhaps holding a woman. Perhaps more.
Then one of the participants, a man in what seemed to be a burgundy robe and a the mask of a long-nosed man, sudden spun around and looked directly at him. Beekman’s eyes widened and he pulled back, hoping the man did not see him. He froze for a moment, not sure what to do, and then he turned and ran. He ran as fast as his feeble legs could carry him, tree switches scratching his face and stumbling over rocks. He fell three times but got up and ran again until he reached the workshop, slipped inside and then held himself. He gasped for breath as he held himself, wide eyed and terrified, until hours passed and he thought he wasn’t being followed. He cursed himself for looking in the window and told himself he would not go there again.
Beekman eventually fell asleep on the floor and woke the next morning to the sound of one of the apprentices entering. The apprentice’s name was Michel and he cursed when he saw Beekman stretched out on the floor.
“Master will be here only this morning and you are not ready” Michel shouted, as if to a child, “Move!”
Beekman hopped to work, setting up the shop for the craftsmen. He made sure the supplies were stocked and tools were in position and there was nothing on the floor. And the moment he finished, the others began to arrive. The other apprentice Jan entered followed by Paul the cobbler’s journeyman. Some time later the cobbler arrived and an hour later the cordwainer flew in, announced he was called to the castle and a moment later, Michel and Jan followed him out.
The cobbler and Paul continued their work until lunch time when they left Beekman to clean up as they took their lunch at the tavern. It was during that small window of time that Beekman was paid a visit.
Beekman knew they would bring him a crust of bread when they returned but he was very hungry due to no time to make himself some morning oats. He licked his lips thinking about the bread as he swept up the floor and organized the tools. And then to his surprise the door opened and a very grand man entered. He was dressed in burgundy robes, had long hair and a mustache and bright welcoming eyes. Beekman only looked for a moment at the man’s face but he could tell from his baring and simply his own intuition that this was the man who discovered him sitting by the window of the strange building. This was the man who caught him watching their ritual or whatever it was.
His heart nearly stopped, he was so filled with fear and shame. He looked down at the floor and froze – he gave no greeting or welcome.
“Good man, hello” said the grand fellow, “I hope you might be able to help me. You see the buckle on my boot has pulled off and I was told that you would be able to help me. I’m visiting from Bruge for an important meeting and tonight is a special night. I must have the boot mended.”
Beekman glanced to where the man had pulled away his cape and was pointing his gloved hand to the spot where the buckle had torn away from the leather.
“Can you help me?” said the man softly.
Beekman broke from his terror enough to shake his head quickly, “The cobbler sir will be back soon and can help you”
“But I wonder if you can help me” said the man”“I wonder if you possess more skills than you let on. I wonder if there is more to you than you project.”
This was utterly unexpected and Beekman suddenly thought he would swoon or even faint. He was sure the man was mocking him or about to grab him by the scruff and take him somewhere and interrogate him – or maybe even kill him.
But the man wasn’t wrong. Beekman actually did know how to mend the leather. He knew exactly what was needed. He knew which was the proper thread and which stitch would hide the mending. The fact was, Beekman knew how to do everything in the cobbler’s trade as well as the cordwainer because Beekman never forgot something once he saw it. He remembered details as if they were happening in that very moment. He never forgot anything. So how did this grand man know this about him?
But again, Beekman shook his head no. No, he could not help him.
“Its an important event tonight. We meet for three nights and last night was the first. People think these meetings are for nobles only but it isn’t true” continued the man, “They are for those who are called. We will be in the same place this evening and this is why I must have my boot mended.”
Beekman could feel that a door was opening. He could feel the warmth and safety that this strange man was projecting. Beekman knew he would experience no danger from this man, and yet, he was terrified. He could not move. He could not believe any of this was happening and wanted it to end. Again he should his head and mumbled, “If you would wait … for the cobbler.”
“The cobbler is not who I seek” said the man with a measure of impatience. Then he turned on his heels and walked out of the shop.
For many minutes Beekman looked down and the floor and did not move. He tried to understand what had happened – what it all meant – but he couldn’t. Was the man inviting him to the gathering? Was mending his boot some kind of test? It was as if this man knew Beekman and could see him even better than Beekman could see himself. He continued to stand frozen until the door opened again, and Paul, the journeyman entered.
“What are you doing?!” shouted Paul, “our shop is not ready!”
Then Paul struck him across the face and Beekman felt the sting. He felt it through his body and for a moment – for the very first time – Beekman considered retaliating. But then the moment past and Beekman bowed his head in shame. He apologized, finished his work, and returned to his station at the back of the shop.
Beekman could not remember the rest of the day. He did his work, closed up the shop and then sat in the back behind his curtain and did not move. He asked himself again and again if the man was inviting him to attend the meeting. He wondered what the man saw and if, indeed, there was something special about him. Beekman had always wondered if there was more for him than cleaning up the shop, eating oats and sleeping on the floor. He wondered if there were others like him that could remember everything and knew things just by witnessing them. He wondered if there were men like him in this gathering. This event. But he did not move.
The night went on. He did not sleep. He wanted to go and see the same spot – to see if the man was there and if he was welcome, but he did not move. He did not sleep. Finally the rooster called and he saw that it was morning. The night was over. He did not move. He hadn’t gone. He felt a wash of both relief and … regret. Should he have gone? Was it a mistake?
The day was like every other day and when the men all left for lunch, Beekman wondered if the strange man would return with a new invitiation. But the man did not. He did not come. No one did.
When work was over and the shop was clean, Beekman felt the urge to go to the building – to look in the window and see if they were there. The man had said it was three nights so perhaps it wasn’t too late. He hesitated and paced in the back of the shop and it got later and later until he finally found himself running out of the shop and along the river. He fell in the mud and continued forward now filthy and stinking. He ran and ran, not caring if people saw him, but when he arrived at the building, he could see that it was empty. There was no one there. He stood looking in the window until another man spotted him from the street and called, “You there – come out here!”
Beekman knew it was a guard and if he didn’t immediately do what the guard asked, he could be injured or worse. The count’s guards were brutes and did not ask questions more than once. He paused, and for reasons he didn’t understood, he moved in the opposite direction. He began to run, knowing full well he wouldn’t get away. It didn’t take long for the guard to catch him and Beekman wasn’t sure if he resisted or not but he knew that these were his last moments alive. The pain of what the guard did to him began to fade and he became more interested in the light that was opening all around him. He felt a deep wonder and peace as he was suddenly surrounded by forms of light that felt familiar to him. He trusted them and knew they were here to help him. And before all faded and he felt a kind of dissolving into the light, he said out loud to the forms around him,