“Are you be needing help with that, sir?” asked a voice.
Ole Kirk Christiansen turned around. He faced a blond main with a large backpack on his back, and a guitar slung over his shoulder with it. The man’s clothes looked like he had walked, slept, and washed in them. They were a little too big for him. The man was obviously homeless.
Kirk then glanced at the piles of wood he had bought. Taken directly from assorted trees, they were large round and thick pieces, not easily carried through the marketplace, so he had backed up his cart to it. The vendor had given him ten minutes to get his stuff and leave, and he knew he couldn’t do it in ten minutes.
“Hurry,” Kirk said, and the man dropped his backpack and guitar. The man moved quickly, easily moving and stacking the pieces of wood. In minutes everything was packed up, and he moved the cart out of the way.
The man followed when Kirk stopped the cart, having cleared the marketing area. Kirk said, “Where are you heading, I can give you a ride.”
“Wherever you are going.” He gave him a small smile. “I have no place to be, and plenty of time to get there.” He climbed up onto the cart.
“I live in Billund.”
“As good a place as any to try and find a job.”
“I wish you luck with that, sir. What is your name?”
“Luther.” He held out his hand. Kirk saw a gold ring on the man’s right ring finger, and probably looked curious as he gave him his name and shook the man’s hand. Luther didn’t say anything as he then returned his attention to the road. “It can’t be any worse than here. At least there’s farming in Billund.”
“No, there isn’t.”
He looked at him. “No?”
“No. But there are many groves with people always looking for foresters.”
Luther chuckled. “I haven’t been a forester in years.”
“There’s also the monestary…”
“No, no! I love women too much.”
This time Kirk laughed. “Then a forester it is. I don’t know of any who you need to speak with.”
Luther thumbed behind him. “What’s all this wood for?”
“I make building toys.”
“Building toys?”
“I would have to show you.”
“Please do.”
They talked further. Luther had come from Norway, and was consistently heading south. He never said why, though if Kirk could guess, there was probably a woman or two involved. They got to his workshop and he helped to unload. His wife looked out the window at them work, and she offered to have him stay for dinner.
Luther was a gracious guest, complementing the chef and seemingly enjoying every bite. Kirk’s son Justin kept approaching the man’s guitar case, and his wife kept guiding him away. Finally, after the plates were cleared away, the man went to the guitar case. “I should at least sing for my supper,” he said, and unlocked the sides. He pulled out what looked to be a very old and well-used six-string guitar.
He began to tune it,
Words 518
Should be posted for yesterday but didn’t have an internet connection.