Emboldened by this unexpected sympathy, and in the companionable silent intimacy of a shared appreciation of quality, James confided, “He said it was to make up for the first watch he gave me, which he bought from a salesman at the door, a cheap flashy thing called a ‘Longrene.’ I think he thought it was a Longines. It stopped working a few weeks later, and a jeweller said it could not even be opened, let alone repaired.”
Mr. Jacobs removed his eyepiece and cradled the watch. “Yes,” he agreed mournfully, “A common trick.”
A week later, as arranged, James went to pick up his watch. The bill was less than expected. “Nothing much to do, except clean it. I replaced the glass, as it was scratched. No charge : it came off a similar timepiece never reclaimed by a customer. Do you like the face? I cleaned that, too.” He smiled at his gleaming handiwork. “It is always a pleasure to work on such a watch.” He sighed. “Craftsmanship. It is all gone now.” He shook his head sadly. “Jewellers always used to mark when the watch is cleaned. On the inside. Once every two years should be enough. Don’t forget to have it cleaned; such a watch should last a lifetime.”
James paid him, and Mr. Jacobs extended his hands to shake, embracing James’ in both of his own. He had a confession to impart. “I have been a jeweller, a watch and clock repairer, and was once a watchmaker, all before I had to leave Austria in 1938. I am a timekeeper. Yet all these timepieces,” he gestured to an open drawer, “cannot keep up with Time. It goes on and on, like a mountain stream. And when you get older, it goes faster.” He smiled. “It has been a pleasure to meet you.” James stammered his thanks, and promised himself he would return two years hence.
In fact, he was back much earlier, to Mr. Jacobs’ obvious delight, with a neighbour’s mantelpiece clock that, she said, needed substantial repair. “Ah! A genuine Eastman. An antique!” He began to take it to pieces, soon absorbed in penetrating the mystery of its cogs and wheels. James left him to his surgery. He made several missions to Mr. Jacobs’ office over the next few months, happy to bring in custom to his new friend, always keenly aware of the strained circumstances in which he worked and appeared to live, until, abruptly, James’ job came to an end, and with some relief at his liberation from clerical servitude, he accepted with alacrity a position as a literary editor for Ludlows, the publishers, in the west end. That December, he received a Christmas card from the watchmaker, which surprised him; he had always assumed Mr. Jacobs was Jewish.
Time is relentless. One can neither prolong happy events nor curtail miserable ones. At a publisher’s soiree, James met a pleasant girl he liked, and they were soon engaged. A year later, he and Amanda were married, and nine months after that, she was delivered of a baby son. On the very day Stephen was born, James drove from the hospital to Mr. Jacobs’ office nearby for the promised watch cleaning. He was in good spirits. He wanted to tell Mr. Jacobs his news.
