Grampa’s Gift

Even-tempered individuals who go through life unperturbed by daily hassles are few and far between. Men and women who tend to be placid are good company when there is a story to tell or a special meal to share. But most interesting people are those you could call excitable. It doesn’t take much to excite them; the prospect of a good espresso with a plate of three kinds of baklava is enough to send them overboard. Tomas is one such person. He was even more high-spirited that day than he usually is but if walking on cloud nine could ever be justified, this was the occasion. Tomas comes from a family where women are tall if they touch five feet in high heels and then they tower about their men whose sole occupation is making money. Folks he married into are taller but not by much – may be a centimetre or an inch. Yet, there he was in Sydney celebrating his daughter Roma’s inclusion in Hungary’s basketball team. Roma was by far the tallest person in the clan – no other Kovari reached her shoulders. If she weren’t so fit and energetic, the parents would have worried about some genetic defect. As it was, they found her long reach useful, no need to fetch a ladder to reach the top shelf or change the bulb in ceiling light fixtures.

Tomas was waving his arms about shouting Hungaria – Hungaria when he heard the sound not much louder than that of a pin drop, then the crunch as his left foot stepped on something solid. He stopped to look and picked up the jumble of metal and leather which looked like it was once a watch. “How stupid, leaving a watch on the sidewalk,” he said to no one in particular. He was surprised when he examined it a little more. It was an expensive model, a Tudor Oysterdate; just like his own with identical crocodile skin strap. An unhappy thought crossed his mind and his eyes turned to his left wrist now limp against his body. There was an empty space next to the cuff of his shirt. Indeed, the watch in his palm was the one that had been on his wrist a few moments ago. It must have come off when he was shouting slogans and waving his arms. To think of it, the clasp holding the band was a bit shaky when he put it on while dressing to go out that morning. Now it was dolefully staring at Tomas with its cover cracked, face muddy from his shoe and hands stuck close to the numbers two, ten and eleven. It was the gift his grandfather had given him at a party to celebrate his squeaking through the final school examination. While transferring the watch from his wrist to Tom’s Grampa had said, “It is a family heirloom. You must love and cherish it.” “And obey too because punctuality runs deep in the Kovari blood,” he remembered thinking at that time.

The accident and the memory of the day he graduated from being a boy to a man drained all excitement out of poor Tomas. His spirits hit the bottom as if an old friend had left him for good. He let the crowd shove him around till he found himself jammed with his nose against a window displaying – you guessed it – men’s watches. There were at least fifty seven varieties; their prices scribbled on the tags hanging from the bands. It was difficult to read the numbers but there seemed to be a large range. He located the door and stepped inside. There were thousands of people on the street but only one in the store. A lady barely in her thirties, her wavy well groomed red hair parted on the left, came forward and wished him Good Day. She was wearing a short plaid skirt, a white blouse that gave prominence to her figure and hardly any make up. He showed her the skeleton of the watch and asked if something could be done to fix it. She disappeared with it behind a swivel door at the back. It would be normal to watch the boistrous crowd on the street while waiting for her return but Tomas was in no mood for enjoyment and glumly looked at the watches in showcases instead. There was a wide range, some gold, some steel, some with second hands others without, some with faces cluttered with all the information fit to present on a watch, others with just two barely visible hands on a bright white face. They ranged from expensive Omega, Rolex, Tissots and Longines from Switzerland to cheap Asian products named one letter different from those of the well-known brands.

Just when Tomas was starting to wonder whether they were already working to put the fallen Humpty Dumpty together again, the lady came through the door with an open box on a small tray in her right hand. “I am sorry, sir. Our staff looked at the watch carefully. They do not think it is worth repairing. It will take them several days and the replacement parts may not be available any way. The working model would be highly prized as an antique but in its current state, I am sorry to convey their opinion sir, it is worthless.”

Tomas was heart-broken. Leave alone the fear of having to explain the accident to his grampa when he meets him in the next world - he had a tendency to be grumpy and had no doubt carried it with him, the thought of meeting all the social engagements without a time keeper was depressing. However, the lady came to rescue, “Will you like a replacement, sir? We do have a large selection and one of them is sure to appeal to you. We accept all credit cards and foreign tourists get the sales tax refunded.”

She helped Tomas find an Omega, a little beyond his means but within the credit limit of the card. It was nowhere near as elegant as the watch now resting in a box in his pocket used to be, but it ticked, had an alarm, glowed in the dark and worked on a long lasting battery. She helped with the long form to claim tax refund, got the band adjusted for his wrist, thanked him for the custom and he was on his way resisting the temptation to ask her to join him for lunch and whatever that might lead to.

Whether it was the loss of good vibes from the family heirloom or the mismatch of his stars with that of the new watch, next few years were tough on Tomas. He lost his job and the only employment he could find was on the drilling rigs in far away Canada. The work was hard and the winters cold but the money was good and he was able to save enough in five years to start his own business; shoveling snow in driveways in winter and mowing lawns in the summer. The older population of the city needed a reliable person to do these jobs and soon Tomas, now Tom, had several crews working all over Edmonton. He settled in a nice bungalow in a good area and invited neighbours on summer weekends to drink Hungarian wines and snack on crackers with goat cheese. It was at one such get together when Roberto – who had emigrated from Sicily twenty five years ago and lived a few doors away – showed him a watch he had just got fixed for a small fortune. It was a Rolex, not as fancy as the grampa’s gift but still elegant. He felt a sharp pang in his heart for his long lost love. He told his guests about the incident in Sydney and how much he missed that watch. Roberto had a brilliant idea, “Tom, it won’t do any harm to get an estimate here if you still have that box. Those watches are now collector’s item and people pay a fortune for them on e-bay.”

After the guests left, he rummaged through the cardboard boxes he had brought from Hungary over the years and stored neatly on shelves in the basement. It took a few hours, but he located the crushed Oysterdate. He dropped it at the Rolex store the next day. Two weeks later he got the call he had been waiting for, “The watch can be fixed but it will take some work. We estimate the cost at $1197.50, plus tax of course.”

Tom was happy that the watch could be fixed and the estimate did not surprise him. It was high but the business was doing better than ever and if he did meet his grumpy grampa in next life he did not want to have any explaining to do. He gave the go ahead and in four weeks the fixed watch was on his wrist. It did not glow in the dark, it did not have alarm, it ran on vibrations from the wrist and it gained a couple of minutes every day but it cost five thousand dollars new and it would sell for a lot more as an antique in an internet auction if his daughter did not want to keep it. Fortune favours the pack rats, thought Tom as he put the Omega in the old box and at the bottom of the heap where he had found his old and now the latest pride and joy.