Ahmet Tanpinar - The Time Regulation Institute

In a high-flown voice he added:

“Won’t you join us, Hayri Bey? Let’s all have a coffee together.”

And then, to show Halit Ayarcı just how much he cared for his old classmate, despite the stark differences between us in education, manners, station, rank, wealth, and well-being, he embraced me from behind, throwing his arms right over my hunchback.

This is how it had been for five years. My old friends felt compelled to demonstrate their lasting affection, in spite of all that had passed. And Dr. Ramiz was the most pure-hearted of the lot. We made our way to the empty table, where the doctor began to enumerate my talents, at the same time subjecting his teeth to a vigorous cleaning, sucking individually on each one in his mouth.

“What is there Hayri Bey doesn’t know? The science of physiology, phrenology, alchemy, numerology, cleromancy, arithmancy, divine wizardry… You name it — he knows them all, not to mention the ancient sciences. Why, just the other day he put forward a diagnosis that surprised even yours truly!”

The truth of the matter is that I had been making ends meet for five years by recycling material from Seyit Lutfullah’s repertoire.

As he listened to Dr. Ramiz, Halit Bey sized me up with an expression that said, “If I come into some money, I’ll definitely swing by and purchase this creature, now that I know where to find him. But how could I make use of him?” Except when interacting with others, Halit Bey seemed almost absent. This was why his gaze never disturbed. To him people were no more than objects occupying space.

Suddenly, he asked, “Do you really have such experience with timepieces?”

I knew as much about alchemy, cleromancy, and the ancient sciences as I knew about timepieces, and I was no more magnanimous than a member of a secret religious sect, though I did have a certain look of the dervish: I wore a scraggly beard and my hair had recently turned white. But I had grown accustomed to lying. There was no other way for me to survive this meager silver piece I called my life. This was how people wanted me to be. I was a liar. Was there any other choice but to say I knew all there was to know about watches? But there were at least thirty-five different ways to say this. I could say the same thing quite differently to Cemal Bey or Dr. Ramiz, Selma Hanım or Sabriye Hanım, or Lazybones Asaf. I paused to look at this Halit Ayarcı. But no, the time had come to act. In the calmest manner I could muster, I said, “Let’s have a look, then.”

From his pocket he pulled a small gold watch, which he placed in my hand. It was missing its chain, but it was so finely crafted that I felt as if there were a little sun in my palm. No, I wasn’t lost entirely. There were still things in this world that I loved.

Fearful that the watch might elude my grasp, I closed my fingers around it as Halit Ayarcı explained:

“It’s hasn’t been working for two months. It’s a family heirloom, passed down to me from my father, which is why it’s so dear to me. What do you think is the problem?”

“There’s a problem, yes, and a grave one at that. Of course it isn’t ticking. A watch without a chain is like an animal without a halter, a woman without an altar. If someone truly cares for a watch, he will first and foremost attach it to himself with a chain.”

I uttered these words to buy myself a little time and also to take stock of my companions.

Halit Ayarcı studied my face carefully:

“You’re absolutely right! I’ve dropped it not once but twice.”

“How unfortunate,” I replied. “For it’s a magnificent piece, and extremely rare nowadays. English make, middle of the nineteenth century. A masterpiece, as I’m sure you know.”

The watch was truly beautiful. I nearly forgot all about my troubles with Ismail and my daughter. It had been years since I’d touched a watch of such beauty. Not since I’d repaired Selma Hanım’s watch had I seen a piece this fine. I was in heaven.

“But I don’t have any tools here. If I can just find my penknife…”

And after thrusting my hand into the first pocket, I quickly retracted it in shame. My penknife was with Ali Efendi, the peddler in the Malta Bazaar. This state of affairs had become quite common of late. Whenever we needed something at home and couldn’t find it (and that meant just about anything in the house save those things that belonged to my sisters-in-law), we were at once reminded of the Flea Market, or rather the Malta Bazaar. Or even worse, we were haunted by the peddler’s face, with its snub nose and maddening, greedy leer. This grotesque vision rose up to haunt us relentlessly — in our beds and at the dinner table, as we dressed, undressed, and conversed. Each absent object had its own story, but all were replaced by a single face that refused us any hope of peace.

Dr. Ramiz opened his briefcase and removed his penknife. With a mournful expression, he studied the sorry state of his fingernails before handing the knife over. A slight smile lit up Halit Ayarcı’s face. Yes, indeed, this man knew not just how to look but to see.

I opened the watch. There was no need for a magnifying glass, nor did the watch require any intricate treatment for repair. It had merely become magnetized.

Halit Ayarcı was looking on with such fixed attention that one might have thought I was examining his child.

“Oh, there’s nothing at all to worry about,” I said. “The watch has become magnetized — that’s all. By no means have it dismantled. There’s no need. There’s a particular instrument for just this sort of thing, which any serious major watchmaker should have. It would take no more than half an hour to fix.”

Nodding his head, Halit Ayarcı asked, “How could they not have identified the problem before?”

“They tend not to. Or rather they don’t pay attention to such things. A timepiece is like the human body. Doctors look for the illnesses that are most common. But there’s a difference in treatment. In the human body, organs sometimes cease to function, and not all can be replaced, whereas the parts of a watch or a clock can be.”

Dr. Ramiz was beside himself with joy, so much so that he looked deranged. I had risen to heights he had never dreamed possible: I was speaking clearly and concisely, and receiving due respect.

“Have they actually replaced a part in this watch?” Halit Ayarcı asked. “I can’t believe it. I’ve known that man for years…”

Was the sixth sense that the spiritualists always talked of finally coming to life inside me? Or was I simply trying to capture this man’s attention? Perhaps I had tired of the coffeehouse; perhaps I wanted to reach out and embrace this most humane of new acquaintances. I spoke with all the eloquence I could muster:

“You must go back to the man and first have him replace the stone that was removed from this spot here, or at least have him find a replacement of equal weight. This might not seem of great importance, but you have to have a balancing weight here. The craftsmen who made this watch would not have set a lentil between two ruby stones. Then have him demagnetize the piece. And finally have him replace this wire.”

Halit Ayarcı was silent for several minutes. I clasped my fingers around the watch as if it were the key to my fate. Indeed I was no longer even looking at it.

Meanwhile the argument at the table beside us gathered force, and there was a sudden outburst of punching and slapping before chairs flew up to smash into each other in midair. With his face a bright shade of yellow and his hair standing on end and his Adam’s apple twitching like an eagle eyeing its prey, my future son-in-law lashed out at the men who were restraining him as he sputtered every curse in the book.