The Clockwork Man (31 page)

Once she had left, the floor manager pulled a security guard inside and ordered him not to allow her in the store again.

My recent lapse in postings has not been the result of any sort of calamity. Rather, there is simply little to report. I am taken from my window at approximately 11:15 each day, escorted by armed guard to the storefront or the main mall. There I perform whatever task Herr Linnhoffer has imagined for me on that particular day, only to be sequestered in this window within a few minutes of three o’clock. He claims that, in this part of the city, those are his peak hours, mainly due to local employees strolling over to the mall during their luncheon breaks. For now I am not to demonstrate the full range of my abilities, lest I frighten customers or inspire investigation of my treatment; until the word spreads, he says, this will do.

The promenade where I perform is quite beautiful, like an atrium: green, wide-leafed plants everywhere, elegantly designed tile floors, staircases of black and white marble and copper banisters. People move effortlessly to and from the upper levels on mechanized, moving staircases, and again I am compelled by such wonders of automation. The storefronts gleam with electric light of every color, and it seems people from all walks of life pass through each day: women in elegant business attire, speaking into small, handheld receivers not hooked to any outlet; white and black men in tailored suits, nibbling giant pretzels and talking congenially; olive-skinned women in bright robes, clutching their parcels and trailing small children behind them, speaking languages I have never heard. Upon reflection, I realize this place is much like the shops of Elisabeth Street, though perhaps lacking their quaint charm. (Giselle, I think, would have been amused by it.)

As 4 July is Independence Day in America, that morning Herr Linnhoffer’s assistants removed me from my window, stripped me bare, dressed me in a garish red-, white-, and blue-striped suit and starred hat specially tailored for the occasion, and led me to the promenade for a recitation of the Declaration of Independence in its entirety, which I repeated twice more on the hour, to the applause of large crowds of patrons gathered in the mall’s atrium. I regret having caused some laughter among the onlookers, as my inexplicable accent has lingered throughout my time here. (Herr Linnhoffer is not pleased with it, and has mentioned to his associates the possibility of having Herr Lentz reexamine me to see if it might be adjusted.) I was also momentarily distracted during my one o’clock performance by a familiar face in the crowd: Greeley, standing in a corner of the mall, shaking his head disgustedly as he watched me, then leaving before I had finished. I would very much like for him to come visit me; even a conversation through the bars of my window would be most welcome. But I do not think Herr Linnhoffer or his associates would allow it.

Subsequent exhibitions have been somewhat more dignified. Generally I am allowed to wear the brown corduroy suit Herr Linnhoffer provided me, with but a large lapel badge bearing the store logo to mark my affiliation. I have displayed certain feats of strength—lifting display vehicles, bending and unbending metal bars—in addition to reciting fairy tales to children and their parents (I have been instructed to memorize less graphic versions of the Grimms’ tales, which Jakob had once enjoyed), and giving piggyback rides to scores of children, albeit for a fee of twenty dollars each, which their parents reluctantly pay after much pleading. However, the parents do little to control their children’s precociousness. Thus far I have been poked, thumbed over, kicked, and asked untoward questions (mostly by small groups of teenagers) which I will not dignify by repeating here. Then, when the crowds have dissipated and my novelty wears off, I am placed back in my window, the gates locked tightly behind me, curtain pulled shut, with the security guard keeping vigilant watch.

Yesterday, I overheard Herr Linnhoffer mention a request by some local engineers, who have requested to study me. He would have none of it, and instructed his employees not to return phone calls from these individuals until they make him an offer worthy of me. Perhaps, like the Master, he wishes to protect my uniqueness from those who would seek to copy it. But I suspect his motives are somewhat less enlightened.

I have as yet not heard from Frau Nehring. Even if she does succeed in convincing the courts of her claim to me, I cannot say my existence will be so different from what it is now—no longer caged, but still little more than a curiosity, a quaint relic to be marveled at like the Master’s old clocks, then forgotten.

But these are idle thoughts, and unworthy of indulging further. For the moment, at least, I am in the service of Herr Linnhoffer, and I shall do my best to comply with his wishes.

Unfortunately, I have incurred the wrath of my new master, and amresponsible, unintentionally, for an outbreak of panic in his mall, though I maintain my actions were justified under the circumstances. I will attempt to explain here, as I am certain I will not be given the opportunity later. Perhaps, if this volume ever reaches its intended destination, I will find some vindication.

Yesterday, Herr Linnhoffer began loaning my services to other outlets in this shopping center, for a fee. As a result, my security detail escorted me to a nearby upscale bookstore, where I was instructed to read Coleridge’s
The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
to a large group of onlookers, mostly middle-aged and elderly men and women from a local readers’ group. I did so, and received polite applause from my audience; after I was finished, an old woman approached me and began to tap at my chest with her cane. I bore it wordlessly, as Herr Gruber always insisted I be patient with the curious. I am, as ever, a novelty. Though her husband tried to pry her away, she indicated that she was looking for the wires which animated me, or the batteries, as I did not seemed to be plugged in anywhere. I said nothing until she pulled a pair of spectacles from her white purse, then hobbled behind me and began to lift up my jacket.

“Hello,” I finally said.

The old woman gasped, her hand going over her chest, and for a moment I believed I had caused her to have some kind of attack. But in a moment she regained her breath. The security guard who had escorted me from Linnhoffer’s immediately came to assess the situation. “Everything all right?” he asked her.

“Oh, yes, of course, Officer,” she said, a gentle but nervous laugh in her voice. “Such an amazing creation.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Um, you’re welcome,” she said, her brow crinkling. It was clear to me she did not understand the full scope of my awareness. Her husband briskly ushered her back out into the main mall.

“Okay, let’s go,” my guard said, and we began to walk back to Linnhoffer’s. On the way, however, I heard a young woman’s voice, crying out, “Oh, God, help! Help!” In the background, a child wailed, as if in great pain.

I broke away from my escort, who muttered a surprised “Hey!” and ran after me. Because of Herr Lentz’s repairs to me, my speed and flexibility have been improved, and I moved through the crowd swiftly. As my escort shouted for me to stop, onlookers, also drawn to the cries, dodged to get out of my path, some with stifled grunts of surprise, others with screams of terror. A few even dove to the floor to avoid contact, and, as I now know, two elderly gentlemen incurred hip injuries as a result, which I deeply regret. (I will admit a small error in judgment here, as I wrongly assumed the mall-goers had grown accustomed to me and would not panic in such an event.)

A crowd had gathered at one of the descending moving staircases, and I soon discovered the object of their attention: a small boy, no more than five, had become caught at the base of the mechanism, his blood-streaked arms pinned between a metal stair and the floor. His mother, the young woman whose cries for help had drawn me there, knelt over him, attempting to pull him free. The staircase’s mechanism was still active, however, and continued to bear down on the poor child’s forearms. My guard, who had since caught up with me, muttered an expletive in surprise and reached for a receiver on his belt to summon help.

“Stand aside, please,” I said, though I seem to have caught themunawares, as they stood staring at me, mouths agape. “Please,” I repeated. I approached the child with some speed, pushing my way past several shoppers who obstructed my path, offering apologies for my rudeness. Then, with some effort, I knelt down beside the child, slid my fingers under the stair that had trapped him, and lifted it from the boy’s arms.

“Pull him free,” I said to the young woman, who complied immediately. When I released my grip on the stair, it stalled with a loud grinding noise, the lowermost step bent to uselessness, two thin smears of dark blood trailing from the base.

The boy’s arms were severely mangled by the accident, likely broken in multiple places, but he only whimpered softly as she held him. Someone arrived with a blanket to wrap him in, and two minutes later, I heard sirens outside.

When I turned around, the crowd had surrounded me, staring wordlessly—even Herr Linnhoffer’s hired escort, whose receiver hung limply from his hand. I remained still.

The medics came nine minutes later, bundling the boy onto a gurney and wheeling him out. Before following, his mother briefly took my hand in hers. “Thank you,” she said, and kissed the back of my glove. Once they were gone, the people gathered around me stared for nearly a full minute, then erupted into cheers and applause.

Herr Linnhoffer had apparently been told of the incident by a customer and arrived shortly afterward. “What happened?” he asked the security guard, though when my escort explained, he did not seem to believe it. His face bore no expression, and for a time I could not tell if he was angry or proud. Finally, as all eyes were on him, he smiled broadly, reached up and patted me on the shoulder. “Welldone, Ernst,” he said. “Now let’s go home.” The crowd again applauded me as he led me off.

Once we returned to the store, however, the warmth in his face disappeared, and I knew he was furious. “Well, that was careless. You know, if anyone got hurt out there while you were barreling through the crowd, they’re going to sue me for it.”

“I am sorry I displeased you,” I said. “Should I have done nothing?” He seemed dismayed that I should be questioning him. “No … Look, we have people to handle that sort of thing.” His callousness, I admit, had begun to irritate me, and while I never argued with Herr Gruber, I could not let this go unanswered. “And the people who ‘handle that sort of thing’ were nowhere to be found. That boy would have been crippled had I waited.”

“You don’t know that. Neither do I. Besides, he’s going to be fine.”

“You cannot make that prediction. He was badly hurt.”

Herr Linnhoffer’s face had begun to turn red, a small vein bulging on his forehead, and I wondered if he was about to punish me in some way. “Enough. Bottom line, you nearly caused a riot in the mall, and you could have damaged yourself. I paid a lot of money for you.”

“Yes. I know.”

“No more heroics, Ernst. I just can’t take that kind of risk. If you ever do that again, I’ll have no choice but to lock you in a vault somewhere. And neither of us wants that. Am I clear?”

“Yes. Quite clear.”

“Good.” Herr Linnhoffer motioned to the security guard. “Put him back in the window.”

Perhaps to avoid scrutiny, Herr Linnhoffer did not release me from the window today. He believes it might be best for me to remain inthe store until the excitement over my actions dies down. He is already distressed by the twelve to fifteen people who have gathered outside my window since the incident, gazing in at me and waving, or touching the glass and smiling at me. I bow my head and wave in return, but I am unable to speak to them—the glass is quite soundproof—nor will Herr Linnhoffer allow anyone to approach my window to speak to me.

I have, therefore, had plenty of time to replay the event, to search for the moment when my judgment went awry. Yet I do not see it, and do not think I will.

Hesitant as I am to criticize those I serve, in light of recent events, I do not think I like Herr Linnhoffer. I find him lacking where honor and morality are concerned, and while I firmly believe the hearts of men can change over time, I wonder if I have the patience to wait for it.

As of this writing I have just been returned to my window after shedding the tuxedo I was compelled to wear for today’s outing in favor of my corduroy suit. (Herr Linnhoffer feared I would ruffle my formal attire, and commanded his assistant Gabe to change me in the window, in full view of the street.) Earlier this evening, he played host to a $200-per-person food and wine showcase on a large boat that cruised the harbor; the main attractions were the creations of a young chef recently hired (with great fanfare) at one of the well-known restaurants in the downtown area, and table service by the “clockwork man.” (I happened to see the flier as I boarded the boat; my actual name went unmentioned.) I had not been on a ship since my trip to London with the Master, in the spring of 1891, and at first I welcomed the change of scenery.

I served the crowd of fifty as best I could, alone, and at every table my sleeves were tugged, my skin touched, my sides poked (once with a salad fork by a middle-aged woman in a spare, white lace dress, who giggled when I turned my head and asked whether she needed anything).

One of the gentlemen attending, a businessman involved in manufacturing, asked me what manner of automation I employed, and after I politely told him, insisted upon untucking my white shirt to inspect the winding key underneath. (The parallels to my meeting with Herr Ford were not lost on me.) I did not drop upon him the contents of the tray I held, though his prodding threatened to upset my balance.

As I walked away, he said to his wife, “How’d you like one of those at home?” and later I overheard him asking Herr Linnhoffer if he might be willing, for a sizable consideration, to allow him to inspect me and get a sense of my construction.