Keats and Chapman were taking a stroll
through Stephen's Green when Chapman noticed that Keats had developed
a faulty gait.
'Why the gimp, Keats?'
'It's these brogues, they never did
fit.'
'But you have countless shoes at home,
why wear this pair?'
Keats stopped and drew up one leg as
would a stork. Addressing the brogue brought within reach, he slowly
ran his finger along the stitching that secured the sole to the
upper, 'Because the others lack such stimulating welts.' There was a
slight tremor in his voice.
'Mmm, I sometimes think your liking for
shoes borders on the unhealthy.'
'Well,' said Keats catching up with his
friend, 'the jury certainly felt so when I was tried for 'Public
Fondling of Footwear'. The alienist I was obliged to see said I was
suffering from 'retifism', a condition named after Nicolas-Edme
Rétif, author of Le Pied de Fanchette.'
'I remember now. Didn't your
predilection lead you to be arrested on several further occasions?'
'It did, one judge called me a
multi-retificist, he seemed to find my compulsion amusing.'
They arrived at the duck pond and sat
down on their favourite bench. As the pigeons gathered so did
Chapman's brows, 'You've got to admit, Keats, your case is
unusual'. He lifted his right foot off the ground and pointed at it,
'You mean to say that this scuffed boot could drive you to
distraction?'
'Not anymore thanks be to God, but
there was a time when it would have induced a certain longing.'
'I see,' said Chapman lowering his
foot. He extracted his handkerchief and stooped to polish the spurned
boot.
Keats was staring blankly at the
Mallard-strewn waters, 'During one particularly maniacal episode I
even became convinced I was metamorphosing
into an item of footware, specifically a Louis XV court shoe.'
'Interesting', replied Chapman who was
now admiring the results of his handiwork and appreciating for the
first time the sensual interplay of lacing and leather, 'but how
could you be chaussure?'
