Manhunt. Volume 3, Number 7, July, 1955

The Watch by Wally Hunter

Tim sat by the edge of the pool, watching the red color at the bottom. He knew everything was okay. He still had the watch.

Kneeling, the boy stared in silent fascination at the rippling water which fanned out in an ever-widening circle, shimmering and rolling gently against the opposite side of the swimming pool. Earlier the ripples had been violent.

Thoughtfully he studied the high-water line where the wet concrete had turned from a sun-bleached grey into a dark, lustrous brown. But even now the pool’s thick upper lip was drying quickly.

When the water subsided, the boy shifted his attention to the flame-red patch of color in the depths. It was not moving now.

Finding it difficult to see clearly, he leaned forward from the hips until his freckled nose nearly touched the surface. A broad smile split his chubby face as the reflection appeared.

In turn, he grimaced fiercely and grinned at the image. Leaning back, he watched the reflection shrink, then bent forward again until the long bill of his baseball cap brushed the water.

Instantly, the reflection was torn apart by tiny, skittering, newly-formed ripples. Heaving back from the edge, he sat on his heels, staring.

His thoughts wandered, but returned incessantly to an overheard conversation. Guiltily, silently he had crouched behind the big chair in the living room, listening.

“But he’s too young for a watch. That’s no present for a six-year-old boy. Tim’s just a baby. Let’s get something he’d really like.” That was his mother.

“Name one thing,” his father said heavily. “You name one thing and I’ll agree. Wagons, capguns, tricycles, trucks... he ignores them. Maybe you’d like to try live animals again?”

“Oh no! Nothing alive!” The woman shuddered. “That white rat business cured me.” She swallowed. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay, okay,” the man said, “but I’d like to try something more grown-up. Like a watch.” Silence.

“Look, maybe he’ll like a watch.”

Her laugh was brief, brittle. “You really think so? I don’t. He’ll ignore it, or lose it. Really, it doesn’t matter at all,” she added sharply.

Instantly compassionate, one hand on his arm, she said, “I’m sorry, but he worries me. Tim’s so distant... so far away.” She brushed abstractedly at a stray wisp of hair.

“I know,” his father’s voice was troubled. “But what can we do? Good heavens,” his voice rose, “we’ve tried everything.”

“It’s beyond me,” the woman answered. “He’s like a stranger. Sometimes when I speak to him, it’s like walking on forbidden ground.” Her worried look was out of place in the cheery kitchen.

“Now look,” the man attempted brightness, “we’re making too much of this. Why, he’s just a little boy. He’ll come out of it. Worrying won’t do a bit of good.”

Confidentially, then, “It’s just growing pains. That’s all, just growing pains.”

Gravely the boy considered the remembered conversation. Different? He was different? How, he wondered, do you decide such things? But he was neither surprised nor bothered.

Sitting at the pool’s edge, he was as composed as a meditating Buddhist priest. Abruptly, he thought of the watch. His face came alive. Anger lines furrowed his forehead.

Debbie should never have tried to take it. She was too little. Triumphantly, he thought: It’s mine, not hers. He considered this.

If the watch were lost or broken, it would be just as they said. They’d think he didn’t care. Actually, he thought slyly, I don’t care. But they think it’s important.

He had grabbed the watch before she fell. Hadn’t he? Frantically he jammed exploring fingers into the watch pocket of his blue jeans.

It was there! Carefully bringing forth the watch, he squeezed it possessively and then admired it at arm’s length. Twisting the buckskin cord between thumb and forefinger, he stared dreamily as the glittering surface reflected the sun’s lowering rays in brief, bright flashes.

By ordinary standards, the watch was inauspicious. Corner drug stores sell them for three or four dollars. The boy knew this. Why was it so important he cherish it?

Parents were strange. Always watching his reactions. Like the birthday party when he got the watch. Just the four of them, Debbie, his mother and father had been there.

The party was okay. There was plenty of cake and candles, and everything, but it wasn’t so good that anyone should get excited and sick like Debbie did. What a mess that had been.

After opening the package and finding the watch, he’d said “thank you.” But he knew from the way they looked at him that they had expected more. It was strange.

Rising, he pushed clenched hands deep in his pockets and walked slowly away from the pool. On the patio, he vaguely considered a row of vari-colored chairs before choosing one.

Sighing gustily, he sat down and stared at the swimming pool. Nothing marred its glassy surface. From here, the red patch near the bottom was not visible.

I wonder, he thought, if I should tell them. Frowning, he considered. Usually they wanted to know everything. He thought on this. Yes, he decided, they’d want to know about this too.

He made his decision. After dinner, that’s when he would tell them. That would be a good time. His mother’s voice, brisk, imperative, interrupted the meditations.

“Debbie! Timmie! Dinner time!”

The boy remained immobile, out of her view.

“Timmie! Do you hear me?” Her tone was impatient. “Bring Debbie! Dinner is ready!”

Deliberately, Tim leaned forward, dropped his feet on either side of the long chair and stood up. Pivoting on one foot, he swung the other leg over the chair and headed for the house.

Opening the door, he stepped into the warm, heady cooking smells. His father leaned against the refrigerator, scanning the evening paper.

“Where’s Debbie?” his mother asked.

The lad was dismayed. He was going to tell them after dinner. He shrugged. Maybe it didn’t matter.

“Answer me, Tim,” the woman demanded.

“What?” the boy answered vaguely.

“Your mother asked you a question, Tim. Where’s Debbie?”

“Debbie? Oh, she won’t be in to eat tonight.”

“She what!” The woman’s voice was overloud.

“Debbie won’t be in to eat tonight,” he repeated, spacing each word as though addressing a dull child.

Controlling his voice, the man asked quietly, “Why won’t she be in to eat? Where is she, Timmie?”

“Oh... she’s in the swimming pool...”

The woman gasped.

“Tim!” The man’s voice was harsh. “This is no time for jokes. Where’s your sister?”

The boy frowned. “It’s like I said. She’s in the swimming pool. She tried to take my watch and I pushed her in. I timed her. She’s been there seventeen minutes,” he added proudly.

The woman screamed, a long, ear-piercing wail. Grey-faced, the man dashed for the kitchen door. Flinging it open, he raced outside.

Screaming shrilly, the boy followed. “Dad! Dad! It’s all right! It’s all right! I grabbed the watch before she went in! I’ve got the watch! I’ve still got the watch!”