The Woodcutter

It's really not about the strength of the man.

Chop

It's about the weight of the ax as it falls.

Chop

It's less about how hard one pushes the ax down

Chop

And more about placing the edge of the blade into cracks that already exist.

Chop

It's about letting gravity do it's job and split open a wound where the wood is weak. Why attack where wood is strong? No, better to pounce on a weakness.

Chop.

Oscar wiped the sweat careening down his forehead and cheek. His face was full of pieces of bark and small splinters. It was cold, and yet he was not. He took a break from his labor only to begin the different labor of loading all of the wood he had chopped into his cart.

It seemed wrong to him to charge folks for firewood at this time of year, but it also seemed wrong to him to not get paid for a decent days work. Anyone could chop down a tree he supposed, but he was the one with the ax.

Bending over to pick the pieces up was getting harder and harder on him. Twice when he stooped over he felt and heard a gentle pop in his lower back, signaling to take a short rest. He sat on the stump he had used as the battleground for his short wooden opponents. His breath, deep and full, cast a thick mist in the crisp cold air. He contemplated things.

First of these was how many more trees he would have to cut down to fulfill the little town of it's needs. Probably two, maybe three more, he thought. They'd have to be a big two or an average three. Oscar scratched his chin. And then of course for cost, it's gonna have to be nine coppers for a bundle, or one a piece.

His mind roamed to all of the families who probably couldn't even afford that pittance. He'd probably just give em a piece or two to last them on the harsher nights. Trees was free after all.

He thought about charging Harold double. Fat bastard could choke on the smoke of a wood burning fire for all Oscar cared.

He'd probably give Olga and her daughter a good discount. Not just because Olga was pretty, but that didn't hurt the case. The little girl was frightfully small, and Oscar didn't much want her to freeze to death because he had decided to pad his pockets a little.

The mid afternoon sun drifted on in the sky, and Oscar stood up, stretching a little and rubbing his knees. He finished loading up his cart and started hauling it, using a cart meant for animals, back to town. Strapped to the cart, and crunching the snow beneath his feet, his breathing became a slow and steady hum. He did miss his mule, but hauling a cart for wood was good exercise and the strain didn't give him time to think about the world or the cold. He did need to pick up the pace a little though, it's always good to get out of the forest before dusk.

Upon arriving in the hamlet he handed out the wood just as he had planned. The only difference was that he gave Harold a fair price. Not because he felt bad for him mind you. But because trees were free anyway.

Olga and her daughter were his last stop, as they were also his neighbors.

"Hullo," he said, knocking on their door, rattling it's frame a little.

"Oh, Oscar!" He heard a gentle voice on the other side of the door, and a shuffle. The door creaked open and behind it a woman greeted him with a sad but beautiful smile. "Oscar, how are you?"

"Great, thanks fer askin'" Oscar had two bundles of wood, already tied up under each arm.

"Oscar," she looked at the bundles, and felt in her pockets for anything to give for the present. "I'm sorry Oscar, I don't have-"

He gently pushed his way past Olga and stood in the center room, "Sorry, it's awful cold outside, d'you mind if I come on in?" It wasn't any warmer inside the little house, but she closed the door behind him anyway.

"Of course, but like I was just about to say, Oscar we-" her voice caught as she saw Sara hurrying into the center room, tiny arms surrounded one leg of Oscar in a ferocious embrace.

"Oscar!" was all the little one managed.

"Well, if it isn't Sara! You've grown since yesterday I swear it" Oscar wore a grin that pierced through his deep brown beard.

"Sara, who's stirring the broth?" Olga asked, chin tilted down one eyebrow raised. The little one unclasped Oscar's leg and ran down the short hallway and to the right, footsteps could be heard getting onto a small wooden ladder to reach a pot.

"Broth hmm?" Oscar would've scratched his chin if he had a hand free.

"I'm so sorry Oscar," Olga's stern motherly face had turned back into one belonging to one would share the world if they had anything to give at all, "you know I'd offer you some, but it's, there won't be, that is-" she stopped herself. "Would you like a bowl of broth?" She asked. What was a night of hunger anyway, and maybe it would be enough to pay for a few logs. Not a bundle, but a few more logs would be worth not having to go the the forest near dusk for small branches.

"Oh, you know, I just remembered that I've got to get going. I salted a rabbit earlier and have to start stewing it soon or it'll rot. Hey listen, could I ask you a favor though?" Oscar asked.

She frowned, Olga couldn't think of anything he'd really want all that much, but he had always given her a friendly discount. "Of course Oscar, ask away."

"Well if you'd believe it, I chopped too much wood today, you know how things get," He set both bundles down, "and my store is already full at the house" thinking about the weight, he picked them back up by the strings and set them closer to the fireplace, "So could you take these off my hands?" He tossed one of the logs into the fireplace.

"Oscar!" Olga's face grew red, "I will not, I know good and well your store isn't full, I was out back just this morning and it's just over half." A discount was one thing, she would have no pity thrust upon her.

"Ah, you caught me," He grabbed one of the logs and looked at it carefully, "here's the thing Olga, I'm a good business man."

She crossed her arms.

"And you know part of my business model is-"

"Pitying the less fortunate?" She asked.

"Well, no, that's not really business," he continued despite the look she was throwing his way. "No, part of my business is premium wood." He put the piece he was inspecting into the fireplace. "This here isn't premium wood Olga, it's not good wood at all really."

Olga walked over to the fireplace where he was already starting to take tinder to the lumber. He seemed serious, but she didn't see the difference in this wood from any of the other wood that he had brought her in the past.

"I'd not pity you Olga, you're a fine young woman, with a good heart," He stood up after a small flame had erupted, "which is why I'm asking ya, if you'll take this terrible wood off my hands- it won't sit right with the rest of my stores an' if you won't take it I'll have to haul it back up to the forest tomorrow morning. You won't make me do that would ya? I don't have a mule no more remember?"

"I remember," her arms were still crossed.

"Ok, okay. Looks like I'll have to show ya," Oscar went outside, not to his cart but to the house next door. The room already glowed amber. Sara came quickly to announce that the broth was done stewing.

"Good, go set the table, I'll be there in a minute" It didn't take longer than that minute for Oscar to climb back under the rickety door frame.

In his hands was a small piece of dark wood. "See here Olga, this is premium wood. Look at the grain, look at the slice. This is what I sell. I couldn't sell that garbage over there if I wanted to," tilting his head towards the fireplace "Oh, it'll burn clean enough, but I'd put my good name in the trash heap if I sold wood like that." He was right, the grain was completely different, and the bark too. Olga still doubted but there was irrefutable evidence in front of her.

"Still I have to give you something," she insisted.

Oscar raised an eyebrow, "How about I stew that rabbit and bring it over and we share a meal that three fat people could enjoy?"

She uncrossed her arms only to throw them out wide, "That's not me giving you anything at all, that's you-" he threw up a hand to cut her off.

"It's me wanting some company and a house full of fresh heat, you're a good hearted woman, you won't deny me that would'ya?" He asked, looking into her eyes, the brown melting there in a way.

"Good," Oscar said, "it'll be a little while before it's ready, but I'll bring it over as soon as it's done, shouldn't be more than an hour or so."

Oscar did just that, and the three ate as a family. Neither adult acknowledging any type of feeling deeper than a neighborly spirit, but the child suspected. Anyone could suspect really if they spent more than two minutes with them.

Olga didn't ask anymore questions, lulled by the heat of a fire after a warm meal, she fell asleep. Oscar winked at Sara who was still wide awake and enthralled by the magical forest tales that Oscar was known for telling. The one he had just told was of a woodcutter who was in love with a princess, which got Sara giggling. Oscar put a finger up to his lips. "You'd better get on to bed," he whispered, and she drooped her eyes down to the floor.

"One more story?" she whispered.

"Tomorrow perhaps, or the day after." He said, and stood up as quietly as his large frame would allow.

"Promise?" She asked, he nodded and winked his promise, and left the cozy room with daughter and mother caught in a warmth not entirely brought by flame.

Oscar sighed as he stepped outside. He crossed the threshold into his house, a strong complete structure of firm oak and brick. He sat in a fine big chair whittling a piece of wood no bigger than a fist. It's a good thing, he thought, that Olga doesn't know the difference between oak and hickory.