The Clock

Christopher rushed out. It was dark outside already, but the rain was battering away at roofs and people with double force and he went on running right up to the clock shop in the neighboring block. He got soaked. Standing in the dark space of the shop, he took off his coat, shook his hair off. The room was full of clocks and glass cases, in the left corner there was a door, it was his bedroom. In the other corner was his workroom, right in his shop. Chris came back to his senses, popped outside for a minute, retrieving filled out forms from the box left for ordering. He had plenty of work to do. The prices he put were ridiculously low, just like any run-of-the-mill watchmaker, although the quality and pricing of his work was why many people sought Chris out. Dominic kept saying that the prices should be raised but Christopher couldn’t say no to people coming in. Since, most importantly, it paid off and Christopher always had something to keep himself occupied with. Come the following day, Kelly would be sailing away in the morning. And Chris wasn’t one to trust some fortune-teller that he was about to meet somebody new. He sat at the table, lit up the lamp. He fixed the collar of his shirt, his vest, stretched his legs out and then bent them again. He looked over to the damp order forms. The orders were plenty but he’d be done with them in a night. He opened the chest with the drafts and got to work. Chris loved working at night, especially with heavy rain battering outside audibly. He lived on the ground floor so roof leaks weren’t something he’d have to be concerned with, and he sat there working till morning, sipping tea. The shop was open in the morning. The clocks and watches ordered could be collected and paid for and ready-made ones could be bought; otherwise Chris was terribly busy — that’s why he put up a chest. He hated being distracted because he would lose his focus, hence he covered the telephone with a pillow and a blanket even to muffle any of its sounds. Early in the morning Chris put his dried up coat, then went out and to a café nearby. He would eat breakfast there for half a shilling, sometimes have coffee if he worked overnight. Then he would go back to his shop and sit there until lunchtime. If a customer didn’t pick up their order in a week, he put it up for sale, and many people indeed would buy goods manufactured for other people. Chris put the initial engraving just before purchase: before that one could only see his trademark signature. And he was making good money off it. But on the present day the shop would have to be closed. Because Chris was headed for the port early into the day, where he would have to find Kelly. Strangely enough, he ended up not speaking to Kelly. He saw her from a distance, their gazes met for the last time. He wanted to approach her, but she turned on her heels and hurried away. He surely could’ve chased after her and eventually caught up to her, but he didn’t: considering that she didn’t want to see him, why would he be going after her? He stood there stock still. Lost and sulky, with rainclouds pushing at his skull and nothing he could do — there was no point in doing anything. He stood there for a while before going back home. And there was nothing he wanted to do anymore. No more clocks or watches, no more orders, no more chores, nothing. It didn’t even make sense anymore to save up money for a house purchase to have his own property. Even if he did want to move into a remote place and live a quiet life there, he had wanted to do so with Kelly to start a family together, but there was no hope any longer: he would never ever see her again. And that’s why he lay onto his bed still clothed, thinking of stupid little things. He really wanted to buy a dog. He decided to switch over to this train of thought instead and think of dogs and of the fact that he could still move out of the city on his own. The south was where he wanted to move: maybe Brighton — or rather its suburbs. A dog was something he could afford. With the thought stuck in his head, Chris got up: he finally had some energy, and we was determined to buy a dog right then. One of a smaller breed so that he would be able keep it in his rather tiny flat. He went outside, breathed in the scent of a sunless evening. Having decided to go home, he walked, came back by lunch time, and got hungry. Christopher paddled along the pavement, his mind almost blank, glancing at buildings and windows in the brownish-gray, narrow streets. He was headed for the butcher’s. Boxes with puppies were often left over there as the owner (a nice man with a family of his own) would feed them leftover cuts of steak. It didn’t take much time for puppies to find owners. After all, a dog that would be accepted by the outlandish Kennel Club was not something Chris needed so he opted to take a pup out of the box. And maybe walk around some stalls and get some food. Really, who would’ve thought that what would come next would happen? A cat got in his way and between his feet. Christopher stumbled and fell, staining himself on the wet pavement, with people passing by, a pair of blue eyes staring into his face, the cat sniffing him. Skinny, quite long even — like a sausage, — if picked up, it will stretch right down to the ground. Chris couldn’t be mad at the cat. He only had himself to blame, he was too lost in thought. The cat seemed to resemble somebody, it once again cling to Chris’s leg, now without causing Chris to trip. The cat purred as loudly as a tractor. Chris pondered for a moment. The cat was mangy, obviously homeless and hungry, a little dirty, but its fur was smooth — so no ringworm, then, but still… Was it rabid? All cuddly now, it will later attack for nothing and kill its owner. Chris didn’t hesitate much. Picked the cat up, its filthy fur staining his light camel coloured coat. The cat was glancing into his face as if recognizing him from somewhere, slapping him with its cold, soft paw a couple times as if saying, “Look, dimwit, you’ve got yourself an owner now!” Not that Chris was charmed by the gesture. Yet the cat went on purring, the claws drawn in. How was such a cat worse than a dog? It was a guard Chris was looking for, but a companion to turn to for comfort and peace of mind. There was some musicality in the way the cat purred even. It was all settled. Christopher put the cat under his coat, and it started to lick itself. As if embarrassed of being so dirty, but who know what it might have been thinking? A cat is a cat. Christopher kept walking forward, he still had to get some stuff for the cat and for himself, really, he could also do with something to eat. Even if it wasn’t something to eat, he felt like drinking tea at home: Chris didn’t have so much time so as to eat out at cafés constantly, although that sometimes would be actually be cheaper. Just half a shilling for a lunch. It would’ve taken plenty of time and even more money to cook at home, considering that food spoiled even if Christopher bought little — he lived alone. The cat was radiating warmth pleasantly, shivering and purring loudly enough to be heard from under the coat. Christopher started to walk languidly. The butcher’s stall, the tea stall — he had to get some chocolate as well. A couple ounces, at least. He came home with the cat. The latter seemed to have fallen asleep, even — it was completely motionless and unwilling to crawl out from beneath the coat. It was only after Chris got home that he remembered that a black cat crossing your path means ill luck. But the cat hadn’t actually crossed his path, now had it? The cat chose to run in between his feet so it was a different matter entirely. Chris wetted a clean cloth, wrung it out until it was just a tad damp, and wiped the filth off his coat, then off the cat, who was slow on the uptake as to what all that trouble was for. When he begun rummaging through slightly damp paper bags with handles, the cat seemed to find its voice, and it jumped right onto one of the cabinets, demanding food with vigor, shivering ever-so-slightly with anticipation.

***

Dominic looped his belt around himself, buckling it. “By the way, ‘as this tall, curly-haired bloke paid ya any visits? Name’s Chris,” asked Howard. “He has.” Matthew was lying cramped on his dirty single bed. “Does ‘e know ya ain’t a woman?” “I don’t think so.” “So ‘ow’d ya like ‘im? D’you do it in the dark, then?” Dominic put the money on the nightstand. Five shillings. That was what he’d expected from Chris, too shy of a bloke he was. “I didn’t like him any. I just read his cards for him. He didn’t even touch me.” “Wha’ an idiot,” Dom grumbled, studying Matt’s face. He saw that after he such an inquiry Matt got all pensive. “Did ‘e pay ya?” Of course, Christopher was a one charming handsome bloke. Dominic wouldn’t be surprised if even after a single visit, not even having lain a finger on the prostitute, he will long be remembered, in “Matilda’s” mind, as a knight in shining armor. Even in Matthew won’t remember his face. “What’s it to you?” “Wanted t’ take the piss,” Dominic reassured him. Matthew remained silent. His arse hurt like hell. Howard didn’t get to hear the answer, left quietly, shutting the door behind himself. Bellamy had long stopped crying whenever some gentleman had his way with him — we was far too exhausted for that. And here he was — he supposed that he’d never ever hear of Christopher again — lo and behold! Dominic — a regular john, really — knows him. And thinks him a simpleton. Matthew didn’t think Christopher was an idiot. It was just Christopher didn’t have the urge to humiliate somebody for money. If Matt could get five shillings per a card reading, he would’ve never let any of those scumbags that leave him this battered, walk through his doorway. But Matt didn’t think too hard about it. He had long forgone any attempts at understanding what was happening to him. That is why he was scrunching up his face with pain mindlessly, no longer searching for ways to escape his given predicament. Although his mind was continuously preoccupied with thoughts of Christopher as he was really someone outstanding. Pure, innocent Christopher had really come for card reading and would refuse any love spells. And not because they didn’t work but rather because he was willing to let go. And Matthew was sad that he’d run away. He wouldn’t have minded him sticking around for a little while just to talk. Matthew would have told him everything Chris had wanted to know about the mysterious odds and ends in his cabinet.

***

Christopher was startled by a knock at the door. He was about to go to bed. The cat was following him close at his heels, and Chris opened the door to the stall, approaching the front door. Not yet undoing the door chain, Christopher held the door ajar. “Good evening.” That was Dominic. “You really scared me,” Christopher breathed out, going on to close the door and open it properly. “Eh, sorreh. Didn’t want ta. What’s that ya got?” Dominic wondered looking at the cat. “D’ya get it to replace the bride?” “No, it’s just a cat.” “‘ere I thought we both liked dogs.” “A dog was what I was going to get but –” “D’ya change ye’ mind, then?” “No, this cat somehow found me on its own. I tripped over it in the street.” “‘n’ ya thought it was a sign? It’s black! It ain’t gonna bring ya nowt but bad luck.” “But it came to me itself. And started to rub itself against my legs.” “Maybeh it’s rabid?” “I don’t think so.” The cat began growling, glaring at Dominic. “Look, it’s gonna attack meh now!” “Don’t talk nonsense, it’s just –” “It’s just rabid.” “No, that’s not the case,” Chris rushed to pick the cat up. “You’ve just come in, it might be that you smell of the street or of something odd.” “Are ya saying I’m niffy?” “That’s not what I said, it’s just that the cat doesn’t like you much.” “‘n’ what’s its name?” Christopher had thought about it. He never gave human names to pets, but this one was asking for such. “Matthew. This one fits right, doesn’t it?” Dominic snorted with laughter. “By the way, I wanted to tell ya tha’ Matilda’s thinking of ya.” Dominic wanted to see how things would play out. “A dreamer of a girl she is. Maybeh ya ought to visit ‘er one more time, eh?” Christopher averted his eyes to the side. “Did you go and waste money on damn psychics again?” Christopher replied in an overly negative way, but his face gave away that he himself, was thinking of the mysterious ghost in the dusty flat. “I paid ‘er a friendly visit. She don’t mind just a li’l chat,” Dominic hinted. “She was talking of ya, ‘though she didn’t know we knew each other.” “What did she say?” Chris couldn’t conceal his curiosity. “I can’t go around giving away other people’s secrets.” Dominic smiled. “‘ow genteel of a gentleman would I be if I began gossiping with ya, mate?” The cat looked at Dominic anxiously. “I was about to go to bed. Have you come to borrow some money from me, or is it a watch or clock that you’ve decided to purchase?” “I’ve come in to bid ya good night.” Dominic patted his mate’s shoulder, then left the dark clock shop, with Chris locking it, still holding the now-relaxed cat in his arms.