The Clock

“And why did she leave you?” “Said she never loved me,” Christopher heaved out. “Do you want to get her back?” Dominic smiled, a plan already in mind. After all, it’s been quite a while since he played a trick on his younger friend. Chris was, however, only a year his junior and was twenty seven. He was a grown man, yet still somewhat naive, especially when it came to Dominic’s assurances. “Of course I do, but she left me out of her own free will, so there’s nothing —” “Just go see the witch,” Dominic interrupted. “She’ll cook you a love potion and tell your fortune in love as well.” “What’s the use in potions?” Chris was smitten. “It was her decision to leave, why would I bring her back if she doesn’t want it?” “Do you love her?” “That’s why I’m letting her go. She must have really not loved me.” “I don’t understand you, Chris: didn’t you want a family?” “Yes, I did, just not one like that.” “You’ll keep fiddling around with those clocks of yours forever and soon enough…” Dom raised his eyebrows, grabbing his glass of whiskey and bringing it to his lips. He drank without scrunching up his face, then pressed his eyes tightly closed so as to show that Chris was to grasp the idea without any words. “Still, she can try and tell your luck. You’ll like it, I assure you.” “What kind of luck can she tell me?” “Love luck. What if Kelly left to test you, huh?” Christopher was suddenly lost in thought. He put his head on the wooden counter. His head was hurting: the pub was loud, outside it was chilly February evening, and his heart was full with worries. Kelly left him when she had a miscarriage. She said that it all had been a mistake and nothing was holding her back any longer. They hadn’t even been engaged — never had time for it — but then Chris realized she just didn’t want to be bound to a quiet, ever-frowning clockmaker who when made to smile looked even wearier. But hope grew in his heart. What if Kelly could actually be brought back? “Address?” “Building 3, floor 2, right down this street.” “Isn’t it the place you frequent yourself? I remember you disappearing in there.” “I do indulge in that sometimes.” “What sort of luck do you have to tell?” “Money luck.” “Not too wise to waste money on finding out when you are finally going to have it.” “Come on, it’s good fun.” “Yet I’m the one paying for your whiskey.” “You do know, Chris, that I’m having a rough patch. Don’t judge an old dog.” Chris snorted. “Alright then, I will indeed go there now.” “Can’t wait to find out?” “Kelly’s ship sails away tomorrow. I must take action quickly in case she wants to be with me after all, and I don’t want to spend ages trying to find her on the other side of the Atlantic.” With that Chris got up. He laid a twenty pence onto the counter, shook Dominic’s hand, wrapped his woolen coat around himself, and immersed himself in the dampness of London, abandoning the stench and noise of the cheap pub. He strolled down the street paved askew; everybody was in a rush: it was evening already. It was snowing a little, wet powdery snow melting on the face very unpleasantly. A cat got caught between his feet, squealed abruptly, and ran away trying to hide from some dog barking behind. Chris opened the door, and a staircase was before him. He climbed up. Unlike the pub, this house was damp just like the outside and probably even colder. The stairs screeched under his weight when he was going up and Chris, deep in thought, almost smashed into a door. He rubbed against the door instead of knocking. That was how his father had taught him: it was impolite to knock. When no one opened the door, Chris reached for his pocket watch and checked the time. No, there was no way somebody could be sleeping already, it was still seven in the evening. Christopher knocked quietly. But before someone could have come up to the door, it swung open and Chris saw a face. A person stood wrapped up in some blue blanket. Sleepy, unseeing deep blue eyes stared up at him, and he took in beautiful straight dark hair, which was all messy. No, there was no way the watch was wrong: Chris hade made it himself and he was one of the best craftsmen. “Good evening,” greeted Chris with a look of discontent. “You tell fortunes, is that right?” “Something like that,” chuckled the person. “May I come in?” The host… or hostess, perhaps? It was hard to tell, Christopher was baffled by the small frame, delicate facial features, and long hair but at the same time the voice was male, actually. Anyway, the person moved from the doorframe, letting Chris inside. “What kind of luck do you want me to tell? Love luck, isn’t it?” The voice sounded playful. Christopher was confused about what that person was hinting at. “Yeah, I guess,” he took a tentative step forward, shutting the door behind him. Chris was smitten by the way the strange woman looked at him. No, men never looked at Christopher that way, it was out of the question. “My name is Matilda. And let me warn you, fanning out this deck is going to cost you dear.” “How much?” “5 shillings an hour.” “You sure take your time with the cards.” “But it’s love we are talking about, isn’t it?” Christopher was no longer conscious of the voice being male. He was aware of the peculiar intonation and look and blushed, feeling as if it surely wasn’t the cards they were talking about. Still, he sat down, began glancing around, and reached to feel up the said sum of money. The person was mixing the pack. Christopher was studying the room. The flat was a tiny one, there were only two doors: one to the water closet and one to the outside. In the corner, apparently, stood a piano covered with the same purple cloth; it was obvious that it hadn’t been used for a long time. Chris’s attention was drawn to a dusty cupboard packed with odds and ends. Purple pieces of fabric, a cracked but once beautiful glass globe, right next to it was a skull of some small predator. “What is that skull in your cupboard? Is that a magic attribute of some sort?” “No. That’s Fluffy. Died a year ago. Have a chance to bury him I did not.” Christopher suddenly felt sad. He glanced at an undone bed, probably still warm, then at the face before him. From outside the window came the noise of klaxon horns and revving of engines but it seemed as though the resident of the flat didn’t mind that too much or was disturbed by it in sleep, either. “The cards say that you…” “Matilda” paused for a moment. “What is your name?” “Christopher.” “You, Christopher, have never met your true love yet, and in the future a great passion awaits you,” the voice came, peering into the cards before lifting the gaze to the man. And Christopher once again felt out of his element, uncomfortable, as if someone was going to eat him alive right at the moment. “There must have been a mistake, you should know. my beloved woman is sailing away from me tomorrow, she’s broken off the engagement.” “Matilda”’s expression changed from sly to slightly surprised. “Well, hold on, you should have said you wanted to know your luck with a particular person. But haven’t you ever wondered what if…?” “If what?” “She is not yours. And that is why she is sailing away.” Christopher should have been angry about charlatanic ways, but he stayed put, feeling despondent. “I have wondered. That’s why I wanted to know for sure is I should.” “Let’s check. Ask yourself a question.” “Can I bring Kelly back?” And then, having collected the cards from the table, “Matilda” hastily shuffled them again, and held out the deck to Christopher for him to draw a card. “The Tower Reversed. Draw another one,” she studied the card, thinking how the cards made sense like never before. “The Star.” “Will you explain?” “No, I need another card.” Christopher pulled out a card. Depicted on it were Adam and Eve, the label read “The Lovers”. “Is that good?” The girl (Christopher decided to stick with that notion) shook her head. “They are reversed. Lay them down together.” Christopher was now feeling the strange power radiating from the cards. Tower, lovers, and whatever that star was. It made no sense whatsoever. “The Tower Reversed suggests that you can begin again. The Star represents inspiration, hope,” so far it sounded like a good prediction. “The Lovers Reversed indicates that love is over. Chances are, someone new awaits you.” “How so — someone new?” “Let me ask the cards. Draw.” Slender fingers once again shuffled the deck a little. “You have drawn two. Was it on purpose?” “No.” “Then, it shall be so. Lay them onto the star, we’ll clarify.” Christopher laid the two cards onto The Star. Four and Eight of Pentacles. “Matilda” stared up at them, blinked a little, looked up at Christopher, who returned the gaze. The cards were not reversed and it seemed both of them noticed the similarity. She chuckled, unceremoniously patted Christopher’s curly hair, alternating between looking at the card and his face. “Do you want me to explain?” she asked. “Eight of Pentacles,” she pointed at the card, in which was a man who resembled Christopher. “Signifies reliability, patience, and endurance. And this one,” she couldn’t contain a laugh, seeing how much she looked like the young man portrayed in the card image, “represents, I suppose, some kind of gift.” “What gift?” “I don’t know, maybe a gift from destiny itself,” “Matilda” stared at him, transfixed, feeling something still inside in some sort of anticipation when she met his timid gaze. Christopher was still feeling awkward. And when those bright blue eyes had been peering into his soul for so long (a few seconds when Chris felt the ticking in his pocket), he felt something strange. To him it seemed that the cards told the truth and it scared him as Kelly might have still been waiting for him to come; perhaps, she had had a change of heart. And still, there he was. Sitting in a dusty, teeny flat, looking into the piercing eyes of the beautiful stranger, not knowing what to make of the feeling that everything was going the right way. “I am so sorry,” Christopher put coins onto the table, getting up from the chair abruptly and averting his gaze. “I have to go.” Go away. Away from those dark blue eyes, away from this cold damp house, away from the cards. Nonsense. “See you soon, Christopher.”