Page 45 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

‘No, no, hold it to your ear.’

Anna did as she was told and Isaac watched her, waiting. Within a few seconds, she closed her eyes as if she were going to fall asleep on the spot.

He said, ‘It’s so soft, the ticking. Almost as if it wants to remain secret. In some, you can almost feel the pulse as it tells the time. Whoever made this did so with such care, the insides work beautifully together.’

She opened her eyes. ‘The insides? You speak of them as if they are people!’

Isaac’s smile faltered and he held his hand out for her to give the watch back.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said as she sat down. ‘I didn’t mean to poke fun. I like the way you are so passionate about them.’

‘It’s all I have,’ he said, brushing his thumb over the clear glass.

‘Were you always a watchmaker, Isaac?’ Anna asked, her elbows on her knees, her hands cupping her chin like a small child. Isaac warmed at the picture of her – it was the same way he had sat as a child when his father would tell stories of his day.

‘I was.’

‘You did not have a family?’

‘I did, once.’ Isaac sipped at his coffee. ‘I was married. She was twenty and I twenty-two, but I had known her most of my life. Her parents ran a farm and I first saw her on the day the puppies were born.’

‘The puppies?’

‘It is a childish story – are you sure you want to hear it?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘Very well.’ Isaac sat back, holding the coffee mug in both hands. ‘There was a farm dog, a bitch. She was black and white all over with a black patch over one eye, so I called her Pirate. She was not a great farm dog, and instead of rounding up sheep or chasing away strangers, she would befriend them, laying her head in the soft wool of the sheep or licking a stranger’s palm. Every day she wandered into the village, and that was where I met her, on a street corner when I was twelve and sitting on the side of the road, trying to throw a stone to the other side in one go.

‘I’d had an accident the year before, falling through a frozen lake when I was playing with friends. I sliced my thigh open on the ice, tearing through the tendons and muscles, leaving me with a permanent scar, limp and pain. The throwing of stones was all I could do a year after my injury, and it was nice to have company from Pirate, who would nuzzle me and lick my face when I got mad that my game was not going well.

‘It must have been a week or more, and I had not seen her. I asked my father, who told me to take the walk to the farm – it would do my leg good, he said. I didn’t want to go. I knew how I looked and saw the glances from those on the street, their sympathy at the poor crippled boy. But my father, he was a man who could convince anyone to do something if he thought it was good for you, and after a few kind words of encouragement, he sent me on my way.

‘When I reached the farm track, I walked slower, my leg already aching. Cows munched on grass by the fence, their doleful brown eyes following me, and the sun warmed my back. I liked the farm track, the way the wildflowers bobbed their heads in the breeze and how the fields all around were dotted with sheep, cows and horses – it reminded me of the small figurines I would play with at home.

‘I was perhaps halfway to the farmhouse, the large barns looming in the distance, when a girl came running past me, screaming that they were coming.

‘I of course had no idea what she meant and called out to her, but instead of answering me, she stopped and asked me what was wrong with my leg.

‘“I hurt it,”’ I told her stupidly.

‘She looked at the barn, the farmhouse and then back at me, as if deciding something. “I’ll walk with you,” she said, then traced her running steps back to me.

‘We walked together towards the farm, she explaining excitedly to me how her dog, the one I had called Pirate, was in fact a bitch and was about to have puppies.

‘I told her to run on ahead so she wouldn’t miss the birth, and she made a deal with me that if she ran on and left me alone, we would always be friends. We shook on it, and that was the deal sealed – from that day on until the day she died, we were each other’s best friend.’

Isaac finished his story and looked to Anna whose eyes were closed.

‘That’s beautiful,’ she said. ‘The way you describe it, it is as if I was there, as if I met her.’

‘I rarely think of that day, but now I have, it is as if it happened yesterday,’ Isaac said.

Anna opened her eyes. ‘I tried to imagine what you would have looked like as a boy, and a young man on your wedding day.’

‘I certainly looked better than this!’ Isaac laughed, then ran a hand over the grey beard that now covered his chin and upper lip.

‘I can still see you – as you were,’ Anna said, then blushed.