His breakfast was always a bottle of whiskey and a pack of cigarettes. I wonder what his body makes him feel every second of every day. I mean, he’s an old man who lives in a wooden cart. He just wanders around the vicinity of our neighbourhood. Well, except on Sundays.
My first encounter with him was last month. He knocked on my door and asked if I had any unused bottles and newspapers. I went back inside the house and amassed the things he asked for. After that he asked me again if I had any clocks or watches that don’t work anymore. I went back inside for the second time and checked. After a few minutes, I got back to him and said none. He frowned and told me if ever those clocks and watches stopped ticking; I just had to give it to him. I thanked him and went back inside for the third time.
The next day, he knocked on my door again and asked for the same things. I said none because I have already given him the things he asked for yesterday and the clocks are still ticking well. He looked down on the pavement and thanked me. I began to be inquisitive about him, and to my amazement, so do my neighbours. I found out that he does the exact same thing to every door that he could find. And so, he got reported. They collected him together with his cart and took him to the chairman’s office. When face to face, the chairman said, “With what you are doing to this neighbourhood, I have no choice but to take you to a nursing home.” The old man’s eyes widened with fear, and with his shaking voice he said, “I’m sorry. I’m going to leave them alone now. I promise you. I really do promise you. So, please also leave me be.” The chairman looked at him intently for a few seconds, shook his head and said, “I’m sorry, but it is for your best.”
They took him away the very second and I couldn’t take my eyes away from him. Every inch of his face was painted with agony and dread. After that, everyone went out of the room and went home.
Ever since then, I wake up every day with the same scene replaying inside my head. I haven’t seen him for at least a month now. I went down and cooked myself some breakfast. As I eat, I can’t stop myself from waiting for the old man to knock on my door. I always wait for him to knock. I shook my head, brushed my hands across my face and said, “This is killing me.” I got up and decided to visit him.
Just as I was expecting, the old man was not eating and drinking his medicines. He looked much worse than the last time I’ve seen him. His personal nurse told me that he kept on asking everyone if they had any clocks or watches that don’t work anymore. I wonder what it is with him and these broken clocks.
I asked if I could talk to him and his nurse said that I could. I got inside the room and sat on the empty sofa across his torn bed. He was looking over his window. I cleared my throat and said, “How are you?”
He turned to me and said, “Look into my eyes and tell me.” I don’t know what to say. Pity was all I felt for him but I know that it’s the last thing he needs right now.
I swallowed and said, “I really want to help you.”
“Take me back to where I belong,” he said without hesitation. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I stared at the floor for a few minutes and said, “You know I can’t do that.” He looked down then focused his gaze back on the window. At that moment, I knew he won’t be talking to me anymore so I took it as my cue to leave. I went out and tried to collect myself together. I sighed and told myself that if I really want to help him, I have to do everything in order to put the pieces back together.
And so, I decided to look through his wooden cart.
After putting the old man in the nursing home, the chairman decided to send the wooden cart to a junk shop. The owner of the junk shop told me that I was lucky to have arrived early because they were just about to destroy it. I looked through the wooden cart and saw old newspapers and empty bottles. But what really caught my attention were the clocks and watches which all stopped at exactly 3:18. Bewildered, I thanked the owner and got out of the junk shop.
I got home and I couldn’t stop thinking about those clocks. I just couldn’t, because I feel like there’s something I had to find out not for the old man but for myself. “Screw this,” I said and off I went to the nursing home.
When I got there, the old man was still gazing out the window. I got inside the room and started asking, “Those clocks. Why were those clocks set at exactly 3:18? What happened at 3:18?”
“It didn’t happen at 3:18,” the old man said.
“What?” I asked.
“They were killed at our own home at 3:19. I set those clocks at 3:18 because I should’ve been there before it happened. I should’ve gone home. I should’ve been home.” He turned around to face me. “Hell, I would take the chance even if I was only given thirty seconds before 3:19. I just needed to be there with them, because seeing them dead is so much more dreadful than being dead.”
For the second time today, I didn’t what to say. I sat on the sofa and stared down at the floor. “I collect clocks and watches because all I want is to go back in time because I regret not being with them.” And then, I felt a hand on my shoulder. “If you want to keep yourself away from that kind of incident, take an action now. Or else you’re going to constantly wish to go back in time, and that kind of wish can never be given.”
I got to my feet and went home, not to my house but to my parents’ house. Just like what the old man said, I needed to mend things or else I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. And I sure am glad that I did, because it was like a mountain has been lifted off from my shoulders.
I took the week off to spend time with my family. To be honest, a week wasn’t enough; it should’ve been a year. After going on vacation with them, I decided that I should visit the old man again. I wanted to thank him for opening my eyes because I really needed it. Before going to the nursing home, I bought some whiskey to share with him. By the time I got there, I approached the reception desk and asked a nurse for the old man. And for the third time, he left me hanging.
“He died of heart attack after you left last week,” the nurse said.
I paused for a few minutes and asked, “What time?”
He checked on the computer and said, “At 3:18pm.”
“3:18 and…” I said.
“Thirty seconds.”
