The Lady of the Clock
When we were furnishing our home, I decided I wanted to find a few pendulum clocks. They have fascinated me since I was a child. Watching that pendulum swing gives a sense of dynamism. The very flow of time itself.
So we started visiting flea markets, antique shops, and secondhand stores, searching for pieces that might interest me. The goal wasn't to find something of great value (quite the opposite!), but something I liked, something with a particular, fitting quality. Websites, online auctions... everything. For a time, it became a mission: to find and save mechanical clocks, hanging them on walls or placing them on furniture to keep them from being destroyed. These were once precious instruments, loved by their owners, instruments that undoubtedly accompanied joyful waits and moments of anguish. At times, I imagine mothers watching them, worried, waiting for their children to return home. I imagine the rituals of winding them, carefully marked in time. I imagine how many eyes must have received a precious piece of information - one we take for granted today - by watching those hands, listening to that escapement, or hearing those chimes.
We found a few - and then a few more, and more after that. But one, in particular, caught my attention. It was for sale at a reasonable price, but the ad specified that it would only be sold "to a person who would take care of it". Intrigued, I called and arranged an appointment.
An elegant, kind woman greeted us. She wanted to talk for a while and then decided that yes, the clock could be mine. I saw it in person, hanging in an elegant room with some obvious gaps in the furniture. She explained that it had been her grandfather's house, then her father's, and finally, hers and her husband's. The clock had been in that house for nearly 100 years; it had marked her father's entire existence, and her own, and they were deeply attached to it. Her husband had it restored by a professional in the '70s - a conservative restoration that remains beautiful to this day.
The mechanism needed work. It kept time, but the springs likely needed to be replaced or rewound. One was broken. The small hammers were worn by time and chimes, like the lady's face, which was clearly marked by recent hardships and sadness.
She explained that her husband had passed away a few years earlier and that, facing the most difficult phase of her life, she had decided to move closer to her daughter, who lived in a distant city. A city with such high prices that to afford a small apartment, she had to use up all her savings. For this reason, she had decided to sell the family home, now dated and empty. But before doing so, she wanted to "assign" every single piece she held dear (and which was impossible to place in the new house) only to people she felt she could trust. I was one of the fortunate few, and I went home with the new clock.
As soon as I got home, I examined it closely. Yes, the mechanism was in order but needed some attention. I made some minor adjustments within the limits of my knowledge, intending to give it a proper overhaul later.
The clock has been hanging in a central place in one of our rooms for almost 10 years now. Every time I walk past it, I think of this story, of how important it was, and of the lady's sadness.
A couple of years ago, I decided to send her a photo - to reassure her of the clock's place. Her WhatsApp account, however, was no longer active. Who knows, maybe the lady changed her number. Or perhaps she has rejoined her loved ones, telling them about all the objects they left behind.
To strangers, perhaps. But to people who, in their own way, will love them as much as they were loved in the past by those who cared for them for many, many years.