Of Forests & Clocks & Dreams (A Literary & Art Collection)

The Clock in Setagaya

The Clock in Setagaya

At noon, the old grandfather clock churned to a halt. It was a decrepit artifact that sat at the back of a private library in Setagaya, next to the Confucian Analects and Rumi, listening to whatever secret murmurs seeped in, day in, day out, like an abandoned child. No one really paid it any heed. It would clang once, twice, every two or three hours, never on time. Not that time was ever objective to begin with - it was a subjective experience that stretched and retracted as an elastic band. For the clock, in the past seventy or so years, it kept time in its own unique way, becoming more free-spirited as it aged. The pendulum would swing and quiver like the bare limbs of a tree in winter. But today, the librarian realized it was much too quiet. Just the sound of pages crinkling or something dropping, muted, on the carpet. Maybe a whisper here and there, nothing else. When he investigated, he found the pendulum oddly sitting still. Then he made the call. It was the most important part of the job. "There's an old grandfather clock on the first floor," the owner, a balding seventy-something year-old man, had told him on the first day. The old man had a thin poignant nose and incredibly thick lips. The lips were moving like leeches. "It was donated by a World War II soldier a long time ago when he went off to Hong Kong and left behind his pregnant wife. He had a thing for books and thought it was a good idea then. He figured he should leave something behind for his family in case he didn't make it back. But strangely, he told me to contact them only after the clock ceased to function one day, whenever that might be, that there would be something inside for them. So promise him, I did. A man's promise is a promise."

On the third ring, someone picked up. She had a light, airy voice, somewhat nasally, but he couldn't tell if it was just the receiver. She identified as the youngest daughter of the Ozawa household. "A clock?" "Yes," the librarian said. She arrived half an hour later, looking distinctly dishevelled, perplexed, but she had a pleasant delicately-shaped face and he thought she looked about mid-twenty. Her hair was swept back over her ears like the flow of wine from a bottle.

"Sorry for asking you to come on such short notice."

"No, that's quite alright."

"Did you come from work?"

"I happened to have today off and was wondering what to have for lunch when you called. I work as a clerk in an insurance firm." She clutched her handbag tightly. She wore no earrings. Her smile was polite and business-like as she continued, "I'm quite the avid reader. I have visited this library a few times but never had I noticed a clock." He couldn't imagine her as someone who would frequent the library. With her red blazer, she looked entirely out of place.

"I can imagine the surprise at hearing all this."

"My parents never mentioned anything of the sort."

"I believe it was meant to be kept a secret until the right time."

"Perhaps the right time is now."

"Time is always of an issue, isn't it? It's both finite and infinite."

They went past the Saint-saens scores and yellowed city hall records, books on Sanskrit texts and David Mitchell novels, until the clock towered over them. Time was still. They stared at it. Then he took out his keys and she took his hand.. "Shall we?"

It took a little effort to dismantle the casing. The mahogany wood was splintering and groaning like old bones. The librarian grunted as he worked. But eventually they could make out what seemed to be a cardboard box inside its body. Somehow it looked fresh and new. There wasn't even much dust as if someone had been cleaning it meticulously every day.

He said nothing and watched her and she was silent. Then she opened it and discovered that it was empty.