TICK-TOCK!

PART 1

The old man began every morning with a hot cup of raspberry tea, whistling merrily “Love me tender...” He’d spend the whole day in the small shop smelling of rubbish, and upon leaving, he’d lock us up in the chest whose colors had faded long ago. It was on one most ordinary Monday that he turned off the lights and, with a “Chin up!” closed the door behind him. Jingling with the keys, he descended - 8 - down the creaky staircase into the mysterious world that we too wanted to behold, at least once. I followed him in my mind as he descended, murmuring in step with his gait, “Tick-tock, tick-tock...”

PART 2

We waited for the teacher to return one day, then two, then three...But he never returned. The clocks hung in their frames, swinging back and forth, and dutifully bonged away the hours. From time to time I would belt out the old man’s song in hopes that he would hear. But all was silent behind the door, and I would grow quiet and sink into memories.

PART 3

That day, the whole room was reverberating in a cacophony of chimes. I lay among metallic shavings, multi-colored clock faces and golden nuts and bolts. The teacher’s eyes smiled. What joy! It was my birthday. He picked me up carefully and placed me on a shelf. I started spinning my hands in different directions, but the old man frowned and returned me to the table. Huffing, he opened something from the back, fumbled around inside and the arms started turning slowly, and only in one direction. It got boring, but the master started humming, “Love me tender” and I, picking up the melody, echoed it the whole day, “Tick-tock, tick-tock.”

PART 4

Listening closely for any rustle, the inhabitants of the workshop continued looking at the door. A gray mouse with glassy pupils ran between the Lommeur pocket watch and me. Baring its teeth, it eyed my black, shiny strap. I shut my eyes in anticipation of pain and pressed against the gawking convex glass of the Lommeur. Its elaborate hands had frozen in place, not moving - 9 - since the moment the master disappeared. Suddenly, a powerful quake shook the chest and the mouse scampered away. The Wagger, with his peeling paint and arthritic metal legs, wobbled back and forth, looked at me sternly and coughed, convulsing with such force that several tiny, web-like cracks appeared on his clock face. Having finally found a comfortable position for his legs, he squeezed out of himself, “Now they’ll take us all to the dump...” “Tick” I said. From fear, all of the “Tock” escaped me. “What nonsense! Don’t listen to that old fool,” the Wooden Cuckoo told me. “You should be more afraid than any of us. Haven’t heard a coo-coo from you in years...” laughing and coughing, rasped Wagger in return. Silence followed. “What time is it?” unexpectedly chimed up MusiClock and just as unexpectedly answered, “Seems like it’s five a.m.”

PART 5

Something hit me on the head, then on the buckle...then on the head...and the buckle, and then started rolling down. “Drip-drip. Drip-drip.” “What’s this?! Help me! They want to eat me again!” I panicked. “Calm down, Quartz. It’s water from the roof – it’s raining.” Saying this, MusiClock started singing a new and uneven melody, “Ding, ding, la-la, ding, dong...” - 10 - “It’s all coming to an end. The old man won’t come any more. Probably died. And nobody needs us but him...” the Wagger continued muttering. A sudden clash of thunder interrupted his lamentations. The rain thudded gloomily on the gutter, intermingling with MusiClock’s mournful song. “Ding, ding, la-la, ding, dong...” As if in response to the noise of the thunderstorm there was a soft tinkling, then louder, louder, and then a piercing crackling sound pierced the room. “Fire! Fire!” wailed the Red Alarm, jumping up and down. “What fire, my dear?” smiled the Cuckoo Clock, “It’s just rain.” “Oh my! Are you certain? Then I can return to my nap,” chattered away the Red Alarm and fell asleep. “Ding-dong. Sleep away. That’s how you’ll end up at the dump,” slowly chanted the Wagger. “What time is it?” asked MusiClock, abruptly ending her song. “Strange question, ladies and gentlemen,” murmured in exasperation the lady on the silver chain, peacefully lying on the bottom shelf, “It’s bad enough here without your ridiculous scruples...” “Shhh!” whispered the Cuckoo, glaring at everyone sternly. Something started scratching and scraping behind the wall. Lommeur banged with the back lid and pressed me against the wall while MusiClock, dropping the little key, started the ceaseless chattering. “What’s the time? What’s the time? What’s the time?” - 11 - The door flew open and a silhouette appeared in front of the blinding light. “Oh!” we exclaimed in unison, bracing for the unknown.

PART 6

The sign that read “Clockmeister” lay forgotten in a puddle. The truck started, taking me and the other inhabitants of the house somewhere far away. I was not afraid. The Cuckoo said that an incredible future awaits us.

PART 7

“These are such rare clocks! They are priceless!” The man in glasses digging through the content of the crates could not contain his awe. “What craftsmanship! What impeccable elegance!” The Cuckoo winked at the Wagger lying nearby, and either from pride, or from joy, unexpectedly bellowed out 13 cuckoos in a row. Then she added, “And you were saying we’d get sent to the dump. Old geezer. I’m headed to the museum!” and blew off a dust bunny. “They work! They work, professor!” exclaimed a young woman in a green robe.

PART 8

I was dangling left and right on the thin hand of an elegant lady in pink and humming under my breath, “Tick-tock, tick-tock...Love me tender...”