Chronos

by Clara Williams

Part 1 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

He glanced at the files he still had to work on. He could, of course, try to get ahead a little. Not such a bad idea, after all. If time decided to resume its course — for the others at least — he might have a chance to make it home a bit earlier tonight and to do something else, for once, than go home, kiss the wife and kids, gulp his food down and fall into bed, exhausted...

He looked at the watch resting on his desk. He’d set it later. This just didn’t seem like the proper time to do that. He might have been staying there a long time, waiting for that minute to pass. Stubbornly, the computer clock still indicated 13:59. But then, why not set it in advance? That would be one thing done.

He made sure that both hands indicated two o’clock and snapped the winder shut. At that very moment, he seemed to hear the sound of a machine getting started again, of cogwheels getting into gear, of a whole mechanism setting itself in motion.

“Mr. Friedman, your 2 o’clock appointment is here.”

He jumped at Amy’s voice. Looking around, he saw the computer clock deciding at last to move from that persistent 13:59 and on to 14:00.

“Mr. Friedman?”

He didn’t answer right away, wavering between disappointment and bafflement. He looked at the watch he was still holding in his hands as if he was seeing it for the first time. “One moment, please, Amy.”

In spite of himself, his mind was beginning to connect facts, causes and consequences. Unless he was mistaken, every minute could turn into a lifetime. He put the watch down on the desk again and, almost feverishly, pulled the winder out. In the office next door, the sound of the typewriter stopped suddenly.

He peeked at the window. The bird was reproachfully looking at him, as if he held it against him to have, once more, interrupted his flight.

Marc sat down again, a smile involuntarily playing on his lips. He sighed and pushed his chair backward in a posture of complete relaxation, a familiar posture he hadn’t assumed in quite a while. Delighted, he let his mind wander, all to the pleasure of thinking of this and that without any restraint. He couldn’t tell how long he stayed like that, relishing that all too rare moment of idleness before his mind called him back to order.

He looked at the watch. Still no questioning, only a simple gratitude. Not that he had any idea to whom he should be grateful. He picked up the stack of files awaiting him and set to work. A few hours later, or at least what could have been a few hours, had time been normally elapsing, he looked up and stretched. One good thing done!

He sorted out the last documents, signed a few and replaced everything in the “done” files stack. There he was. He got up and glanced at his secretary’s desk. Poor Mr. Martin, he’d had him waiting long enough as it was. It was about time to deliver him from his frozen state, even though it perfectly fit his character, he thought. He comfortably sat down again at his desk and pushed the winder back in.

The appointments went like a breeze, even a bit too fast in his opinion. Untypically, he suddenly felt like a schoolboy, freezing his interlocutor while getting up to check something on an index card; playing practical jokes on the President of the Company — his much loved and respected boss, like getting his pen to leak; messing up Amy’s papers and watching her frown, puzzled, as she was trying to figure out where they’d gone... A real kid! he gently reprimanded himself.

“Amy, are we done with the appointments?”

He could tell, watching his secretary’s tense expression, that she was struggling to find the right words to let him know that he still had hours of paperwork ahead.

“Yes sir, but the President would have liked you to attend to those files on your desk. He knows that you’re overburdened but you are the only one really...”

“I’m done with them already.”

His secretary’s expression wavered between surprise, doubt and puzzlement. “How did you do that??”

He only smiled at her. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He picked up his briefcase, his raincoat and checked his watch. “Nothing quite like going home early. If you need to reach me, call me on my cell.”

He stepped into the street. For a moment, its hustle and bustle left him confused. It felt so odd to be out when it was still daylight. He felt perked up, full of joy. Free, alive at last. Five o’clock at his watch. He had plenty of time for a walk before going home and, if time happened to be lacking or too short, he now knew a way to manipulate it to his advantage.

On his way, he passed by the jewelry store. Behind the display of clocks, he could see the saleswoman trying to talk a reluctant client into seeing the advantages of the model she was showing him. For a moment, he felt like walking into the shop. Only to tell her that it “worked.” She probably wouldn’t have understood and would have thought he was crazy. It didn’t matter, he had no need to share his discovery with anybody in order to enjoy it fully.

The street was swarming with people. He stopped for a moment in the crowd, watching people going about their business, preoccupied with their various pursuits, hurried, busy and stressed. He pulled his grandfather’s watch out of his pocket and pulled out the winder. The sudden wave of silence washed over him, obliterating every sound. The general commotion morphed into silence, the noises of engines abruptly stopping, faces freezing, cars halting in their tracks. He smiled brightly, watching the city docilely obeying his request for peace and quiet, for one minute of free time in the chaos of life.

“You’re home early tonight, hon!”

That was no reproach! It substantiated his happiness. He tenderly kissed his wife. “It feels good once in a while.”

“You seem to be in good spirits!”

There was as much love in her eyes as there had been when they were first married, in spite of the years, in spite of tough times. He put his arm around her waist. “And you haven’t seen anything yet.”

That night, with his fatigue or the nervous strain of overwork forgotten, he smiled when his daughter spilled her juice all over him and joked with his son who went on for two hours, telling him about his day. He felt so wonderfully good. Yes, now he could tell that he couldn’t be happier than he was today.

Time passed, within itself and beyond. He was not questioning the gift, he was enjoying it as often as he could. He couldn’t really say it had come from heaven, he found that wording a bit odd; it was in fact an inherited gift. He had no idea how long it might last and reminded himself that it could stop at any time, but he didn’t care. He was just going to enjoy it while it lasted.

The one sensible question he allowed himself to ask was whether his grandfather had used it and whether the “Take time to live” engraving was any indication of the watch’s power, but he rarely wondered about that, well aware that even asking the question was a loss of time in itself.

Once, actually, he had wondered for an instant about the consequences of it all: what if the world were to stop turning? Just for an instant though because, frankly, he didn’t care that much about the world. As a matter of fact, he was getting accustomed to the constraints of that space out of time. Nothing worked: no computer, no telephone, no baseball, you couldn’t even go fishing if you wanted. It didn’t matter: he could read, walk, or just daydream. He savored it as the ultimate luxury: endless time for his sole personal pleasure.

He occasionally felt a little twinge at the thought of being unable to share that pleasure with someone, with his wife. And how could he even tell her about it? She wouldn’t have believed him without evidence and he didn’t have any. Besides, to be honest with himself, he liked the idea of keeping this private space, his refuge intact.

It was selfish, he admitted to himself, but not enough to renounce it. He justified himself in thinking that this secret garden made him more available to others, more forthcoming. After all, he wasn’t harming anyone or stealing from anyone, he only robbed a few moments of happiness from time, which he delighted in like in a forbidden fruit.

His reasoning was fair, if not entirely honest. Had he really wanted to be honest with himself, he would have recognized that this “pastime”, as he liked to call it — even though it was the exact opposite of a pastime — that this “still-time,” rather, was gradually becoming an essential drug; that he more and more often sought refuge in it, away from the world, from stress and responsibilities, from others, from life itself. He had a vague notion of leaping forward to escape, becoming less and less tolerant of others, desiring nothing else but to go back to his bubble of solitude and freedom from the demands of reality.

“Could you come down to the kitchen, hon, I need some help.”

He set down with a sigh the newspaper he was reading. It was always like that. As soon as he came home from the office, he always got recruited for some extra chores.

“Coming!”

He took the watch out of his pocket and pulled the winder out. He’d come for sure, but later, when he’d be done relaxing a bit. She wouldn’t see the difference. He set the watch down on the desk and resumed his reading, enjoying the silence about him.

A few pages later, he set his newspaper down again and stretched. He was beginning to get hungry. He picked up the watch and pushed the winder in. He felt a slight resistance. He pushed harder. Crack! The little snapping sound resounded in his head like a thunderclap. The winder was back in, but the hands wouldn’t resume their course. They remained immobile.

He hurtled down the staircase and bolted into the kitchen. His wife was waiting for him, motionless. Time had remained frozen. His heart started beating harder as his mind panicked. He made an effort to remain calm. He pulled the winder out again, gently, and pushed it back in. His wife didn’t move.

He sat down, his legs buckling under him. From the corner of his eye, he could see the frozen smile on his wife’s lips. He looked at the watch that suddenly felt so cold and inert in his hand. He sneezed, the sound eerily echoing in the silent house. No one answered and he suddenly realized how very lonely he was.

With shaking hands, he pulled the winder out once more, but the little metal part fell loose into his hand. He put it down, staring at the watch. What were the chances he could get it fixed? In his mind, he already saw himself seeking a watchmaker or using his own tools to try and repair it.

Yes, that’s what he’d do once he’d recovered from the initial shock; he knew he had to do it. There was no other option. Achieving it, of course, was another story. He felt his heart sink. Laying the watch back on the table in front of him, he went back into the kitchen and to his wife. She was as beautiful as ever. He brushed his hand against her cheek. Such soft skin! An involuntary tear trickled along his cheek.

“To the passing hour, I cry: O stay! thou art so fair!”

From his childhood, that Faust quotation suddenly came back to him, reminding him that of all men who ever wanted to stop time, stave it off or play with its rules, some of them going as far as dealing with the devil, none had ever been mad enough to freeze himself in time. Had he been less devastated, he might have been amused by the irony of the situation.

He looked around. Not a stir. Not a sound. He felt so totally alone. He hugged his wife, but her stillness only made him more aware of her frozen remoteness and of his own solitude. He felt himself sinking. Was that what his life was going to be made of from now on?

He could try and repair the watch. It might even work... and, in that case, he’d become a prisoner of time again, of its frantic waltz that dances you to the edge of death, as if it were the only true rest. And if he failed in repairing it... Another prison of solitude and silence was awaiting him, an eternity of watching the people he loved but unable to touch them, an eternity of remorse and regrets.

Some time for himself.

For himself alone.

Too much time. Just for himself.

To Challenge 419...