The Watchmaker's Bench
My grandfather's shop smelled of oil and brass, a smell I could still find on my own hands at dinner after an afternoon of sweeping his floor. The sign above the door read SAMIR HADDAD, CLOCKS & WATCHES, though the paint had faded so badly that most customers found the place by memory rather than by sight.
That autumn, the summer I turned sixteen having just ended, I noticed that his hands had begun to shake. It was slight at first, a tremor that appeared only when he lifted the tweezers to set a tiny screw. He pretended not to notice, and so did I. But one afternoon a woman brought in a pocket watch that had belonged to her father, and when my grandfather opened the case, the tweezers slipped and the balance wheel skittered across the bench.
He did not curse. He simply set the tweezers down, folded his hands, and looked at them as though they belonged to someone else.
"Noor," he said. "Come here."
I had watched him work for years, perched on the stool by the window, but I had never been allowed to touch anything more delicate than a wall clock. Now he slid the loupe across the bench to me. "Find the wheel first," he said. "Then we will see."
I found it lodged against the leg of the lamp. My heart was pounding so loudly that I was sure the woman, waiting by the counter, could hear it. My grandfather talked me through each step in the same low voice he used to hum along to the radio: lift, turn, seat the pivot, do not force it, never force it. When the balance wheel finally caught and began its steady back-and-forth, he let out a breath I hadn't known he was holding.
The woman wept a little when she heard it ticking. She paid, thanked us both, and left, the bell over the door jangling behind her.
For a long time my grandfather said nothing. Then he reached under the bench and pulled out a wooden box I had never seen before. Inside was a set of tools, smaller than his own, the handles worn smooth.
"These were mine," he said, "when I was your age. My teacher gave them to me the day my hands became steadier than his."
I understood then that he was not giving me a gift so much as handing me a responsibility, and that he had been waiting, perhaps for a long time, for the right afternoon to do it.
Question 1
As it is used in the passage, the phrase "as though they belonged to someone else" most nearly suggests that the grandfather:
- A.
believes the narrator should be blamed for the mistake.
- B.
wants to hide his hands from the customer.
- C.
has injured his hands in an accident.
- D.
has begun to see his hands as no longer reliable.
Answer: D. has begun to see his hands as no longer reliable.
Looking at his hands as if they were a stranger's conveys his realization that they no longer behave the way they once did.