The Horologist by Miles McCarthy

Author:Miles McCarthy
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-63393-598-3
Publisher: Koehler Books
Published: 2015-01-17T16:00:00+00:00

THE CARICATURIST

AFTER HE LEFT Barcelona, Leo returned to Cantabria feeling defeated. Months passed as he sat in school next to the empty desk where Oliver used to sit. Day by day, regret began to devour Leo. Oliver had never come back, and Leo had never heard from him. Leo found himself continually roaming around their town wondering just what had happened to his friend.

At night, Leo would stare at the pack in the corner of his room with disgust. Guilt consumed him. And one day it became too much for Leo. He lifted his pack from the floor and left home, again.

It was a cold, misty afternoon in London. Leo sat defeated on a damp bench just off the River Thames. In the stream of foot traffic before him, an olive-skinned, russet-haired boy scurried across Leo’s line of sight. The vision was quick, but it caused the hairs on his neck to perk up. He rose and hustled though the crowd. Walking in stride with the other boy, Leo turned to the familiar face.

“Oliver?”

His feet stopped. Their eyes met. The boy looking at Leo wasn’t the same person. Leo was staring into a face of malice, a face fresh with anger. Both boys stood still. People zipped around them like a rock in a stream. Slowly, the spite washed away from Oliver’s face.

“It’s good to see you, old friend.” They hugged.

The boys walked and walked without plan. Here was a new chapter in life, and they both were willing to let it develop when it would. They talked without break, calm and leisurely, and friendly.

The walking stopped at a food truck under a bridge, and as he stood beside the trolley, Leo could see what was coming from far away.

Over Oliver’s shoulder, Leo watched as an elderly man in an oatmeal raincoat shuffled towards them, fully immersed in a bowl of soup. Behind him, two teens were racing down the street on bicycles. There clearly was not enough space for them all to pass.

Dring. Dring. The biker bells rang as the teens came up on the man. But the clam chowder was so good. He was so absorbed in its taste.

Dring. Dring. Dring. Dring.

No response.

Leo moved quickly. The bikes whooshed past as Leo pulled the old man out of the way and he and the oatmeal raincoat toppled backwards. Above them, in slow motion, the chowder floated upward, hovered, then fell back to earth, spattering them both.

Oliver rushed to help them up, catching the stink of the sea floor as he did.

The old man stood, quite perplexed, examining the stringy mess all over Leo and himself. He had a thick walrus mustache and baffled white hair. Suddenly, a lightbulb clicked on in his mind.

“Hmm. Sodium nitrate. No, potassium nitrate. No, maybe trimethoxy benzoic acid. Yes. Yes!” Something extraordinary happened in his face. “I have just the thing. You!” The old man pointed to Leo. “Follow me.” And he turned to race off.

Leo exchanged awed eyes with Oliver, then called to the man, pointing at his friend.

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