The Clockwork Man (4 page)

“Please, sir,” I said. “I only wish to help you.” I reached underneath and lifted the stand with a single heave.

I should explain that I intended only to pull the heavy wooden stand off the man so he could be rescued; however, due to my sturdy frame and the power behind the mechanism that drives me, I possessexceptional strength, the limits of which have not been tested. In this particular instance I overestimated the amount of force necessary to remove the stand, and it went airborne, flying several feet across the walkway and crashing into the front of a taxidermist’s shop, shattering a large picture window on impact.

The gathered crowd stared at me in silence, even the taxidermist himself, who had run outside to discover the source of the calamity; the only sound was my ticking, which had greatly increased in speed and volume, as it does after great exertion.

“This man needs medical assistance,” I said.

Two men nodded and began to lift the injured man into the carriage, keeping their distance from me as they carried him.

“I’m terribly sorry for the damage,” I said to the taxidermist, though he did not respond. As Fräulein Gruenwald approached, I took a few steps toward her, and several people hurriedly backed away. I confess I do not understand their reaction; I injured no one, and assisted where others could not. I shall, at some point, seek the Master’s clarification.

My ticking, which had been quite rapid, began to slow, and I knew I was in some danger of winding down. My continued awareness depends on a winding mechanism, a key located in a groove near my right hip (hence the soft ticking sound I emit). Should I fail to wind myself every twenty-four hours (more frequently if I am exerted), my inner workings will stop, and I will know only oblivion, as I am denied the refuge of dreams. In such a state I have lost hours, even days, and under the circumstances it seemed imprudent to lose consciousness before an already-panicked crowd.

“We should go,” Fräulein Gruenwald said.

“Yes,” I said. “I need to wind myself.” The Master has only informed Giselle and Fräulein Gruenwald about the mechanism, and it seemed unwise to demonstrate it in front of strangers, so we attempted to put some distance between ourselves and the onlookers. (I should also explain that I consider the process a private matter, and prefer not to perform it in view of others.)

We had gone no more than two blocks when the ticks slowed and grew fainter, and the last image I beheld was the cobblestone street rushing up to meet me.

When I regained consciousness, the Master’s face filled my vision. He was kneeling over me, his hand in the flap on my side, vigorously turning the winding key. I could not interpret the look upon his face—something between anger and concern. I heard Frau Gruber’s disembodied voice in the background, rough and raspy: “I told you to destroy that thing. It’s been nothing but trouble.”

“Not now, Mother,” the Master said. “Are you all right, Ernst?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Thank you.”

“That was quite a stunt. It’s going to cost me a few marks.”

“I apologize. I only wished to help.”

“I know. But you must be more careful.” He gently patted my arm and smiled, almost imperceptibly. “On your feet now.”

Fräulein Gruenwald and the Master each took hold of an arm and hoisted me back into a standing position. Frau Gruber stood several feet from us, holding Jakob and Giselle back. “Don’t go near it, children,” she said. “It’s dangerous. I always said so.”

“Go home, Ernst,” the Master said. “We’ll talk about this later, after I’ve had a look at you.”

“Yes, sir,” I said.

The Master instructed Fräulein Gruenwald to shepherd me back to the house, where I was to go to the workshop immediately and remain there until he arrived. As we turned to leave, however, Giselle pushed her grandmother’s arm aside and ran to me.

“Don’t let him lecture you,” she said, smiling. “You did a good thing today. You’re a hero.” She raised herself on tiptoes and kissed my cheek.

“Thank you,” I said.

When we arrived at the Master’s home I complied with his orders immediately, taking my place on a long, narrow bench. He has not yet come down to examine me, so I assume his anger must be great indeed. But earlier this evening I did hear an extended episode of raised voices—first Frau Gruber’s, then the Master’s, then Giselle’s, then the Master’s again. Due to the thickness of these walls I cannot tell what they are saying, nor have I any intention of eavesdropping, but I am certain I am the cause of it.

Regardless, the Master has instructed me to wait for him here, where I will face whatever judgment he has planned for me.

I am somewhat relieved to report that Herr Gruber’s anger with me was not significant. However, nine hours, twenty-seven minutes after sending me down to his workshop, he finally came for me. He ordered me up onto my bench and began probing me in several places with a thin screwdriver. By his estimation, that newsstand weighednearly a thousand pounds, and I had hoisted it high into the air and into a wall ten feet away. A single human being, even a very strong one, would have torn several muscles by simply lifting it, and while my construction differs greatly, he wished to inspect me for injury.

“Anything loose or rattling?” he inquired, peeling back the suede skin over my wrists to examine the joints.

“No,” I replied.

“Good. Ernst, I want you to know I am not angry with you. But what you did was very unwise.”

“I am sorry. Should I not have helped that man?”

The Master paused, staring down at the floor before proceeding. “No, you did the right thing. No one else could have helped him in time. I only take issue with how you did it.”

Again I apologized. “It was a miscalculation.”

“That’s an understatement. But that’s not what I mean. Setting aside for a moment that someone could have been hurt, I don’t think people were quite ready for what they saw today.”

“Yes. Some of them seemed frightened afterward. I wondered why.”

The Master sighed, as if he were lecturing Jakob. “Ernst, you must understand that the people of this city have only recently gotten used to you. Do you remember how they reacted when I first built you and brought you into town?”

“Yes. They were frightened.” In fact, I recall a large number of people running away screaming after a simple “hello,” and mothers clasping young children to their breasts.

He nodded. “They thought you were a monster. You showed them that you aren’t, of course, but it took a long time. Throwing that stand as you did, and showing them just how strong you are, reminded them of how afraid they were back then. They remembered that you’re
different
… as in, not human.”

“I understand. I will try to be more careful from now on.”

“I know you will.”

Over the next thirty-two minutes, he opened up my chest to examine my motor, in case the exertion might have damaged me. If so, I will require a new one, and if, for whatever reason, the Master does not construct a replacement in time, I could be unconscious for weeks, if not longer. (It was through exertion that I exhausted my first motor—my “heart,” if you will—four months to the day after my first winding, while learning to climb the workshop staircase. I lost forty-three days as he built me a new, improved version—an appalling state for one such as I.)

“Hmmm,” he said, staring at the mechanism through his jeweler’s loupe. “No sign of strain, no damage at all. You’re well built indeed, my friend.”

“I have you to thank for it,” I said.

He looked up at me and smiled. “Tell me this, Ernst. When you saved that poor man, did it feel … good?”

“I do not understand. He needed help, and I gave it.”

The Master shook his head. “Pity. I wish you could have felt … something. I couldn’t say this in front of Mother, of course, but Giselle was right. You really are a hero. I just wish those people could see it.”

“You are too generous.”

“Not at all. I’m very proud of you, Ernst.” He began to close up my chest cavity, but paused for a moment. I could see the intricate gears and cogs move in the reflection in his eyepiece. “Just be a little more careful in the future.”

Then, when he was finished, I was again left alone in the cellar to contemplate the depth of my mistake.

Frau Gruber departed at 3:35 this afternoon, and I was finally allowed out of the workshop. Outside I heard the sound of horses’ hooves, drawing a carriage away, and the children bidding their grandmother good-bye. Thirty-three seconds later, the door burst open; Giselle stood in the doorway, her arms spread wide. “I release you!” she said. “Come, feel the sun on your face again.”

I glanced out the window. “But it is raining,” I said.

She rolled her eyes. “Then come out and feel the … oh, just come out. The old witch is gone now.” She took me by the hand and led me outside, and the rain (which is frequent and quite heavy in this part of the country) fell in heavy droplets upon my clothes and hat, making a clapping sound as they hit. Her hair had already become wet from her first excursion outdoors, and hung in loose, dripping strands down her shoulders; when she removed her shawl it clung to the exposed skin of her upper chest. When soaked, Giselle’s hair seems to turn from a light reddish-gold to a dark red, or perhaps even maroon; I do not know why I notice this change, except that with my newfound color vision I find it quite engaging. As I watched, she raised her arms up to the sky and let the rain fall over her face, opening her mouth and extending her tongue to catch the drops.

The rain cleared in the early evening, and after I finished helping Fräulein Gruenwald tidy up from Frau Gruber’s visit, Giselle led me upstairs to her attic observatory. “There’s something I want to show you,” she said, and when we reached the top of the stairs, she covered my eyes. “Don’t peek.” From the window I heard a very faint whine, not unlike the sound my own joints make upon extension, and a very soft ticking.

“You can look now,” she said.

With some shame I admit that, at first, I did not know what I beheld. Giselle’s telescope was mounted by the window as usual, but beneath it was a large metallic dome, rotating almost imperceptibly, the base of the telescope’s tripod having been fused to its center. Scattered round this new device were several of Giselle’s charts of the night sky, with circled reference points and hastily scribbled pencil notes.

“What is this?” I finally asked.

“I mounted it on a rotating base,” she said. “I attached one of Father’s old clock motors to it so it will follow anything it’s focused on.”

“I see,” I said, though I did not. I did not wish her to think her excitement was lost on me.

She was not fooled. “Liar. Here, look.” She gently took my hand and placed it on the dome. I could just barely feel it moving beneath my hand. “You see? This will let me track things in the sky. I told you, I think I found a new comet, but I have to follow its movement to be sure.”

“Now I understand. You are nearing a discovery, then?”

She smiled. “I think so. Do you want to see it? The comet, I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Come here, then.” She shut off the faint gaslight in the room and peered into the eyepiece, mumbling “mm-hmm” to herselfseveral times, until she had zeroed in on what she sought. “There it is. Have a look.”

I leaned close, pressing my marble eye up against the lens. I saw only the faint white dots of stars, one perhaps slightly brighter than the others, which I assumed was the one to which she referred.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Magnificent.” (Her enthusiasm was so great I felt it wrong to tell her I could make no distinctions between all the faint, flickering dots in the sky.)

We spent the next hour trading glances into the telescope, silent but for the occasional scratching of pencil on paper. My primary interest was watching her gazing intently through the lens; it is my belief that, in these moments, Giselle is happiest, and I derive much satisfaction from her joy. We remained there until the Master called up and reminded Giselle it was time to go to bed.

I will miss moments such as this, should Giselle marry and start a family of her own. Herr Gruber has often speculated about the day she leaves his home, and has said he would like nothing better than to keep her here as his assistant forever. But this, he says, is a fool’s fantasy, and much as he might like to keep it from happening, it is inevitable. Giselle is a beautiful, intelligent girl, and will no doubt be much sought after by young men of quality.

I find this thought vaguely disturbing, even if Giselle will, doubtless, still visit frequently. Herr Gruber has willed me to her upon his death, and when that day comes I will happily place myself in her service, and that of her children.

But, as the Master often says, she is only sixteen, and there is still a little time left.

I apologize for meandering in personal matters, for there is much else to report. In two days the Master will host a pair of distinguished American visitors who wrote several months ago asking to view me, a visit about which he has been most excited for some time—so much so, that he fabricated a business appointment in Berlin so Frau Gruber might leave earlier. (The Master dearly loves his mother; however, around guests she has a tendency to be somewhat abrasive, and he admires these visitors too much to risk embarrassment.) Then, soon after, I will accompany him on a long train trip to survey sites for new commissions, and to service some of his existing models. He has determined that in light of my miscalculated rescue in front of the taxidermist’s shop, it might be a sound idea for me to spend some time away from this place, so that the population might forget their nervousness around me. (I also accompany him for practical reasons; some of his clocks contain large components far too heavy for him to manipulate alone.) While I have traveled with him before, he has promised that on this trip, I will see things I have only read about in his library. So while I shall, no doubt, bemoan my separation from Giselle, as well as Jakob and Fräulein Gruenwald, I nonetheless look forward to the opportunities that await me.