In a small town full of corner grocery shops, fruit stalls and ice cream kiosks, there stood a lonely boutique that sold all kinds of footwear. The shopkeeper loved his work. Every morning he happily unlocked the door with an old, worn key, breathed in the smell of the freshly delivered stock, arranged it on the shelves, and packed away into boxes the shoes that had not sold all year.
Among these shoes, which nobody had bought for many years, lived a lonely felt boot. No matter how much the shopkeeper gathered his strength to throw it out, he never managed to do it.
The boot was old, worn in places, and, on top of that, it was all alone; its partner was nowhere to be found. The shopkeeper could not remember where the other one had gone. But there was something familiar, warm and cozy about this boot, and his hand would not bring itself to toss it in the trash.
The boot felt lonely and sad. It could not imagine what it was like to be pulled onto someone's foot to keep it warm on cold winter days. The little boot stood furthest back on the shelf, behind a pile of other shoes, both beautiful and comfortable. In all those years, nobody had even tried it on.
At night, after the kind shopkeeper put on his jacket, finished his strong, fragrant tea and locked up the boutique, the boot suffered most of all. The stylish pairs displayed in the window began to tease it.
How old and dusty and plain you are, said the comfy sandals that had only been put out on the shelf that very day.
Quite right, lonely and good for nothing, agreed the shoes with a flower-shaped buckle that shimmered in the sunlight.
We don't understand why the owner keeps you here! The moths will eat you up any day now, and we could all get damaged, protested the sneakers with bright yellow laces.
The boot had no reply. It did not understand why the owner kept it on the shelf either. It simply gazed silently out of the window, where the moon shone dimly, dreaming that one day it would become needed by someone.
Weeks passed, and night followed day. The warm summer days ended and autumn arrived. New shoes were delivered, finding their places among the few shelves in the boutique. More customers came in. People came in whole families, choosing footwear for autumn and winter and buying summer styles during the seasonal sale.
A pair of the sneakers with bright yellow laces was taken home by a boy in an equally bright yellow jacket. After him, a young mom bought comfy sandals for her little son, who was starting kindergarten for the first time this year.
A few weeks later, a stern-looking dad with a thick beard bought his daughter those very shoes with the flower-shaped shimmering buckle.
Only our boot, standing alone on the farthest shelf, watched sadly as shoes were quickly and skillfully taken from the display windows. All this time, not a single person had glanced its way.
One late, wintry, cold evening, the shopkeeper, pulling an old sheepskin coat over the blue sweater his wife had given him for New Year, was looking for his keys to lock the door. Suddenly, under the howl of a snowstorm, someone knocked on the window. A moment later, a little old grandfather in a snow-covered coat with thick fur entered the shop. His nose was as red as a tomato. Rubbing his hands together to warm them, he addressed the shopkeeper:
Hello there, sonny. What a frost today, it's making my eyes sting. The weather has really set in. I need to buy some footwear from you, and I need it urgently. I'm in trouble.
The kind shopkeeper, who was already getting ready to go home, did not refuse the old man:
Of course, I'll help you. I have everything here. Something for every taste, as they say. What happened, grandpa?
Grandpa, smiling wide with his toothless grin and looking over the boots, began to explain:
It's my yard dog, Lucy. You won't believe it, sonny, she chewed up my left valenki boot. Maybe she was hungry, or maybe that's just her way of playing. But there's a huge hole in it now, as big as my fist. Those felt boots were so comfortable and warm. In them I wasn't afraid to trudge through the snowdrifts or clear snow off the roof. I need new ones to keep my old feet warm.
The shopkeeper immediately started offering the old man various felt boots, both tall and short, made of felt and of sheep's wool. The old man looked at everything for a long time, tried things on, turned them over in his hands, and even sniffed some of them. In the end, he settled on tall felt boots up to the knee made of camel wool. The shopkeeper named the price. The boots were very good, but they were beyond the old man's means. They were simply too expensive.
Disappointed, the grandfather decided not to keep the kind shopkeeper any longer and to head home quickly, planning to look for cheaper boots tomorrow. As he put on his hat and turned toward the door, the boutique owner suddenly had an idea. He remembered the very boot that had been gathering dust on his shelves for several years.
Wait! I know how I can help you!
The old man froze. Hope flashed in his eyes, mixed with clear bewilderment at the kind shopkeeper's sudden shout. The grandfather turned around, but the shopkeeper was no longer behind the counter. The good host, standing on a wooden stool with trembling knees, was rummaging among the shelves, blowing off the dust.
He reached into a far corner and pulled out that very lonely boot. Stretching to grab it, he caught it by the toe and nimbly hopped down from the stool. He took a dry cloth, wiped the boot clean, turned it over in his hands several times to make sure it was intact, and handed it to the grandfather.
Here you are! It's been gathering dust for years. I don't remember where its partner went, but I couldn't bring myself to throw it out. I thought it might come in handy, and now the chance has finally come.
The old man looked the boot over carefully. His face lit up with joy. It was exactly the same kind of valenki that Lucy had chewed up. With a trembling, wrinkled hand, the grandfather held out a few coins to the shopkeeper, but he shook his head:
No, I'm sorry. I won't take any money for it from you.
But the old man insisted. This boot, though it wasn't worth a penny, had touched the old man's heart from the very first moment.
For the first time in many years of loneliness, the little boot found itself in warm, caring hands. The soul of our boot rejoiced. It had become needed and dear to someone's heart. This is what real happiness is: being needed by someone.
