Just in Time

Sol’s watch and clock repair shop occupied 317 S. Fifth street for 42 years. The crumbling brick façade and neighborhood had changed dramatically over those decades. Except for his appearance, Solomon Hadelman, not so much. His hair, once a thick forest of dark curls, had first gone snowy white. Then, it unceremoniously departed. Wrinkles that started as faint lines had deepened, carving crevices in his face. Inwardly the same, Sol’s exterior was a living testament of time’s refusal to wait for anything.

Near the back of the store, behind his workbench, Sol sat perched on a tall round stool. He paused in his work peering over his glasses toward the front windows. A pack of roving teenage boys marched down the sidewalk to the beat of an unseen Bluetooth drummer.

Sol knew his customers and Mrs. Wentworth would be upset at the mere sight of such a group near his door. Laying aside his delicate tools, he pulled a worn red cloth over the expensive watch that lay open on the benchtop. Specks of dust could wreak havoc on the precisely interconnected movements of such a time piece.

Climbing down from the stool and grabbing a cane, he began a slightly stooped trek to the front of the store. Pains of age put a brief grimace on his face. More than years bore down on Sol’s shoulders. A widower for 10 years, he remained single. A place in his heart still occupied by his Ruthie’s memory would not give way.

Signs of her were scattered throughout the shop. Delicate doilies she crocheted were under each mantle clock. Small description cards and price tags were adorned with her beautifully fluid script. These all reminded him of their precious journey together. Ruth Hadelman was his best friend, confidant and co-conspirator for 33 sweet years. His work and her memory were his bitter-sweet companions.

Grandfather clocks, with backs lined up along one wall, stood sentinel over the shop. A half-dozen ornate mantle clocks were scattered around on small tables. Glass cases housed a diverse assortment of wrist and pocket watches.

Sol purposely halted most of the clock’s movements and all but a single grandfather clock pendulum. It prevented an out-of-sync chaotic background of metronome ticks and tocks. He preferred that mostly silence prevail to aid his concentration while he carried out his meticulous work.

Steady familiar sounds from the only running grandfather clock kept time with Sol’s steps as he approached the front of his shop. Her long black Lincoln Town car slid up smoothly to the curb just as he arrived at the front door to greet Mrs. Bernadine Wentworth.

Her chauffeur, Thomas, exited the driver’s door. He quickly unloaded and unfolded her wheelchair helping her move from one seat to the other. Moving behind her, he pushed her chair up the ramp toward the shop’s door. Sol held it open and greeted her as Thomas rolled her past him into the store.

“Mrs. Wentworth! How delightful to see you again! How have you been?”

“Thank you, Mr. Hadelman. I hope you have good news for me about my Robert’s wristwatch?”

Dispensing with pleasantries, she was right down to business as usual. Sol was grateful to have finished the watch she had come for. He decided to help speed along the transaction.

“Just let me grab the invoice and I can give you the exact amount.”

Sol moved behind his workbench and opened the drawer where he kept his paperwork. He also unlocked the safe below it and removed a long thin box that contained the watch.

At the same time, the door chime sounded, and a small fidgety looking man entered. Stopping just inside the door he looked around the shop, nervously wringing his hands. Anxiety was evident in his voice.

“Sol! Have I missed it? What time is it? Sol? Please tell me I am here early. Sol! Where are you?”

A heavy sigh escaped Sol as his eyes closed and his head bowed momentarily. Looking up again at Mrs. Wentworth he saw the alarm in her face. She then tried to turn and see the source of the man’s voice. Turning back to Sol, she gave him a concerned look. Adopting an apologetic tone, he tried to explain.

“He is harmless Mrs. Wentworth, I assure you. Just a neighborhood resident who –”

he paused looking for the right term.

“—has his struggles. Please excuse me a moment?”

Still seeming disturbed, her eyes darted about as if considering her options. Finally looked up at Sol she nodded her assent. He handed her the watch case and invoice to give her something to do while he dealt with Freddy.

“I will only be a minute. I promise you.”

Sol did his best to quicken his pace.

Freddy, a resident who lived nearby, had begun nervously pacing back and forth. Taking only 3 or 4 steps in one direction before turning and retracing his steps back. When he spotted Sol, his face lit up and he rushed toward him.

“Please tell me I am here in time to hear it, Sol. You know how much I love the sounds, the way they resonate so beautifully. I am here early enough, right Sol?”

His pleading tone tugged at Sol’s heartstrings. Obviously suffering a mental disorder, Freddy had stumbled into the shop one day about a year ago. Having recently moved into the neighborhood he was out exploring his new surroundings. Sol had been alarmed by his odd behaviors and erratic speech. Once he realized the nature of Freddy’s challenge, his compassion had over-ridden his initial reaction.

During that first encounter Freddy was entranced by the grandfather clock’s chimes. Their conversation happened to occur just prior to the noon hour. Freddy had stopped mid-sentence when he heard its chimes. Sol had then witnessed an incredible transformation take place. Freddy had turned up his face and the deep furrows there seemed to disappear. His smile grew with each of the clock’s 12 chimes. When silence descended once more, the transformation reversed itself. The smile left and the lines returned.

“Freddy, I have a customer just now. It is only half past 11; you have time to spare before the chimes will begin. But please excuse me, Freddy, while I finish helping my other customer?”

Sol smiled and waited for Freddy to acknowledge his request hoping his voice lacked any of the impatience he felt.

“Oh yes of course, Sol, I understand completely! I will stay out of the way. Quiet as a mouse. You will not even know I am here. May I stand near it though?”

Relief was evident in Freddy’s voice and Sol was glad to grant his request.

“Of course, Freddy, you may stand as close as you wish.”

“Oh! Thank You Sol!”

Obviously relieved, Freddy’s eyes searched the shop and became fixed on the floor clock in question. Without another word he began making his way toward it. Turning back toward Mrs. Wentworth, Sol mustered a smile and again tried to speed up his gait.

The door chime sounded again just as he was reaching the workbench. Sol turned to look but saw no one inside the door. Dismissing it, he attended to concluding his business with Mrs. Wentworth. Escorting her and Thomas to the door, he kept an eye out for any new shoppers but saw none.

Only Freddy seemed to be in the shop with him, standing beside the grandfather clock, waiting expectantly as the hands advanced toward 12. Seeing that it was almost noon, Sol made his way back to the bench to attend to the watch he had started working on earlier.

Looking toward his workspace he immediately noticed the small package sitting near the edge of his bench. Panicking momentarily, he rushed to lift the worn red rag. The watch was lying there, just as he had left it. Sol breathed a sigh of relief.

Back on his stool, he eyed the package. It bore no address label, postage or markings of any kind. Wrapped in plain brown paper, twine encircled it end to end and around the center. A perfect square knot had been tied at both intersections of the string. Unable to contain his curiosity he carefully lifted the box and positioned it squarely in front of him. Retrieving scissors from among his tools, he snipped through the strings, and they fell away.

Rotating the box, he found a small strip of tape over a seam in the paper. He freed the paper and underneath found a plain cardboard box. Finding where tape was holding its lid closed he cut it. He lifted the top half of the box up and set it over to one side. What looked like gift-wrapping tissue greeted Sol’s eyes first and removing it, the contents of the package came into view.

Crafted wood grain practically glowed from within the box. Although flat, the wooden surface had a powerful 3-dimensional illusion of depth in the grain. A golden color gradient transitioned from the faintest of pale yellows to rich bullion. Chocolate browns merged into ebony making him wonder what sort of stain had been used.

He slid the rectangular wooden object out of the package for closer inspection. Sol’s experienced eyes estimated the dimensions of the box to be about 9 inches long by 4 inches wide and 3 inches deep. Its weight was surprising, and he briefly considered that it might be solid wood.

Decades of watch repair had made Sol’s fingertips extraordinarily sensitive. Holding small parts between fingertips and thumbs, he could practically see their precise details. Upon contact with the wooden surface the word that sprang to his mind was, velvet. Other skilled hands had invested considerable time and effort in sanding away any hint of texture.

As he often did with clock mechanisms, Sol closed his eyes the better to see with his hands as he explored every surface and corner of the box. Feeling no breaks or irregularities his eyes opened and he positioned a lighted magnifying glass between his eyes and the box. His visual examination was also fruitless, revealing no apparent break or seam. Again, the thought of a solid block occurred to him. Testing this hypothesis, he once more closed his eyes and shook the box, feeling for hints of movement within. Even focusing his perception, he was not sure whether he felt movement or not.

Perplexed, he set the box back down on his bench and stared at it as if willing an answer to appear. So singular was his concentration that the grandfather clock’s initial internal sounds escaped his notice. What he heard first was Freddy’s gasp as he realized it was time. The grandfather clock came to life and began chiming.

Sol’s gaze never left the box because he noticed something. With each chime a small spot near a corner seemed to move. He slid his index finger across the surface to the spot letting it rest there. When the next chime sounded, he felt it give and pressed down firmly. A loud click emanated from the box and a small wooden lever popped up on the other end of the box as if pushed by a hidden spring. Startled, Sol pulled back dropping it to the benchtop again.

The clock continued to chime. Regaining his composure, Sol picked up the box and examined the lever. He gently pushed it. Nothing happened. Pulling it resulted in another loud pop and a seam appeared around the perimeter of the box. Sol’s hand trembled as he took hold of two corners. He lifted and the box opened.

Sol knew it was the Gramma-Chonotron. A mythic device spoken of only in whispers and laughed at by most watchmakers. The perfect device that controlled time. How it came to him was a mystery but Sol instantly knew how he intended to use it.

Just then, a dark figure stepped out from the shadows behind him.