The Clockwork Man (30 page)

When she first laid eyes upon me, she smiled broadly, and tears formed in her blue eyes. “Ernst,” she said joyfully. “It is good to seeyou again.” I rose from my chair immediately; the woman reached through the bars and held my hands in hers.

“Giselle?” I said, so softly that the air barely passed through the new reeds and stopped in my voicebox. The reader may think me deluded or unbalanced for the outburst, but I offer the assurance that I knew the woman in the doorway could not possibly have been her, nor even the hallucinatory image of her, now erased; for a moment, I was merely tricked by the faint resemblance.

Her hand covered her mouth, and a tear trickled down her cheek, and I immediately regretted my outburst. “No, I’m sorry,” she said. “But we are family, you and I. My name is Ana Nehring—my maiden name is Gruber. Karl Gruber was my great-grandfather.” She leaned forward and kissed my newly refurbished cheek through the bars. “I’ve come to take you home.”

As I have indicated, the word “home” no longer has any meaning for me, as my research indicated the place I knew as home had ceased to exist. But I was intrigued by the possibility of an alternative to Herr Linnhoffer’s plans for me. “Back to Sachsenhausen?” I asked. “I had thought it was destroyed during the war.”

She seemed rather surprised. “You’ve been doing some reading. Awful business. But the house survived the bombings, somehow.”

“The Master’s house is still standing?”

She smiled broadly. “I’m sure it’s much as you remember it—full of my great-grandfather’s old clocks. We’ve bought back many over the years. It’s been made into a tourist attraction; my husband and I still maintain it. We get about a thousand visitors every year.”

I had not expected to learn that the Master’s home had survived, and I find the possibility that I might actually return there to be anattractive one indeed, certainly preferable to waving at passersby in Herr Linnhoffer’s display window. My ticking began to accelerate, filling the otherwise quiet room. “I would like to see it again.”

She took my hand, squeezed it gently. “And you will. I’m sure people will come from all over to see you, once you’re back where you belong. And you’re a hero at that. When I read the news story, I knew it had to be you.”

I did not reply to her comment, as to do so would be immodest and, perhaps, somewhat disrespectful to Carrie and the florist’s other victims. “The city endured?” I asked, as the last photographs I had viewed showed Sachsenhausen in ashes.

“Rebuilt,” she said. “Most of the old buildings are gone now, but the new ones are practically gleaming.”

My ticking slowed as I remembered my present status. “What of Herr Linnhoffer? I belong to him now.”

She waved the statement away with a pale, delicate hand. “Don’t worry about him,” she said. “I’m going to offer to buy you back. If he won’t sell, I’ll take him to court. You’re too important to give up again.”

After our introduction, Frau Nehring insisted we take a walk together to talk further; her legs, she said, were stiff and she needed to stretch them. (She claims to have arrived on a flying machine she dubbed an “aeroplane,” and again I can only imagine the joy the Master would have found in such wonders.) The guard objected, but Frau Nehring easily defeated him. “Ernst rightfully belongs to my family. But I am no thief. We will not go far.” The tension was diffused when she suggested a uniformed officer accompany us. He undid my chains, and we walked.

We spent the next hour—Frau Nehring had promised to return me after such time—strolling around the perimeter of the shopping center (the whole of which is owned by Herr Linnhoffer), a huge complex with large, reflective windows full of merchandise; it now occurs to me I had never seen it beyond the department store where I now reside.

After spending so much time creeping in shadows, it seemed strange to walk openly in daylight, even concealed as I was in my hat and greatcoat. (I thought it best not to attract attention and appropriated a disguise, though so bundled in the heat of July I still incurred a few puzzled glances.)

Her hair and wrap trailed lightly behind her in the artificial breeze as we circled the mall, the officer following perhaps ten feet behind us—no closer, as Frau Nehring had demanded privacy. She spoke to me in a soft, lilting German, and I found it soothing to hear my mother tongue once again. (For the reader’s sake, I have translated our comments into English, albeit imprecisely.)

“For a long time no one knew where to find you,” she explained as we walked. “Grandfather was a civil engineer before the war—though perhaps you knew that—and wanted very much to hand you over to Hitler, to mass-produce you for the war effort. I don’t think I need to tell you how awful that would’ve been.”

“No,” I said, though in truth I would never have willingly served such a man.

“But his father—your master—wouldn’t have it. He burned all his notes on you, and had you removed from the house. He and a few servants hid you in the family mausoleum.”

I hearkened back to the small fragment of a memory, the Master’s withered face close to mine and smiling, his raspy baritone assuring me “he” would never find me. I must now also wonder why he sought to hide me there; certainly there were practical considerations, though he might well have simply buried or burnt me. I doubted Frau Nehring had any special knowledge of his motivations, and thought it unseemly to reveal my reason for wondering, so I suspect I shall never truly know. I merely said, “I remember.”

“Do you? He must have wanted to say good-bye. Grandfather was furious, of course; he even had S.S. men comb through the house looking for you. But my great-grandfather never gave you up. We finally found you after the war when he died. I was there when they brought you out, all covered in dust and cobwebs. I never believed you were real until that day.”

“Surely Jakob must have told you about me,” I said, though I would not have found it surprising if he had not. “Or the Master. Did you know him well?”

“No,” she said sadly. “I have only a few memories of him—mostly stories about you. He was already very old when I was born. I was only five or six when he died. And, of course, he and grandfather didn’t get along well—mostly because of you. But there were other reasons—he sheltered Jews in his house during the war, helping them get out of the country. My grandfather never forgave him.”

“I am sorry to have caused tension between them.” Upon reflection I am now taken with a small measure of guilt; I cannot help but wonder, had I remained with the Master and his family, if I might have helped heal the ill feelings between them. (It is doubtful, but at this time I can only speculate about the opportunities I missed during those dark, insensate years.)

“Think nothing of it. Grandfather was an egotistical and self-serving man. He sold you to the museum not long after we found you to pay off his debts—he said you didn’t work anymore. But he told us a few stories. He said you once climbed a tree after his lost kite, and that you could lift a horse like it was a paper doll.”

“Yes. He was fond of testing me.”

“He also said you apprehended his sister’s killer, but lost him because a mob interfered.”

“He was correct.” I was relieved, at least, that he did not blame me for Giselle’s death.

Frau Nehring smiled at me, squeezed my hand tightly. “Ever the hero.”

“I was not.” I did not explain further.

“I’m sorry. You were close to her.”

“Yes.”

“And her death was difficult for you?”

The words did not come immediately, and I found it difficult to continue walking. “Yes,” I finally said.

“Do forgive me. You do have feelings in a way, don’t you? Grandfather once said you were quite fond of her. And she of you.”

“I was.”

“Grandfather used to say I reminded him of her,” Frau Nehring said. “I do wish I’d known her.”

“She was exquisite,” I said, and she let the matter drop.

Soon the guard trailing us cleared his throat and tapped at his wristwatch to let us know our time was growing short.

Frau Nehring sighed. “Yes, yes, of course.” We turned and followed the officer back to the store.

“It will be good to have you home, Ernst. I’m sure you’ll bring thousands of people to the house. You can even be the tour guide, if you wish; people will be thrilled to see you up close.”

“I would not presume to think I could do it better than you.” She laughed, a sweet, gentle laugh reminiscent of one I once knew, but somehow lacking a bit of the warmth. “Oh, heavens—I don’t do it myself. My husband and I live in Boston now. We come over twice a year to check on the place. But I know the house will be fine in your care; when we come out, we’ll visit with you.”

“Of course. Forgive my presumption.”

“We’ll give you anything you want, of course,” she added. “Books, music, movies—anything that will make you happy. You’ve probably never seen a motion picture before, have you?”

“No,” I said, recalling Herr Edison’s kinetoscope. I can only assume the device has advanced considerably since then; as impressed as the Master was with the original, current versions must be quite spectacular indeed.

“Oh, Ernst. There are so many wonderful things you’ve missed out on. But all that will change now.”

When we returned to the store, the guard escorted me back to my window.

“I’ll contact this Linnhoffer in the morning,” she said, walking me back. “I’m sure I can convince him to sell. He won’t let you go easily, now that he knows what you are, but you’re worth it.”

“Thank you. I look forward to that.”

“So do I,” she said, embracing me.

The guard closed the heavy gate behind me. “This is perverse,” Frau Nehring said to him. “Why must you treat him like a criminal?”

“Mr. Linnhoffer’s orders, ma’am,” he said.

She shook her head in exasperation. “No matter, Ernst. Soon you’ll be out of that cell, and back where you belong.” She smiled sadly, pressed her hand to her heart, then departed.

I have since had much time (seven hours, thirty-three minutes, to be exact) to reflect on Frau Nehring’s visit. I will confess that returning to the Master’s house—the only home I have ever known—is an attractive possibility. Yet there is much about her offer that troubles me. I find it marvelous that the house still stands; yet I recall the oppressive silence after I had been left alone. Without the family there, I can only assume it is similarly empty and silent, and while I might inhabit all the familiar places of my past, I should never be able to share them, save with the occasional visiting tourist. And there are certain rooms in which I could not bring myself to set foot, lest I be reminded that my happiest, most intimate moments are but distant memories. While I should be grateful if, by my mere presence, the true extent of the Master’s genius might finally be revealed to the world, I would be but a relic, yet another piece in a collection of his works.

Still, I am certain it is preferable to this window, which will be my home for the foreseeable future, at least until Frau Nehring is able to rescue me. In any case, the decision is ultimately not mine to make.

Herr Linnhoffer entered my window this morning, sitting in myantique armchair, a wide smile on his face. He informed me he would soon like me out on the store floor, or perhaps in the promenade of the adjoining shopping center. He has many ideas to use me to attract business, and many special events planned around me; he is currently negotiating for me to do a special recitation of “The Night Before Christmas” come holiday season at a place called The Pabst, and perhaps even dressing me up as St. Nicholas to take photographs with children.

I indicated to him that this might not be wise, as small children were often frightened of me on the streets of Frankfurt, but he dismissed my reservations with a wave of his hand and a grumbled, “Nonsense.”

“You’re going to be famous,” he said. “I’ll see to that.”

Now that my security implements are in place, he says I can begin tomorrow—he assures me I shall meet many new and interesting people, and my presence alone will be enough to draw massive crowds. Thus, we both will benefit from our new association.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tapping at the bars. “I’ll let you out once in a while, to stretch your legs.” He bade me help him out of the chair, then took hold of my face and turned my head to one side. “Felix did an incredible job. Just like new.” Then he left, closing the barred gate behind him.

Two hours later, Frau Nehring came for another visit. “I do wish you’d let him have his dignity,” she said to a salesperson.

“Sorry, ma’am,” the salesman said. “I just work here.”

“Get out of here, before I put you in there!” she shouted, and swatted at him with her purse. He fled to the rear of the store, where a floor manager—the same woman, in fact, who had threatened Herr Greeley during my initial stay here—intercepted him. Thesalesman appeared quite agitated, and pointed in our direction, and she quickly headed in our direction.

“I’m sorry about all this, Ernst,” Frau Nehring said through the bars, “but Charles Linnhoffer is a stubborn man. He refused to sell you at any price.”

“I am not surprised. He believes he can make a great deal of money from me.”

She shook her head. “I won’t abandon you. I’ll be talking to a lawyer tomorrow, but it may take some time. The courts can be very slow.”

“I understand.”

When the manager reached us, she removed her wire-rimmed glasses and folded her arms. “And just what do you think you’re doing, ma’am?” she asked.

“I am speaking to Ernst,” Frau Nehring replied. “Is that a crime now?”

“You’re harassing the staff and disturbing Mr. Linnhoffer’s property,” she said, apparently unmoved by Frau Nehring’s sarcasm. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store.”

Frau Nehring sighed, glanced at me while still facing the woman. “So he sends one of his minions after me instead of facing me himself. All right, I’ll leave. But you have no right to keep him like this. It’s inhumane.”

“You’ll have to take that up with him,” the woman said.

“I intend to.” Frau Nehring stroked my arm though the bars, then turned to leave. “I’ll be back. And next time I’ll be taking you with me.”