Magic City (1997)
“He knew she was troubled, but he hadn’t the slightest idea of what was wrong or how to fix her heartache. He spent his days and nights repairing timepieces. He pried open the most delicate mechanisms, miraculously taming minute and second hands. Yet, with people, he felt awkward. He preferred actors—dancing, singing men and women—whose problems were solved by act three. Then, too, his lack of pigment never assured his social welcome. It was easier to retreat to his bench, magnifier pressed to h...is eye, peering at clutters of wire and springs.
Mary had brought a new sense of urgency into his shop. He’d thrown open his shutters, made strong coffee, and watched her tug her hem repeatedly and fold her dirty, work-scarred hands. The bruises on her wrists made him ache.
He’d handed her his best cup; it’d slipped through her fingers. Porcelain slivers had showered her feet. She’d cried and when he finished sweeping up the pieces, he’d asked, “Are you afraid of me, Mary?”
She’d shaken her head no and he’d left it at that.MoreLess
Mary had brought a new sense of urgency into his shop. He’d thrown open his shutters, made strong coffee, and watched her tug her hem repeatedly and fold her dirty, work-scarred hands. The bruises on her wrists made him ache.
He’d handed her his best cup; it’d slipped through her fingers. Porcelain slivers had showered her feet. She’d cried and when he finished sweeping up the pieces, he’d asked, “Are you afraid of me, Mary?”
She’d shaken her head no and he’d left it at that.MoreLess
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