A tall slim man with greying hair arrived with his blond son, about six years old, and found a spot next to me. We all stared at the clock face in anticipation, although it was very difficult to tell the time from the astronomical clock face with it's bewildering assortment of hands, numbers and symbols for the signs of the zodiac.
The small boy seemed more interested in the restaurant behind us. "Why don't we just eat at that restaurant, Dad?" he asked in American-accented English. The dad didn't reply, so every few minutes, the son would repeat the question, emphasizing the word "that" a little more each time.
The dad would only respond with a dismissive grunt.
Then the son began to ask, every minute or two, how long it would be until the clock chimed. "Five more minutes," the dad would respond in slightly British-accented English. "Four minutes." Each time his answer was a bit more curt.
"How much more time now, Dad?"
"You need only look at the clock on top!" the dad snapped, pointing to a traditional clock high above the astronomical clock which I had not noticed before. It wasn't clear whether the son could read this sort of clock any better than he could the bewildering astronomical one.
"What's it like, Dad?"
"Some figures come out and rotate," the Dad explained in a tired-sounding voice and then switched to what sounded like a Scandanavian language and delivered a livelier explanation.
"No!" the boy responded. Is that true?"
"To tell you the truth it's been so long that I can't remember very well. I just remember that it was a bit of a letdown. My advice is to expect very little so you won't be disappointed."
After hearing this enthusiastic buildup, the son returned his attention to lobbying for dining at the nearby restaurant. The clock explanation seemed to have brought on a didactic chattiness in the father, who perhaps sensed the possibility of delivering a life lesson.
"That's a nice location for a restaurant, don't you think?" They probably have a steady stream of customers, don't you think?" The son responded non-comittally.
"You see," the dad continued. "Every hour of the day, all day, all night, for the entire year, a crowd gathers just like this one. They don't really have to search for their customers, they automatically line up here at their door."
The son was silent, so the dad continued. "Do you think they would serve good food in such a restaurant?"
"Yes?" the son answered tentatively.
"Imagine two restaurants. This one, where the customers line up at the door and another one where the owners have to work very hard to entice customers to come to their restaurant. Which do you think would be more likely to have delicious food with a staff that is always trying very hard to please their customers?"
The son was saved from having to commit to one restaurant philosophy over the other by the sound of a small bell ringing repeatedly, which signaled that the clock was starting it's display.
"Look, the skeleton is pulling the rope!" the father called out in a voice a pitch higher than the voice he had been using pre-skeleton. "I forgot about that!"
The crowd oohed as they watched and filmed. The skeleton, representing death, I suppose, caused a parade of twelve apostles to appear, rotating in two different viewing spots a bit above the skeleton. Their facial expressions were only slightly more life-affirming than that of the skeleton. There were other figures whose heads swiveled in a way that seemed to be saying what we were all thinking - "What just happened here?"
Meanwhile the son beside me was largely silent. The characters stopped their movements and a grander sounding, churchbell-like bell began to chime. The crowd quieted down and began to disburse.
I heard the dad's voice one more time next to me.
"That was better than I remembered!"
So how was the food at the restaurant, you checked it out didn't you?
ReplyDeleterp
I didn't eat at that restaurant, but one nearby. I usually don't eat meat, but thought I'd better try the Beef Goulash. Big mistake!
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