It was the first time he had seen her, she realized, smiling to herself in pleasure. He paused and looked around solemnly, scrutinizing her, the room, the furniture. The clock shuddered and all at once the door opened.

If only Larry didn’t call up sometimes to. Of course, it was a little awkward, but Larry had been staying at the office so much, and that helped.

He would love it Bob loved old things, even old stamps and buttons. Was he listening, his head cocked on one side, listening to hear the clock strike so that he would know to come out?ĭid he sleep between hours? Well, she would soon see him: she could ask him. Inside the door was the cuckoo, waiting to come out. He was so mean, so damn mean.īut she was glad of the little clock sitting there ticking to itself, with its funny grilled edges and the door. Why did he have to say that, about getting it wholesale? Why did he have to spoil it all? If he felt that way he needn’t have got it in the first place. She touched her handkerchief to her eyes suddenly. After all, she couldn’t keep listening to him forever without defending herself you had to blow your own trumpet in the world. And what she had said, too, for that matter-not that she could be blamed for any of it. Then she sat waiting, her hands twisted together in her lap-waiting for the cuckoo to come out, for the hour to strike.Īs she sat she thought about Larry and what he had said. She carried the clock over to the dresser and propped it up. Presently she carefully moved the hands to two minutes of ten. Doris sat on the bed drying her eyes and winding the clock. It was hand-made, however, and there were countless frets on it, little indentations and ornaments scored in the soft wood. He sat down at the table and finished his meal. He watched in amazement as she leaped up and ran from the room, still clutching the clock.

“What’s the matter with you? You’ve got your clock, haven’t you? Isn’t that what you want?”ĭoris sat holding onto the clock, her fingers pressed against the brown wood. “I mean, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to afford it.” He scowled. After a moment he added, “Carl got it for me wholesale. “Just like my mother had, when Pete was still alive.” Her eyes sparkled with tears. “A real old cuckoo clock like my mother had.” She turned the clock over and over. He lit a cigarette and leaned against the wall. Larry stood watching her as she lifted the lid. “My God, what is it?” She looked up at him, bright-eyed.ĭoris tore the ribbon and paper from the square package with her sharp nails, her bosom rising and falling. Doris stared at it, her hand to her mouth. That night at the dinner table he brought it out and set it down beside her plate.

O Homem Duplo by Philip K. Dick