The Horologist Page 5

  “It is a pity when a grow man refuses to take responsibility.” Gabriel spoke to the bird owner: “I’ll see him out.”

  Oliver and his protector withdrew from the market.

  “You have to be careful roaming around here. Many of these people are fond of protecting a dignity they never had, and your accuser is one of them. I saw you here yesterday. Why are you slewing around by yourself?” Gabriel said calmly.

  “I’m kind of lost.”

  “Temporarily. I bet you could use some rest. Come along and we’ll figure out how to get you back on track.”

  As they walked, Oliver explained how he ventured from home, met a wonderful musician and a beautiful girl, and how things had gone awry since. Oliver’s dirty appearance didn’t inspire confidence, but the strength in the boy’s face told Gabriel a different story—one of determination.

  Finally, Oliver asked, “What is it that you do?”

  “I help give people an image.”

  Gabriel led Oliver to his shop. As he unlocked the door, Oliver examined two mannequins dressed in dapper suits in the front window. In the entry of the studio, a pair of blue-leather easy chairs sat beside a matching end table. The rest of the shop was lined with elegantly designed menswear. Gabriel gestured for Oliver to take a seat.

  “I suppose I don’t have the right to ask, but where are you headed next? And how will you get there?”

  Oliver shrugged. He didn’t have an answer.

  “How would you like to work in my shop for a while? Just to get back on your feet,”

  Oliver phoned home and told his parents the news. He told them how he got a job and how he was still excited to see the world, and find his purpose, and become someone. He told them that his tailoring duties were temporary and that he would be back on the road soon, and he would even stop by if he came their way. There had been a wrinkle of doubt in their voices, but his parents were proud of their son’s perseverance and offered their support if he needed it.

  Things at Gabriel’s shop started slow. The first shirt took Oliver five days of practice. As time passed, five days turned to three, and three days to one, and finally Oliver felt he was ready to thread his first suit.

  “Your first assignment,” Gabriel said, holding up a navy jacket, “is to sew your own suit. It can be your uniform at the shop.”

  As time went on, Gabriel continued to be impressed by Oliver; he hadn’t expected such drive in the boy. Oliver knew that work was never something to complain about or make excuses for. Work was how he could prove himself, and what would ultimately provide him with the resources to continue his journey to find fulfillment. Oliver outworked Gabriel, and he did it by dint of his own grit. In this way, in hard work and sincere effort, Oliver created a foundation on which he could build his cairn.

  With each suit that Oliver stitched, the harshness of the past withered, and before he knew it, a year passed in the clothier’s shop. Isabella, Antonio, Leo, and everything else seemed a lifetime ago.

  “I was thirteen when my brother got married. As a groomsman, I had a tuxedo fit for me. I watched the tailor mold the fabric to my frame, and I saw the joy he had while doing it. It may sound cliché, Oliver, but ever since that fitting, I wanted to become a clothier myself.”

  Gabriel was still speaking when a man let the shop door close. The entrant had high cheekbones and an avian nose, an Adam’s apple that bobbed when he spoke, and a mossy brown comb-over. He strolled over with a grin and open arms. “Gabriel. So good to see you.”

  The clothier returned the embrace, then the entrant made his way to the blue easy chairs and opened a magazine he carried under his arm. Oliver glanced at the spread, where on the cover, a headshot of a man with vulpine good looks and crystal-white eyes stared back. Under his invincible chin in large white letters it read, New York Real Estate Tycoon Takes the UK.

  Oliver would not forget that face.

  Gabriel continued speaking while he examined the record book. “With practice, Oliver, I dovetailed into a practice of my own, then began to design my own clothing line.”

  Gabriel went to the back of the shop and pulled a cream-colored suit, tan shirt, and a sapphire tie for the entrant.

  The customer returned to the parlor fully dressed, looking like he was about to attend a polo match. He stood before the three-mirrored podium, and caught eyes with the clothier as he unwound his measuring tape. “Did anyone ever doubt you, Gabriel? Going off on your own? Focusing on clothes rather than school?”

  “Of course, Mr. vom Glas, of course. You know the story. My parents nearly cast me out when I decided to not attend college.”

  Gabriel checked all the measurements while speaking. “As time passes, people start to believe that they can’t reach their goals, and they unintentionally pass on their disbeliefs, telling people things like, ‘You can’t do that,’ or ‘It’ll never work.’ You just have to decide for yourself whether you believe in something or not.”

  “Very true, Gabriel. So, why didn’t you quit?”

  “Simple. I love doing what I do. That’s what gets you through all the negativity and doubt.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” Mr. vom Glas motioned for Oliver to move closer and spoke primarily to him. “Make sure you enjoy yourself no matter what you do. Then learn from those who have already carved great paths, so that even if you don’t reach their height, you will at least yield some of their scent. Do like prudent archers who, the place where they intend to shoot seeming too far, aim much higher than their target.”

  The garments fit exactly as requested. Mr. vom Glas began removing his tie and coat. “Imagine yourself as that archer. You’re standing in front of an apple orchard. There are rows of trees before you, and on the closest tree line are juicy pieces of fruit just waiting to be struck. But before you set your aim, you scan the range once more, and you see it off in the distance. You’re sure it’s there, but not how far it is or how much it’s worth. What you see is the golden apple. And you look at your fellow archers standing to your left and your right and realize that they can all see the golden apple too. It’s sitting there dormant at the top of the orchard.

  “Now, you’d think that everyone would at least try and take a shot at the prize, but the reality is that 99 percent of your peers will aim for the low-hanging fruit out of fear or practicality. The golden apple may seem impossibly out of reach and ridiculous to expect, but that’s why it remains—because so few take the shot.”

  Mr. vom Glas cleared his throat.

  “What your peers won’t realize is that they can fail to hit the low-hanging fruit too. So why not take a chance to strike gold? Society will tell you that the golden apple is beyond your aim and out of reach, and that your fellow archers fared well with the easy shot. But ask yourself this: If you can see the prize in the distance, how long until another archer plucks it from its perch? And even if you miss on your first try, who is to say that you are only allotted one arrow? That’s nonsense. Shoot for the golden apple, and if you miss, don’t reverse course and settle for the low fruit. Realize the tremendous advantage you have after failing. Missing with your first arrow lends insight into the correct trajectory. You learn from your risks, and this allows you to feel more confident as you take your next shot. As long as you are willing to let your hunger drive you beyond the grit of others, the golden apple is yours for the taking.”

  Gabriel chimed, “Yes, Mr. vom Glas! Never let the probability of success justify the effort.”

  Mr. vom Glas withdrew from the main room. And as he did, Gabriel developed a notion. Mr. vom Glas is a golden apple. His grandfather was a famous businessman who had brought economic and political stability to his country. Mr. vom Glas, born into wellness, was an heir.

  Gabriel excused himself to the back. Oliver heard muted murmuring before the two men emerged. Mr. vom Glas approached Oliver, back in his original clothes.

  “Oliver, Gabriel told me your story. It’s inspiring. He has wonderful things about you: that you
hold a pureness of heart, and an unteachable work ethic. What would you think about coming with me to Luxembourg for a little while? No strings attached, right Gabriel?”

  The clothier smiled. It was time.

  THE HEIR

  A BUG-EYED SUV rolled up in front of the clothier’s shop. The exterior of the vehicle was a light, misty green with black expedition wheels and a tan clamshell roof. Daniel tossed open his door and edged around the trunk looking like a lumberjack. He had a bushy beard and a head of rolling, mocha hair. His eyes were brown, a deep, black-coffee brown, and he wore a red, wool sweater coat with tribal patterns. His sleeves gripped tight around his forearms, and he had legs that could uproot a tree. But overall, his demeanor was soothing and jovial, and reflective of a rich inner life.

  When he rounded the vehicle, Daniel was surprised to find his uncle walking out with a young accomplice. Daniel gave a proximate hello, then tossed open the trunk of the SUV. One of the doors fell into a tailboard and the other reached for the clouds as it hydraulically propelled upward.

  When everything was loaded and they were rolling away, Oliver felt a burning sensation in his chest. He was moving farther and farther from home, and for the first time in a long while, the thought of Isabella trickled into his mind.

  He had once believed that he loved Isabella. But had he been in love, or was it all a trick? After he had left Barcelona, he told himself the best thing to do was to forget about her, and he had. And, once again, embracing a new road on the adventure of life, he did . . . and the fire within him withered until there was only one little ember that remained, one little piece of warmth that sat idle in his soul.

  An hour later, the SUV approached the suburbs of Luxembourg. In a particularly grandiose neighborhood, envy swept through Oliver as he admired the estates. He looked at the window, his forehead almost on the glass. “These people must have such great lives. One day I will have that too.”

  Mr. vom Glas said, “Oliver, yes, some of those people are very pleased with life, but unfortunately, not all of them are. Some people buy large homes thinking that ten thousand square feet will make them rich, but after they move in, they don’t feel satisfied because they’re missing something inside themselves. When you feel poor it doesn’t matter how big your home is or how many nice things you have to fill it with. You have to search within to find what you are truly looking for.”

  “I can attest to that, Oliver.” Daniel glanced in the rearview mirror, his hands on the wheel. “My wife and I used to have a big place, but after a year living in it, we realized it was only a burden in our lives. So, we sold it along with many of our material possessions. Since then, I’ve never felt richer or freer. I imagine we’ll settle down when we have a little one, but we’ll keep the things in our life to a minimum.”

  Mr. vom Glas picked back up. “Oliver, money is a snide treasure. It can get you almost anything you desire, except the things you desire most.” Mr. vom Glas paused and his disposition shifted. “I know this from experience. When I was a working man, I made an assumption about the world and built my life on top of it. I assumed that money could solve my problems, so I chased it relentlessly, and by doing so, I only created more problems in my life and a reputation of lavishness. Eventually, my wife grew so fed up with me that she took the children and left. She loved me, but she thought I was incurable in my lust. Oliver, allow me to show you a few things during your stay; then I may be able to help broaden your journey.”

  Oliver agreed, and Daniel continued the drive to Luxembourg.

  The square was stirring. Oliver followed Mr. vom Glas as he goosed his way into a stout building with neoclassical columns spread across the front. A fountain gushed inside, and gold moldings lined the lobby. Bankers in three-piece suits drifted atop the marble floor while subtle discussions echoed through the anteroom.

  A stylish gentleman strolled over with highly alert eyes. “Good evening, Mr. vom Glas.”

  “Good evening, Nigel. I’d like to show my friend the vault.”

  Nigel shuffled out of sight. Mr. vom Glas turned to Oliver and whispered with a wink, “Right on time.”

  Nigel returned without a key in his hand. “After you, sir.”

  Mr. vom Glas led the small order through layers of security. They passed corridor after corridor of loan-seekers and corporate clientele, then, without notice, came to a halt in the middle of a deserted corridor. Mr. vom Glas averred, “Here we are. Thank you, Nigel.”

  He reached out into the bald air and pushed forward. Seemingly out of thin air, the empty hallway opened. Mr. vom Glas steered Oliver into the vault. “An elegant ruse, double-sided glass.”

  The vault door was nine inches of reinforced steel with mechanized gears and heavy bolts. Once inside, Oliver looked down the bare hallway to see Nigel walking back towards the lobby.

  “This is the vault of Luxembourg,” Mr. vom Glas orated.

  Citadels of lockboxes lined the walls. Oliver and Mr. vom Glas convened at the only table in the depository, an aluminum console with four chairs not meant for leisure. The heir grinned as he watched Oliver blaze around with glossy eyes. “I brought you here to show you that everything you’ll ever need is inside this room.”

  “Well, of course. With all this money, anyone could do anything.”

  The heir shook his head with affection. “Oliver, the money and jewels in here won’t help you. Like I said in the car, it’s what’s in here.” He pointed to Oliver’s chest.

  Mr. vom Glas spread his arms and tilted his palms up as if he were bearing the weight of the chamber. “If you store your happiness in money, you will never be satisfied, because there will always be an allure to have more. A bank account cannot be filled. There is always room to its add to its size.”

  “Are you telling me to not seek wealth?”

  The heir leaned forward. “First, Oliver, define wealth. Even with all the money in the world, you could be far from wealthy. Money is just an invention; it’s a derivative of our economic machine. If you believe money is wealth, you are placing your happiness in numbers, and numbers never end. People think, ‘If I had a million dollars, I’d be happy.’ But, I promise you, thinking that some number will satisfy you is a recipe for disaster. I can assure you, it won’t.”

  Mr. vom Glas could see sorrow purl across the boy’s face, but he kept on. “Oliver, the hard truth is that our culture breeds a mindset of materialism. So many of us are absorbed in egotistical things—titles, houses, cars, furnishings. It’s endless. What I’ve learned—what I’m trying to teach you—is that you should take a step back and look at what you want out of life, not what society tells you that you need. Only when you’ve defined what you value as an individual person can you know what will bring you wealth.”

  Oliver studied the joy on Mr. vom Glas’s face as he taught. He could tell that there was sincere equanimity in these statements. “So, wealth is obtained by setting your own standards and values, and then going into the world and trying to fulfill them?”

  Mr. vom Glas nodded, then flipped his wrist to check the time. “Still on schedule. Let me show you what I mean.”

  They exited back through the marble lobby and out to the square. It was rush hour. The streets flooded as breadwinners poured out of their offices. Oliver and Mr. vom Glas idly observed the people on their way, all in a feverous hustle.

  “Oliver, tell me what do you see.”

  The boy studied the crowd in detail. The people around him raced by each other with designer briefcases and biting faces. Everyone seemed to be detached and living in separate worlds.

  With a hint of discomfort, Oliver replied, “I see clouds, Mr. vom Glas. Not of the sky, but of the mind. I wouldn’t have noticed them before. I see all these talented people rushing from one place to the next, but I don’t see very much happiness. Maybe I’m missing something.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s like people are trapped in their own thoughts. It’s seems like they’ve chosen such
vigorous careers of exertion but are still looking for something beyond the money and titles and social prestige. I only hope they know why they choose to do so.”

  “Unfortunately, Oliver, most people fall into their paths. But it’s not them who we must change. Their behavior is an offshoot of a culture where paychecks have become medicine, and careers are not much more than economic prescriptions for vapidity.” The heir digressed, “But enough for now. My stomach is rumbling, which means you must be famished, and I know just the place.” They vacated the square, dodging the clouds as they went.

  Mr. vom Glas wiped his lips and ordered more wine. The kitchen had been closed for an hour and the bar was beginning to shut down when he drove the conversation from small talk.

  “So, Oliver, our deal is complete. You’ve been impressively observant. All I ask is that you don’t allow your happiness to hinge on material possession. Well, and also that you don’t go around sharing the whereabouts of our vault!” He handed Oliver an envelope with enough to travel for a long time.

  “You must have make a mistake, Mr. vom Glas.” Oliver had quickly estimated the amount. “This can’t be for me.”

  “I’m quite sure it is, Oliver. I have far too much of that stuff, and I believe that you can use it for good.”

  “How can I ever repay you?”

  “Our time together has been a two-way street. I’ve learned a lot myself. Although, maybe one day, I’ll call on you for assistance. Perhaps nothing more than an ear to bounce ideas off, but maybe more.”

  “Of course. For what, though?”

  “Fixing our culture. Fixing the clouded minds we saw all around us. It may sound odd, Oliver, but I believe the problem is rooted in our school system. Education has become an anesthetic for creativity. It is outdated and meant to mold people into employees, not to nurture free thought. Children are taught a binary curriculum—do this, not that, and this is why. Uniformity has trumped the rebel, and that is a terrible thing.”