He had also picked up a few other tricks from Santiago, like how to use lavender oil as a healing scent, and how to make long-lasting candle clocks that told the time with each melting stripe. “Candles are no ordinary things,” the clockmaker liked to say with a wink. “You can light many more candles with just one, and the original flame never weakens.” On Elbert’s eighteenth birthday, before lighting the candles on Elbert’s cake in that very fashion, Santiago also taught him how to create perfect buttercream frosting.
The shop itself often hinted at something unusual beyond everyday clock making. Elbert could’ve sworn, on several occasions, all the clocks stopped ticking at exactly the same time, only to start again when the old clockmaker appeared at the doorway. There were also instances when the hands on the grandfather clock moved not forward, but backward, until it struck six o’clock when in fact it was near ten in the evening. When Elbert pointed this out once, the clock hands jumped and promptly reset themselves to show the correct time. Santiago simply gave Elbert a mysterious smile afterward and went back to polishing a pocket watch.
The old clockmaker also had a few unusual ideas about time itself. One wintery evening, as they watched the beginnings of a snowstorm through the shop window, Santiago told Elbert about the time touch.
“Legend says three pieces of time fell from the sky ages ago,” said the clockmaker. “A piece of the past, a piece of the present, and a piece of the future. They floated across the land, drifting like clouds. Everything they touched experienced time differently from how we normally do.”
“How so, sir?” asked Elbert.
Santiago held up a mantel clock. “You and I experience time as a line, from one minute to the next.” He then adjusted the knob so that the minute hand rotated backward. “But with a piece of the time touch, we would experience time not as a line, but as an entangled web. Cause and effect would not be as clear.”
Elbert didn’t follow, but decided not to interrupt.
“Very few people have stumbled upon pieces of the time touch, and even fewer have been able to recount its magic,” Santiago said cryptically. “Those that have say the three pieces of time scattered across the world. When they finally settled, each became locked inside a unique object that maximizes the piece’s power. People have searched centuries for these objects. The power contained in these fragments of time is not to be underestimated. It is said that with a piece in hand, one can control time.”
“What kind of objects are we talking about?”
“Allegedly all sorts of things—lockets, flasks, jewelry cases. Even clocks. Imagine that. Of course, only a slim handful know what—and where—the true objects are: the few who’ve stumbled upon the real thing.”
“Do you know what the real objects are?” whispered Elbert.
“I have some guesses,” the clockmaker replied with a twinkle in his eye.
“What do you mean by ‘control time’?”
“If the stories are true, each piece supposedly allows you to control a part of time: the past, the present, or the future. But what the time touch can do to a person is incredibly dangerous. There are rumors of people losing their minds after coming into contact with one of the pieces. People competing for ownership. Even killing one another. Yes, you may be able to control time…but it might ultimately be that time controls you.”
A gust of wind rattled the window. Elbert waited for the clockmaker to continue, but the old man went back to fixing a broken pocket watch and refused to speak about the time touch any further for the rest of the night.
The next evening, Elbert brought up their conversation from the day before. He wanted to know more about the time touch.
“How is it dangerous, you ask?” replied Santiago. “Anything that has the power to reshape how we think is dangerous, Elbert. It can stretch us to our limits and send us down a slippery path. Ultimately, the time touch changes our very character—either for the better or for the worse. That is why whoever stumbles upon a piece of the time touch must not share it widely, lest the rest of the world fall under its influence or try to compete for it.”
The answer didn’t satisfy Elbert. “And how would one even know if they stumble upon a piece of the time touch?” he questioned. “Does it rattle or glow?”
“It’s an ancient magic, invisible like the wind.” Santiago picked up a rag and started polishing the clocks on the shelves. “But it’s unmistakable. It draws you in, becomes part of you. Someone who does magic for a living like yourself would sense it right away, even if you couldn’t identify it. Moreover, with the time touch, time itself would begin acting strange in your presence.”
Elbert felt almost foolish asking, but he blurted, “You’ve seen it, haven’t you, sir? The time touch?”
Santiago smiled. “An answer for another time, perhaps. For now, let me ask you this. Which would you rather? To be able to know the future or to travel to the past?”
“Being able to know the future,” Elbert answered promptly. “Then I can see if I’ll ever be famous enough to perform alongside the Great Houdini and all the best magicians.”
“Mm, is that so?” The clockmaker carefully wiped the face of a cuckoo clock until it gleamed in the surrounding candlelight. “The time touch would take it one step further, I’m afraid.”
At the time, Elbert simply wrote off Santiago’s words as cryptic nonsense. It wasn’t until much later that Elbert would understand what the clockmaker meant.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BUTCHERS AND BITTERSWEET BONBONS
Nine days had passed since Adam went on his trip and met Francine.
It was after midnight. He could hear his uncle snoring in the living room. But Adam couldn’t fall asleep—he was especially jittery that night, his mind a frenzy of thoughts bouncing off one another like rubber balls. After another hour of insomnia, he quietly shut his bedroom door and turned on the lights.
The snow globe sat on his dresser. The inside of the ball remained empty, just as it had been for the past week. He tapped on the glass. Nothing.
Francine’s wooly blanket still lay under Adam’s bed. The blanket served as a token of Adam’s sanity. As long as it was there, it meant he hadn’t been dreaming.
Maybe if he wished hard enough, the scene in the glass would change again. He closed his eyes, then opened them.
Suddenly, he sat upright.
The same snowy cityscape from before had appeared inside the snow globe, the layer of snow confetti lying on the bottom of the glass. It was as if the snow globe was just yearning for a shake so that the confetti could dance and cascade like a real snowfall.
After thinking for several moments, Adam made his decision. He quietly rummaged in his closet and put on his fraying winter jacket and scarf. He also wrapped the wooly blanket around his shoulders for good measure.
Then he shook the snow globe.
This time, Adam ended up on a quiet street corner in daytime. There was snow on the ground, but it wasn’t the same soft, fluffy sort that comes from a new snowfall. Instead, the snow was icy and hard, the kind that comes after being trampled a few days. It crunched under his shoes like frosted sugar.
A street sign pinpointed Adam in the Upper West Side. It was the kind of neighborhood he had only seen in passing, one with carefully trimmed hedges, shoveled sidewalks, and magnificent townhouses. Uniformed doormen stood at the polished gates that lined the tidy blocks. The glitzy, wagon-like cars parked outside and the unusual number of people wearing top hats indicated that he was no longer in 1999.
A yell from an alleyway across the street caught Adam’s attention. Next to the alley was a store with a fancy green awning above that read in fine cursive letters, BRICK’S BUTCHER HOUSE. Hanging in the store window was an array of plump sausages, Italian-style deli meats, and enormous roast chickens big enough to feed a family of two for a whole week.
A small girl sped out from the alley. With a jolt, Adam recognized her as Francine. Two seconds later, a large man in a bloods
tained apron who Adam guessed was the butcher ran out after Francine, yelling at the top of his lungs.
“Come back or I’ll have you dead, you dirty child!”
Several passersby in fur coats stopped to stare. Francine kept running, her gray cloak billowing behind her, but the butcher gained on her with lightning speed. He caught up to her and yanked on her hair, pulling her to a stop.
“Hey!” shouted Adam, running over. “Let her go!”
Francine was wincing in pain as the butcher held her in a headlock, but she managed to glance at the boy who had joined them.
“Adam?” she gasped.
The butcher’s teeth were stained yellow, and his breath smelled of spoiled meat. He threw an angry scowl at Adam and snarled, “Of course. I remember you worked in pairs.”
With one of his meaty hands, the butcher clamped Adam’s arm. Adam dropped his snow globe on the sidewalk. Thankfully, the thick glass survived the fall.
Adam struggled to break free, but the butcher’s grip was like steel.
“Let him go!” snapped Francine. “He has nothing to do with this.”
“I’ve had enough of you thieving kids stealing from my shop. Rotten orphans—I know that’s what you both are.” Here the butcher leaned in and gave them a smirk. “That means nobody’ll miss you.”
He forced them back down the street. Francine shouted at the butcher, “You idiot, he’s not the boy you’re thinking of! Tito’s sick with polio!”
But the butcher didn’t seem to hear. He was laughing maniacally to himself, between muttered phrases of “Boil ’em brats in hot water” and “Hang ’em out to dry like salami.”
Although Adam was small for his age, he knew how to use his size to his advantage. At school he often slipped away from bullies’ grasps like a block of butter. Here, he took a deep breath, then threw himself flat on the sidewalk. The sudden force of his weight yanked the butcher to a stop. Adam seized the opportunity and gave a mighty kick to the butcher’s shin.
The butcher howled in pain and released both kids.
“Run!” shouted Francine.
The butcher swiped at them. Adam rolled out of the way just in time. That was one good thing about being small: you could swerve and dodge your opponents easily. He hastily picked up the snow globe. The tiny cityscape was still inside. He tucked it under his arm.
Francine also aimed a kick at the butcher, releasing another howl from the large man, before she and Adam hurried down the street. They bolted around the corner and didn’t stop running until they were several blocks away. Francine found a shortcut, and they streaked through the narrow alleyway. They finally stopped next to a crowded playground, thinking the butcher likely wouldn’t go after them in front of all the watchful parents. There the two caught their breath.
The first thing Francine panted was, “Where’d you even come from?”
“No idea,” Adam said truthfully. He rubbed his arm, where the butcher’s grip had left a painful mark. He realized he had left the wooly blanket back at the scene. At least his snow globe was safe. “Why’d you steal from him?”
“I didn’t steal. I was looking through his trash for scraps.” Francine revealed three links of red sausage she had hidden in her canvas bag. They smelled spicy and still looked fresh. “I should’ve stolen from him,” she spat. “He overcharges for his meats anyway. Not that he’d ever sell anything to me.”
Adam didn’t say anything. He and Uncle Henry had seen their small share of thieves in the bakery—a muffin here, a doughnut there. But Uncle Henry always let them go. He had once told Adam, “If they’re desperate enough to steal food, you leave them alone. No one ought to go hungry.”
“I’m sorry about your friend Tito,” Adam said.
Francine stiffened. She pretended to be busy adjusting her cloak.
“Tito and I are more than friends,” said Francine after a long silence. “He’s like family. He’s an orphan like me. Same age, too.” She kicked at the snow. “I always said ten was a lucky number, but guess not.”
Part of Adam couldn’t believe Francine was only two years younger than he was. The girl acted so much older.
He had learned in history class about polio, the crippling disease that had left numerous children paralyzed and bedridden. It had been eradicated in the United States in 1979. There was no doubt about the snow globe’s time traveling properties now.
“Who are you really?” Francine blurted, changing the subject. “How do you pop up out of nowhere? Are you a magician?”
Adam didn’t know how to respond.
“That snow globe has something to do with it, doesn’t it?” Francine said knowingly as she stared at the glass orb in Adam’s hands.
Surprised, Adam nodded. He hesitated, then said, “It kind of transported me here. It did the same thing on that day we first met, the day you lent me your blanket, however long ago that was.”
“You mean two days ago?”
Adam blinked. “Um, I guess so,” he replied.
He expected Francine to give him a weird look or to call him crazy, but instead he saw her eyeing the bright neon on his sneakers. “So what,” she said flatly, “you’re from the future?”
“Yes.”
Francine shook her head and said, “I knew it,” before hoisting her canvas bag on her shoulder. Adam was surprised by her nonchalance, as if time traveling was as ordinary as rainy days. “Well, thanks, kid.”
“For what?”
“For saving my hide back at the butcher’s.”
She turned and started to leave.
“Where are you going?” asked Adam, startled.
“Home,” Francine answered without looking back. “Tito and everyone’s waiting. You wanna come?”
What choice did Adam have? There must have been a reason the snow globe brought him right to Francine both times. So he followed her up the street.
They walked briskly in silence. After a while, Francine spoke about Tito some more.
“Before he got sick, he’d find all sorts of stuff in the streets—rings, unused movie tickets, boxes of half-eaten chocolates. We’d sell them with the candles. That butcher’s place was our favorite spot for special days. Birthdays, Hanukkah, Christmas, Easter…We wouldn’t take much, just unsold leftovers that he’d tossed in the bin in the alley. And when we did swipe the occasional hunk of meat from the window display, we’d take just enough to get by.”
“You said Tito got you those candles from a factory, right?” said Adam.
“No, that’s my other friend Daisy. And yes. The factory is in Daisy’s hometown. It makes tons of candles, and throws away the rejects. Daisy brings bundles of them to orphans like me so we can resell them and make some extra money. She says the factory owner gets mad at her, but seems like a shame to have the candles waste away, y’know, all because of a missing stripe or what have you.”
“Where is this factory, exactly?”
“Not far, in a small town just north of the city.”
They walked several more blocks until they reached a noticeably less wealthy part of town. Here the brick buildings were fenced with rusty chain wire. Several windows were boarded up.
Francine led the way to what looked like an abandoned warehouse. She crouched and pushed open a small, ground-level windowpane in the side of the building. It was wide enough for them to slip through.
“I don’t know about this,” Adam said. He knew what Uncle Henry would say if Adam had willingly entered an abandoned warehouse.
Francine rolled her eyes. “It’s just me and the other kids here. We don’t bite.”
Adam heard distant laughter from somewhere inside. He also thought he heard a radio playing.
Reluctantly, he slid through the open window. The floors and walls were dusty and bare, but there was plenty of sunlight, and the room looked like someone had attempted to make it more welcoming. A row of chipped flowerpots sat next to the wall, along with shiny pebbles, stacks of colorful dinner plates, and piles of random
items, including several worn picture books, paper dolls, and a small silver cassette player. Five cardboard boxes had been pushed together to form a makeshift table, complete with a thin sheet that served as a tablecloth. On the opposite side of the warehouse, rows of sleeping bags and blankets were set up. A group of children were giggling across the large space, absorbed in a game of marbles, while a dusty-looking gramophone played nearby.
“We fend for ourselves here,” Francine said. “Some of us sell newspapers. A few shine shoes—those businessmen types downtown love them shiny. Although lately, times have been tough for them, so we haven’t had as many customers,” she added.
“But what do you eat?” Adam couldn’t help asking.
“Like I said, unwanted leftovers,” Francine answered easily, as if they were talking about the weather. “We know where to find the best leftovers in New York City. French fries, steaks, you name it. You won’t believe how many people throw away entire plates of food. We pool our money together, and sometimes we save up enough to buy hot pretzels with mustard to share on birthdays.”
Once again, Adam wanted to tell her about his uncle’s bakery. Maybe he could bring a cake back next time.
He followed Francine to the far corner of the warehouse, where someone had stacked a wall of crates. She motioned for him to stand back, then took out the sausage links and disappeared behind the crates. She came back a moment later, her hands empty.
“We made a place for him over there,” she explained, “so the rest of us don’t get sick too.”
Adam realized she was talking about Tito. “He should see a doctor,” Adam said.
Francine shook her head. “The hospitals are full of polio patients these days. Ones who can pay. Orphans like us rarely get seen.”
No Ordinary Thing Page 4
