Post by Nuala Bowtitt on Jun 27, 2008 17:29:09 GMT
THE WIND UP MERCHANT Part 3
To his shame, his letters home had been sparse. He hardly found the time to write and he was on the move all the time. He’d never been to South Africa and found it a magnificent place. The political climate was very unsettled and the mines he visited would not have passed any safety tests but what an adventure it was. Jennifer was always lurking in the back of his mind and he missed her so much, he resolved to change his ways when he got back. They would start that family she always talked about. He would find some way of spending more time with his beloved. Perhaps he could learn to share her money. As soon as he knew when he would be returning, he sent details of his docking and waited for the day he could hold his Jennifer in his arms again. This trip had really taught him a lesson and the journey back was unbearably slow. He realised just what he had been throwing away with both hands and he would make it up to her if it were the last thing he did. He could see her gentle face in front of him. She was so beautiful and she had stood all his selfishness, his ego, his driving ambition, which he was ashamed now to admit he had put before everything. But at least now, he knew the true value of what he had and how lucky he was and he would cherish her for the rest of their lives together.
When he stepped down the gangplank, he searched the faces waiting there and he couldn’t see her. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Aunt Raine waiting on the quay for him. He somehow knew that something was dreadfully wrong. He could feel it in the atmosphere and from the look in Aunt Raine’s eyes. They were filled with a sorrow the like of which he’d never seen before. He tried to comprehend what Aunt Raine was saying to him but she sobbed as she spoke and his brain would not accept what he was hearing.
Two weeks before, Jennifer, six months pregnant, had tripped on the stair and fallen heavily. She had gone into labour, an excruciating, prolonged labour during which, she haemorrhaged and could not sustain such an extensive blood loss. She died, just as their baby was born and the doctor had fought hard to save the boy but he was so small that he didn’t really stand a chance. He was christened William Bowman Jr so that he may be buried alongside his mother in the family plot. As William stood at the graveside, great wracking sobs tore from him as he read the temporary wooden cross. Jennifer Clover Bowman 21 years and William Bowman 2 hours.
William stayed in his dark pit, unable to face the daylight. Unable to be in the house that had been their home but that he’d rarely been in. He knew this was his fault. He knew if he’d been there, things would have been different. He drank to help him overcome his remorse but it only made things worse and he sank deeper into the quagmire of self-pity that already surrounded him. The family rallied around and did their best to make him feel less guilty but he wasn’t even aware of their presence and they feared for his sanity and his health. The doctor gave Aunt Raine a small bottle of laudenum, which she was to administer sparingly to help him to sleep but on no account was she to leave it anywhere where he could get hold of it. He knew where she kept the bottle and it called to him. He needed to be with Jennifer and their son – the son he hadn’t even known about. He needed to make amends and so, he made his plans. It was late and he had feigned sleep and waited until the household had gone to bed. He retrieved the bottle from its hiding place in the secret compartment in the secretaire and it now sat on the table before him, begging him to drink its contents. All was still, with just a single lamp burning. Suddenly, a shadow fell across the desk from behind him. He turned and nothing was there. He turned back and sitting in a chair opposite, just a little way from his desk, there was a figure. William jumped up in alarm. ‘Who are you? Where did you come from?’ he asked. The figure was of an old man, wispy grey beard, stringy hair, sharp features. He wore a long frock coat and fingerless gloves. Across his waistcoat stretched a gold chain and fob. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out his watch, studied it for a moment and put it back.
‘Good evening William.’… Once again, William asked ‘Who are you?’
‘I am the Wind Up Merchant. I am the Keeper of Time. You never had enough time, did you William?’
What do you mean? Why are you here?’
‘I’ve come to help you.’
‘Well, you can’t help me. No one can.’
Ah, but William,’ said the old man. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I can help you. Tell me! How much would you give to be able to go back and start again with Jennifer? You’d do it right then, wouldn’t you. You blame yourself for what happened and you’re right. If you had found the time for your wife, your life and your marriage, you know she‘d be here today, don’t you William?’
William started to cry again. Yes, he did know that. What could anyone do to help him now. As if the old man had read his thoughts, he said ‘ There is much I can do. Have you ever heard of the Golden Clock?’
‘No,’ said William. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a clock which, once it’s in your hands, can buy you back time’
‘I don’t believe such a thing.’ said William
‘Ah!’ said the old man ‘ But if there WERE such a timepiece, what would you do to buy back the last few years of your life?’
‘Anything.’ William said.
‘Then I shall tell you now William, there IS such a clock and it can be yours’
‘How?’ asked William ‘And why would you give it to me?’
‘Because I know you’re genuinely sorry for your shortcomings and true remorse is the recipe for being given another chance.’
‘What must I do to get this clock?’
‘Oh, it’s something that you enjoy doing…..You have to repair timepieces.’
‘And how will that get me the clock?’
‘The clock will come to you in the form of a repair. You’ll know it immediately and as soon as it’s in your hands, you may wind it to whatever time you wish, whatever day or year you wish and you’ll be back there.’
‘I don’t know,’ said William.
‘I don’t think it’s an offer you can refuse,’ said the old man.
‘How do I start?’ asked William.
‘You set up a workshop repairing watches and clocks and you wait’
‘Well that sounds easy enough,’ said William. ‘WHEN do I start?’
‘As soon as we have sealed the pledge with a handshake,’ said the old man, extending a bony hand. As William gripped the hand, he felt how cold it was and a shiver went through him. A shiver that he would never escape. The old man grinned.
‘Remember William, you can never shut your door. If you do, how will you know that the next piece in isn’t going to be the Golden Clock? You must wind all the clocks up every night. You must never allow any of them to stop or the deal will be broken.’
As he walked away, the old man had a smile on his face. He was indeed the keeper of time. He needed time to stay alive. The only way he could get energy was by the winding of clocks and watches. For every wind, he was allowed another breath. But he wasn’t too concerned. Such was the world today that there would always be people with not enough time, many regrets and the need to go back and do it over again. There would always be someone to do the winding…..
And so, there sat William, tired and cold but he couldn’t stop. Any time now, the Golden Clock would come in for repair and he would see his beloved Jennifer once again. Time to wind up the clocks again for another night.
To his shame, his letters home had been sparse. He hardly found the time to write and he was on the move all the time. He’d never been to South Africa and found it a magnificent place. The political climate was very unsettled and the mines he visited would not have passed any safety tests but what an adventure it was. Jennifer was always lurking in the back of his mind and he missed her so much, he resolved to change his ways when he got back. They would start that family she always talked about. He would find some way of spending more time with his beloved. Perhaps he could learn to share her money. As soon as he knew when he would be returning, he sent details of his docking and waited for the day he could hold his Jennifer in his arms again. This trip had really taught him a lesson and the journey back was unbearably slow. He realised just what he had been throwing away with both hands and he would make it up to her if it were the last thing he did. He could see her gentle face in front of him. She was so beautiful and she had stood all his selfishness, his ego, his driving ambition, which he was ashamed now to admit he had put before everything. But at least now, he knew the true value of what he had and how lucky he was and he would cherish her for the rest of their lives together.
When he stepped down the gangplank, he searched the faces waiting there and he couldn’t see her. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Aunt Raine waiting on the quay for him. He somehow knew that something was dreadfully wrong. He could feel it in the atmosphere and from the look in Aunt Raine’s eyes. They were filled with a sorrow the like of which he’d never seen before. He tried to comprehend what Aunt Raine was saying to him but she sobbed as she spoke and his brain would not accept what he was hearing.
Two weeks before, Jennifer, six months pregnant, had tripped on the stair and fallen heavily. She had gone into labour, an excruciating, prolonged labour during which, she haemorrhaged and could not sustain such an extensive blood loss. She died, just as their baby was born and the doctor had fought hard to save the boy but he was so small that he didn’t really stand a chance. He was christened William Bowman Jr so that he may be buried alongside his mother in the family plot. As William stood at the graveside, great wracking sobs tore from him as he read the temporary wooden cross. Jennifer Clover Bowman 21 years and William Bowman 2 hours.
William stayed in his dark pit, unable to face the daylight. Unable to be in the house that had been their home but that he’d rarely been in. He knew this was his fault. He knew if he’d been there, things would have been different. He drank to help him overcome his remorse but it only made things worse and he sank deeper into the quagmire of self-pity that already surrounded him. The family rallied around and did their best to make him feel less guilty but he wasn’t even aware of their presence and they feared for his sanity and his health. The doctor gave Aunt Raine a small bottle of laudenum, which she was to administer sparingly to help him to sleep but on no account was she to leave it anywhere where he could get hold of it. He knew where she kept the bottle and it called to him. He needed to be with Jennifer and their son – the son he hadn’t even known about. He needed to make amends and so, he made his plans. It was late and he had feigned sleep and waited until the household had gone to bed. He retrieved the bottle from its hiding place in the secret compartment in the secretaire and it now sat on the table before him, begging him to drink its contents. All was still, with just a single lamp burning. Suddenly, a shadow fell across the desk from behind him. He turned and nothing was there. He turned back and sitting in a chair opposite, just a little way from his desk, there was a figure. William jumped up in alarm. ‘Who are you? Where did you come from?’ he asked. The figure was of an old man, wispy grey beard, stringy hair, sharp features. He wore a long frock coat and fingerless gloves. Across his waistcoat stretched a gold chain and fob. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and took out his watch, studied it for a moment and put it back.
‘Good evening William.’… Once again, William asked ‘Who are you?’
‘I am the Wind Up Merchant. I am the Keeper of Time. You never had enough time, did you William?’
What do you mean? Why are you here?’
‘I’ve come to help you.’
‘Well, you can’t help me. No one can.’
Ah, but William,’ said the old man. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. I can help you. Tell me! How much would you give to be able to go back and start again with Jennifer? You’d do it right then, wouldn’t you. You blame yourself for what happened and you’re right. If you had found the time for your wife, your life and your marriage, you know she‘d be here today, don’t you William?’
William started to cry again. Yes, he did know that. What could anyone do to help him now. As if the old man had read his thoughts, he said ‘ There is much I can do. Have you ever heard of the Golden Clock?’
‘No,’ said William. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s a clock which, once it’s in your hands, can buy you back time’
‘I don’t believe such a thing.’ said William
‘Ah!’ said the old man ‘ But if there WERE such a timepiece, what would you do to buy back the last few years of your life?’
‘Anything.’ William said.
‘Then I shall tell you now William, there IS such a clock and it can be yours’
‘How?’ asked William ‘And why would you give it to me?’
‘Because I know you’re genuinely sorry for your shortcomings and true remorse is the recipe for being given another chance.’
‘What must I do to get this clock?’
‘Oh, it’s something that you enjoy doing…..You have to repair timepieces.’
‘And how will that get me the clock?’
‘The clock will come to you in the form of a repair. You’ll know it immediately and as soon as it’s in your hands, you may wind it to whatever time you wish, whatever day or year you wish and you’ll be back there.’
‘I don’t know,’ said William.
‘I don’t think it’s an offer you can refuse,’ said the old man.
‘How do I start?’ asked William.
‘You set up a workshop repairing watches and clocks and you wait’
‘Well that sounds easy enough,’ said William. ‘WHEN do I start?’
‘As soon as we have sealed the pledge with a handshake,’ said the old man, extending a bony hand. As William gripped the hand, he felt how cold it was and a shiver went through him. A shiver that he would never escape. The old man grinned.
‘Remember William, you can never shut your door. If you do, how will you know that the next piece in isn’t going to be the Golden Clock? You must wind all the clocks up every night. You must never allow any of them to stop or the deal will be broken.’
As he walked away, the old man had a smile on his face. He was indeed the keeper of time. He needed time to stay alive. The only way he could get energy was by the winding of clocks and watches. For every wind, he was allowed another breath. But he wasn’t too concerned. Such was the world today that there would always be people with not enough time, many regrets and the need to go back and do it over again. There would always be someone to do the winding…..
And so, there sat William, tired and cold but he couldn’t stop. Any time now, the Golden Clock would come in for repair and he would see his beloved Jennifer once again. Time to wind up the clocks again for another night.