I SAT DOWN in an empty corner and ordered beer and Prague ham. I planned to leave the following day—but not before having sampled the ham. I couldn’t make myself understood to the waitress. The toy trader, who’d been watching me the whole time with his uneven, steely-grey eyes, came to my aid; his German was not without flaws, but fluent. There was a choice of ham dishes on the menu served raw or smoked, warm or cold, with horseradish or gherkins, cooked in wine or with noodles baked in the oven, or even as an omelette filling, with macaroni, or garnished with pickles, and so on. I wasn’t really hungry and ordered without paying attention. In fact I rather would have liked to invite the toy trader to join me for a glass of beer. There were three kinds, the first a light, wheat colour, then a brown one, the last thick, heavy, and almost black. When I was young wet-nurses were given black beer like this to increase their milk flow. Was it sweet, or rather bitter like English stout? Who could I ask?
The toy trader was back in his corner, taunting the two waitresses, or groping them with his strange hands. (I couldn’t say what was strange about them, and yet I’ve never seen anything like them.)
He took particular pleasure in grabbing their armpits from behind to which they took great exception. However the more they fended him off, the more he would pursue them, incense them, only to turn away with a contemptuous smile on his gaunt, manly face which was not unattractive. One of them, a tall blonde, very young and charming, trembled as soon as he approached. At the last moment he turned away from her and with a smile pulled a kind of double bird from a small case behind him—two mechanical little birds with feathery puffed up chests, one white, one red, that could not and would not lay off each other. As soon as they were placed on the polished table of ancient black oak they started to fight as long as their springs would let them. He gave me a furtive look, as an actor would a critic seated in the front row, then orchestrated the battle of his mechanical creatures, now toppling one, now spurring the other onwards. I deliberately looked away. I ate the thick, juicy slices of ham, Prager Schinken natur, and washed it down with beer. Both were indescribably delicious. Now all I was left to wish for (apart from a good cigar), was to drum some sense into my damned watch.
I pulled it from my trouser pocket where I had buried it contemptuously and picked up a table knife which was appropriately notched and rusty. I prised open the watch’s glass cover as well as the two metal lids. Then I took a toothpick and prodded at the balance spring, the heart of any watch as everyone knows. Everything depends on this small spring. My jab was well placed. The spring trembled, but could not be coerced into swinging once more rendering my efforts useless. Suddenly I was aware of someone looking over my shoulder.
“Not a toothpick! A steel fork, if you please,” the toy trader advised, provoking my derisive response: “I’m going to clean this watch carefully, then I’ll oil it a little.” A bulbous oil dispenser was placed on the bare wooden table in front of me. “Then I’ll shut the inner cover, then the outer one, and secure the glass lid once more. I’ll turn the hands to the correct time—what time is it exactly? Then I’ll go out, look for a dry spot on Wenceslas Square, place the beloved watch on the ground with the utmost of care, and—with all my one hundred and eighty pounds—will launch myself upon it.”
“You and your watch will have come to the end of the road then,” the toy trader remarked easily, without looking at me. The watch seemed to fascinate him. “But do allow me to take a look first, I’m from the trade.”
“Ah, you, too? Just yesterday I wasted thirty-nine crowns at one of your colleague’s.”
“Every repair has its price, but you needn’t pay me if I can’t get it to work.” As I shook my head and continued to jab at the innards of the watch, which to my mind deserved such punishment, he went on, as though he couldn’t bear to see the clockwork suffer: “Where’s the reason in this? Monsieur needn’t pay me at all even if I do get it running. Agreed? Now if monsieur will just have a little patience!”
He took the watch from me with his slender, powerful hand, fetched his small case and placed it for safety’s sake between his knees, as though it could go astray. A few miniature tools appeared from the depths of his shirt pocket and he secured a watchmaker’s magnifying glass in one eye. The other one was transfixed in an empty stare. He set to work. He was silent, and so was I. The lovely young waitress came over every so often. The pair of us drank, peacefully and plentifully.