Free The Clockwork Man by William Jablonsky Page A

decorating the house and planning meals.” The tone in her voice was rather strange, a tired harshness, and in the dark her face seemed much older. “The idea seems so … boring. I want to go off and build things like Father, or discover something. Don’t you think I could do that?”
    “Of course.”
    “Father does, too. I think he’d like to send me to university. But Grandmother would have a fit.”
    “She might understand.”
    Giselle snickered in the moonlit attic. “You really have no idea, do you? About women, I mean. Father has left such gaps in your education, Ernst.”
    I must confess to a slight irritation at that point—a subtle heaviness in my tin shell, a mild quickening of my winding mechanism. Giselle had never before been so critical of me, and I did not know how to respond. “I wish I could help. But as you say, I know very little of such matters.”
    She looked up at me, and her expression grew gentler; she was once again the kind girl I had always known. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t take it out on you. You’ve already helped, just by listening.” She patted the floor next to her. “Come sit with me.”
    With some difficulty—getting in and out of chairs is easy, but sitting on the floor is challenging—I lowered myself to the carpet and leaned against the wall by her side. “There.” She laughed. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
    “No,” I said. “But I may not be able to get up.”
    She crawled over to me and rested her head on my chest, her hair spilling over my lap and onto the wood floor. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you.” Her eyes soon closed, and from her nose and mouth came a light, airy snore. The time drew near to wind myself again, but I was unable to reach the key without disturbing her, so I sat against the wall in the dark, listening to my ticking gradually slow and grow fainter, the dim light fading to nothingness. As my insides clicked their last, an image flashed briefly before my eyes, like nothing I had ever experienced: Giselle, in her robe and nightgown, spinning beforeme in the snow, her hair catching the morning sun like a fiery halo. At that I surrendered to the dark. Had it been my final moment, I would have met oblivion with perfect contentment.
    I had no illusions about the propriety of the situation, which as the reader has no doubt deduced, was far too intimate for the boundaries of our relationship. But at that moment there was something else indefinable, a small, quiet thing beyond thought that told me this was the truest sensation I had ever known.
    She rescued me, of course, some time later. My eyes again absorbed the dim light and saw her standing over me, felt her delicate arms helping me regain my feet. Silently, she lifted my hand to hers and pressed her lips to it with the softest touch, then tiptoed slowly downstairs and retired to her room.
    2 December 1893
10:52 p.m.
    The house has been full of life today. The Master’s family arrived late yesterday, and are all gathered here for the night, having greatly enjoyed Giselle’s enormous feast and heaped lavish praise upon their hostess. I, of course, was sent away, though the Master allowed me to choose between the workshop and the attic observatory. Giselle objected strongly, insisting I had every right to be there, but he commanded her to be silent. I was not troubled by my quiet exile; after all, I do not eat, and at last year’s festivities Giselle and Jakob’s cousin Kurt, then four, pelted me with bits of cabbage as I stood in the corner.
    I have spent most of the day here in the attic, reading a volume from the Master’s library on the history of Florence. He has been innegotiations with that city’s municipal government to build one of his creations, and plans to travel there with the children and myself in March to find the ideal location for it. I very much wish to see its many artistic and cultural wonders in person, and the Master says the local inhabitants, who are