After agreeing to take apprentices, the Green Man tells them to return to his stall at the end of the day. He instructs the men on where and when they were to arrive. He settles costs with Holly for her mirror and Libby for a spoon. Libby gets a special gift. The men find a new way to dress for success.
******************
The foursome drifted through the rest of the market not really aware of the other vendors. Joss's pants were still damp from his ejaculation, but he was not embarrassed to be seen soaked as he was. Indeed, no one seemed to notice the four of them, as if they were passing through time in a separate space from the rest of the people. Not so odd, really. No one ever notices us as much as we think they do. We are always playing to a private audience that hectors and shames us.
They ate leisurely, enjoying some people-watching, waiting for the sun to go down. They were relaxed and calmly reflecting on this juncture in their lives.
Just as Holly was shedding the need to be so carefully put together, so too Joss was beginning his own transformation. The years of pretending to be a superhuman worker had subdued his creative talents, had reduced the real man inside. His life was one of busy desperation. Suddenly, after meeting this strange Mr. Green, he felt free of those strictures. How else to explain that he did not immediately find a way to cover himself, sodden as he was? His inner exhibitionist urged him to take off all his clothes and spend the rest of the day wandering the market naked. Of course, the habit of propriety prevented the urge from becoming action.
Sam mulled the strange agreement. Absolute obedience to Mr. Green in exchange for learning the ways of the green woodman. Or was it the greenwood man. He could not recall the emphasis in those words. On the one hand, he and Joss liked to think they were to become part of a new tribe of young woodworkers calling themselves the greenwood movement. Mr Green could have been offering to help them become greenwood woodworkers, working in freshly felled timber, timber still 'wet' and green. On the other hand, though, perhaps he meant that they would be learning from him, a Green Man, about woodworking.
He sat there puzzling about what Mr Green had meant. Which was it? Had he fully understood what he was agreeing to? Sam had learned the legend of the Green Man from his beloved grandfather, a master carpenter who had worked restoring a church of ancient design. Sam had enjoyed spending hours with the old man, listening, learning. They planned a drive one day, in order to see the place where Granddad had put in so many days. On the way, Sam had listened to everything the old man had to say about the yearslong employment the restoration provided.
Walking and talking in the expansive interior, Granddad pointed up to the bosses, those images carved in stone at the intersections of arches. "See them faces up there? Them are made to be men or animals, saints and devils, and such. Now that one up there between them windows," extending an arthritic finger, "That's the Green Man. See how his hair is like oak leaves, and his brows and beard is vines?"
He told Sam, the bosses, like stained glass windows, explained things without words: ancient stories of fertility, rebirth, and the cycle of life, pagan stuff. "But why have pagan images in a church, Granddad?" With a chuckle and hand laid gently on his grandson's shoulder, the old man said, "I suppose the builders were covering all their bases, lad."
There are no Green Men, of course. Sam smiled at the fancy of men long past. All that was myth.. But confronted with Mr. Green, the idea did not seem so strange, so far fetched, to him now. How else to explain their experiences at their local market, the magical effects of the wooden items, the hallucinations, the incredible workmanship? It was most perplexing for him, and he brooded in silence about the myth and the strange contract they had agreed to.
The few hours left in the day slipped by and they wound their way back to Green's stall. Libby and Holly arm-in-arm as they walked up to GreenWood Wares again. They had been discussing what other utensils to buy. Libby, an ardent Harry Potter fan, desperately wanted the sort of wand from those books and films. The girls were giggling from the idea. Holly urged her to select a shiny black one, thinking it would have the same magical powers of growth and swelling that her spoon had demonstrated. A swelling, perhaps curving, black wooden wand, growing and becoming more and more like a man's cock. They both knew why Holly suggested it should be a black one. A shared desire that many women have to walk on the wild side, black men being rumored to have such great cocks. At least, that is what Holly had always believed. As they approached the table, they were still giggling. And they were feeling sexual.
Green was in the shadows of the tent surrounding his stall. They could hear him rifling through his boxes and bags looking for something, but they could not see him. His clothing, in its leafy camouflage, hid him against the green, foliate pattern of the tent surrounding his stall. He did not acknowledge their arrival, so intent he was on locating whatever he was searching for.
He at last reappeared, stretched his back and arms and strode toward them. Green carried two sloyd knives in his broad hand. Both Joss and Sam recognized the utilitarian knife of Scandinavian tradition. It was meant for general work, and was a man's constant companion. Not fancy, but perfect, nonetheless.
The knife Green gave to Sam was made of Damascus steel, layered throughout with thin leaves of hard and soft metals. The blade glistened in his hand as he drew it from its sheath, its tissue thin layers appearing as spidery, ink-drawn lines on the steel. The handle was of maple burl and burnished to a satin sheen. It had a full tang blade, the steel going completely through the handle, capped at the end. Modern, mass production requires only a short stub that is pounded and glued into a common white wood handle. Sam had never had a tool as fine as this. It fitted his hand perfectly like it had been worn into his palm. It made him feel confident, like it imparted to his hand the skill needed to work at the level this tool demanded.
The Sloyd knife handed to Joss was less intricate than Sam's knife, but just as superior in its quality. The handle was bone white and finely faceted. Joss recognized the texture was the same as his wife's spoon and bowl. Scraped, not sanded.
"Holly," Green said.
"Yes?" Holly called out expectantly as she heard Green say her name.
Joss snickered. "Holly. The scales of this knife are holly." She was disappointed that Green had not called her. She was so attracted to him.
