Mr. Carpenter & The Blue-eyed Witch

Mr. Carpenter & The Blue-eyed Witch

It is a fine August evening with a chilling breeze slashing off the crimson red leaves from their thin crooked branches. Mr. Carpenter nervously rambles around the village as something big draws in closer. The Worldwide Carpentry Competition. It is a once in a lifetime opportunity and Mr. Carpenter aspires to make the best out of it. He had dreamt of it since he was nine, turning eighteen, joining the competition, crafting the best of his talents into pieces of wood to the highest of the prizes. However, now that his time at the competition has finally arrived, Mr. Carpenter finds himself dwelling in the darkest depths of disquietudes and anxieties as this is the only chance he will ever have to display his worth and purpose to the rest of the world as one of the best carpenters. 

Mr. Carpenter is walking along the hay-covered roads for inspiration when a witch, leaning onto a brown wooden cane, appears in front of him. Slamming the cane on the ground with every step, the witch slowly makes her way towards Mr. Carpenter. Mr. Carpenter, confused, starts observing the witch. The wrinkles on her face indicate that she must be at least 80 years old. She has these strikingly blue eyes that remind him of a dead glamorous ocean where people intentionally sink in to achieve true tranquility. Her fixed and dull pupils signal him that she is blind but he can always feel the chill of her eyes staring into his deepest of souls. 

“Come with me,” whispers the blue-eyed witch. “I’ll help you win the competition.”

Mr. Carpenter stands still, not knowing what to reply. “How do you know?” he wants to ask, but he wonders if he should first ask who the hell she is. But before he could mouth a word, the witch uttered,

“I know your dreams and I wanna help. I’ve been watching over you for quite some time. You’re destined to become one of the greatest.”

Mr. Carpenter, flattered by the witch’s eerie comment, awkwardly replied, “thanks.” His hands are uncontrollably shaking but his anxiety has weirdly disappeared. 

The witch makes a gesture with her cane, commending Mr. Carpenter to follow along as she leads him towards a bamboo hut. The smell of burnt candles gets stronger as they get nearer. As he enters the hut, Mr. Carpenter sees a large cauldron, being heated with burning fire below, in the middle, occupying most of the space available in the tiny hut. 

“I’m not the most powerful witch, but I can help you out. I can conjure different spells to assist you in creating the best sculptures for the competition. But, I’m not going to just carve out one for you,” the witch explains.

“Isn’t … Isn’t it cheating?” asks Mr. Carpenter nervously. 

“No. Behind every successful man is a powerful witch. Look closer into every carpenter’s life and you will see,” whispers the witch with a smirk. “Plus, you are going to be the one sculpting from your wildest imaginations. I’m just here to look after you and attend to your needs.”

*****

For the competition, Mr. Carpenter has to submit multiple sculptures that define him and tell the whole story about who he is and who he aspires to become. Mr. Carpenter has to think outside of the box so that his sculpture stands out from other contestants' but not so much that the judges cannot catch up to his level of thinking. There is always an invisible box surrounding the normal box that creative humans should not cross and he seems to be aware of that from past experiences. 

Mr. Carpenter confesses to the witch his struggles in finding inspiration. He also tells her that all his life, he has only seen what lies inside his village. He never could even imagine how the sun sets, how the clouds turn colors in other parts of the world. The next day, the witch sews him a pair of wool shoes. As soon as Mr. Carpenter puts it on, it randomly takes him to one of the marvelous places in the world for 30 minutes. One time, Mr. Carpenter was taken to a place full of huge pointy triangle-like structures under the bright orange sunset. Massive balloons with baskets fly up high in the sky, some higher than the sun itself. Most of the wavy brown streets are covered up by red sand, which gives a brittle and satisfying feeling every time Mr. Carpenter takes a step. Mr. Carpenter later found out that those pointy triangles to be “pagodas” and he also found out that some of the best craftings and designs are found when he heads inside. As he wanders inside the pagodas, he is so inspired that he starts to believe the ancient ancestors crafted these designs enthusiastically and time-consumingly just for him to come here at this right time and be inspired and craft the best sculpture the world has seen. This sculpture will be the rhythmic harmony of the past and the future. 

Mr. Carpenter goes home inspired. Mr. Carpenter goes home engaged. Mr. Carpenter starts the sculpture. He never gets a chance to finish it. 

*****

A Carpenters Meetup. 

Mr. Carpenter never enjoyed the meetup. Most of them were his friends in school, but they don’t even talk outside of the meetup anymore. The Carpenters Meetup was created to be a safe place for fellow carpenters to help each other out and inspire each other. Instead, these days, the meetup has become a place for the loud and the rich to unsubtly brag about their achievements and judge the carpenters who are not as successful yet. The Worldwide Carpentry Competition is the talk of the group right now but Mr. Carpenter does not feel comfortable sharing his ideas or his goal achievements. He aims too high for a low-life carpenter who was not the top of his class in school. He doesn’t want his elusive confidence to slip away because of some judgy stares. So, he just lets others do the talking. 

The hardest part to hear was when a carpenter named “Gary” started to brag about the success of his best-crafted sculpture at school. Gary may only choose to remember that information. However, everyone else at the meetup remembers Gary annoying everyone in his class with his blaring voice until they helped him with his structure. He rarely crafts the sculptures himself; he always gets the best classmates to fix his sculpture part by part until the sculpture loses the original touch and becomes a mashed masterpiece by ten best carpenters. Unpleasant school memories flood everyone’s mind as Gary lists the awards his past sculptures have won. Gary continues to list the biggest awards he is going to win at the Worldwide Competition as he ignores everyone’s uninterested manners.

Mr. Carpenter rushes to the witch’ hut, disrupting the still dust on the way with each thump of his feet. 

“What?” The witch asks with skepticism. “You think the other carpenters are cheating?” 

“No. No. Not all other carpenters. Just carpenters like Gary,” Mr. Carpenter stutters. “How else would he be publicly bragging about a prestigious prize that only the finest carpenters can achieve?”

The witch’s eyes turn colors from blue to livid. They speak of gloomy weather and storm clouds forged by a worried soul. The witch lays her wrinkled hand on Mr. Carpenter’s shoulder. 

“What?” Mr. Carpenter mutters. 

“They have witches. They all have witches,” the blue-eyed witch responds in a soft, calm voice. She adds, “And the witches of carpenters like Gary? They are one of the most powerful ones in the region. They can provide carpenters with the best trainers, the top masters, enchanted items, secret spells, and more beyond my knowledge.”

“Then it’s cheating!”

“Witches don’t count as cheating as long as they don’t use their powers directly to help you win.”

“So, why am I stuck with YOU?! Why couldn’t I get a better witch who knows exactly what I need at all times? How do you expect me to win the most prestigious prizes if I am always one step behind guys like Gary?” rages Mr. Carpenter.

There is a deep silence for a good minute. The wind blows through the bamboo cracks and sings a melancholy tune. The cauldron still stands large in the middle of the hut. Mr. Carpenter keeps his eyes on the burning embers in the steady fire under the cauldron. 

“Sorry,” Mr. Carpenter murmurs. “I didn’t mean that.”

The blue-eyed witch replies in a raspy voice, “You know you don’t have to win the best prizes. I will be happy with whatever you achieve. I just want to entertain the idea of having the one I helped win the best prizes in the competition. And, you know what? I can see through my blind eyes that you will not be satisfied with anything less.”

*****

The blue-eyed witch gifts Mr. Carpenter a magical book. It provides him with any information he desires relating to the competition. Mr. Carpenter spent weeks studying the sculptures that won the best prizes. Most of them shake his confidence from the core, ripping it apart for they are one of the best pieces Mr. Carpenter has ever seen. Anxiety reigns over and he starts to accept his loss even before the competition has started. One part of his subconscious mind has now fixed on this thinking that he will never be able to craft anything as good as theirs. So, Mr. Carpenter takes a walk. 

Later, Mr. Carpenter uses the book again to find suggestions and mentorship on how to craft a worthy sculpture for the most prestigious prizes of this worldwide competition. It seems as if there are an infinite amount of articles on how to perfect a sculpture. Mr. Carpenter reads. He reads until he can predict what the author of the next article is going to suggest. He reads until new articles do not provide new information anymore. It is a long process, but it puts Mr. Carpenter back on track, filling him with passion and desire to craft a perfect sculpture as the articles advise. 

So it begins. Mr. Carpenter sets up a workspace right outside of the witch’s hut and immerses his soul and body into crafting a perfect piece. Till the edges of his imagination, Mr. Carpenter reaches, extends his mind until a marvelous idea flashes. Then, he clings to that idea while seeking another as he flips his brain upside down ferociously. He closes his eyes and he could see thousands of weird yet unique designs right in front of him from which he picks through, with the best of his ability, the most astounding and wondrous models he should craft. For every piece that his hand touches, he makes sure every part, every detail is rigorously refined. He tries, reviews, then disposes or further improves the crafts; It is trial and elimination at its finest. 

Small and large pieces of different-colored wood lie on the ground like crimson red leaves that have fallen from the trees. Broken sculptures. Some finished ones. Fallen and ignored. The whole scenery smells of a construction site for a small house. Mr. Carpenter stands in the middle of all the mess wearing a dusty leather apron. With him, multiple grand sculptures stand tall in grace. Mr. Carpenter gazes upon each and every one of them with extreme pride in his eyes. 

*****

It has been months since Mr. Carpenter shipped his sculptures with a bit of money provided by the witch. She paid the truck driver extra money to deliver all of them carefully and on time. Everything is covered, so now Mr. Carpenter only has to wait till the results are announced. “It’s all up to fate now,” the blue-eyed witch would say casually sometimes. “You did everything you could.”

Mr. Carpenter hopes for the best and wishes his defeatist subconscious mind is not correct. Every day, he flips through the magical book and revisits the previous winners’ sculptures, comparing them back to his sculptures. It kills him every time but he already got addicted to the pain. He tells himself that he won’t have to endure this pain any longer. The results are coming out in a month.

Spring has finally come. Mr. Carpenter wakes up one morning to the smell of fresh new flowers and the sweet songs of the birds. The sight of the clear yellow sun and pink, green trees puts a smile on his face. Then, something rushes into his mind. It is the RESULT DAY! 

Mr. Carpenter rushes outside through the front door, still wearing his washed-out pajamas. He runs towards the dove field kissing the hot sand with his bare feet. He can feel his body shaking from nervousness but his legs are lighter than ever and he runs fast with ever-accelerating speed. When he arrives at the dove field, most other carpenters are already there; they are all waiting with a worried watch wallowing in their eyes. Mr. Carpenter takes a seat on the ground, brushing off the sand with his hands. He then stares at the sky and waits for his dove with a letter to fly by. 

It seems as if hours have passed. The sunshine and the heat begins to be a bother. Mr. Carpenter cannot even look at the sky anymore. His eyes are seeing different hues of color. His body is completely covered in sweat. He tries to convince himself that it’s because of the heat, not the fear. Suddenly, a shadow on the ground flies past. Everyone looks up and there is a dove landing at the field. At that moment, everyone’s eyes get wide as if they have seen a godly being. The dove finally lands after a few long seconds. The owner of the field carefully detaches a letter from the dove’s body. He then reads off the name of the recipient, “Kerry!”

A carpenter named Kerry excitedly rushes towards the field and collects the letter. She then runs towards her friends and reads the results. Then, her group screams out loud and cheers for her. Mr. Carpenter puts on a smile, trying to be happy for Kerry, but deep down he knows he is doing that so that he can be as happy as her when he reads his results. It is a sympathetic response of his body fueled by jealousy and anxiety. 

After then, the doves arrive frequently, and more and more carpenters have received the result that very much decides their future. Mr. Carpenter waits painfully for his dove’s arrival. Then suddenly, he hears the field owner calling out his name. For a moment, time freezes and everything becomes still. Mr. Carpenter hasn’t moved as his brain is trying to figure out if that was actually his name called out. Nanoseconds later, he realizes that everyone is staring at him, waiting for him to go and accept the letter. Mr. Carpenter raises his right foot which is now as heavy as a rock, then takes a step. He slowly hauls himself towards the field owner who is already displaying signs of impatience on his wrinkled face. 

Once he holds the letter, his heartbeat becomes a million times faster. He never knew a piece of paper could weigh heavier than all those wood he had carried before. Rushing away from the crowd, Mr. Carpenter sits himself down on a nice soft ground under a big tree and sits in the shade. He then starts opening the letter. A chilling spring wind blows the top of the letter, teasing Mr. Carpenter and his soft-carved heart. He slowly unfolds the paper. He can now see words and it is terrifying him. He then begins to read word by word. 

*****

Mr. Carpenter walks the dry thin road that leads to the witch’s hut. The witch waits eagerly standing at the front door, pacing back and forth. The rhythmic thumping sounds of Mr. Carpenter’s footsteps getting closer puts a big smile on her face. She walks towards the sound with her cane as if she cannot wait for any second longer. When she can feel his body heat radiating, she throws away the cane and joyfully hugs Mr. Carpenter. She lets her clothes absorb the sweat from his body as she refuses to let go till she hears the news. 

“So, how did you do? You did great, right?” the witch asks in a whisper. “You won a prize for sure.”

“Umm… Yeah,” replies Mr. Carpenter with a soft voice which cracks in the middle of “yeah”. The witch can feel Mr. Carpenter’s arms on her shoulder, pulling her away from his chest. She can perceive him still standing in front of her with his eyes staring right into hers. Drops of sweat from his face fall on hers. 

Mr. Carpenter gently grips the witch’s shoulders and pulls her away. He stares into her eyes, not knowing how to continue this dreadful conversation. Tears start to roll down from his eyes and drip onto the witch’s face. With a cracked voice, he continues, “No Um. I. I didn’t. I mean. Not. Not the ones I wanted.”

Now, the tears are falling faster with each word Mr. Carpenter tries to pronounce. The witch’s smile of joy is gone, but it is quickly replaced by a trying smile, convincing him that everything is alright. 

“Hey, it’s okay. At least, you won something! Look Look. It’s a good thing!”

Mr. Carpenter wants to believe that but in his head is the echoes of the witch’s words from the past: “You will not be satisfied with anything less.” And she was cursedly correct. He is not. And he knows, neither is the witch. 

Mr. Carpenter stares into the witches’ eyes one more time. Her eyes. He has never seen this shade of blue in them before.