Dagr fitted the watch face down on the tabletop clamp. He made small jabs at the metal case, at strategic places, small measured blows that in the right sequence caused the back of the case to spring loose. This they had learned by accident.
Inside was the same nightmare of unfamiliarity, bizarre despite hours spent poring over watch diagrams. There was a spring, attached to the winding mechanism. That much was clear. The purpose of everything else was opaque.
“See the spring,” Dagr peered through his handheld microscope. They each had one, different colours and sizes. His was horn rimmed and with the best resolution since he was doing the actual work. “I don’t understand what it’s connected to. The gears are all wrong. Maybe they used to do it differently back then?”
“Not really,” Kinza said. “The basic watch mechanism has been more or less unchanged from the first Breguets.”
“There should be a gear like this,” Dagr pointed at a glossy diagram, their principal source for identifying parts. “The main gear, which should connect to the catchment. And this spring basically retains the tension, which makes the watch go round until it’s time for a winding.”
“Did you try winding it up?”
“We did that yesterday. The hands don’t move.” “But look at the spring. There’s tension there. And this gear seems to be moving.”
“So it’s working?” Dagr looked again.
“It’s doing something.”
“The hands haven’t moved even a single micrometre,” Dagr said. He turned the watch over and put a piece of gridlined tracing paper on top to show them. “See, I took the measurements before.”
“You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”
“It’s like a science project,” Dagr shrugged. “We have nothing else to do.”
“No, I mean, it’s good,” Kinza said. He smiled reassuringly at Mikhail. Dagr noted Mikhail’s immediate alarm and reminded himself to advise Kinza to avoid reassuring people in the future.
“Back to the spring. It obviously works.” “Are the gears really moving? I can’t tell.” “Try to hear it. You might get a sound.”
A few minutes of concerted silence, with all three of them bending their ears to the job, their heads comically placed, almost touching, the sound of breathing at first discordant, and then, in fine rhythm, as all three of them adjusted. Five minutes like that, straining—
“I heard that,” Dagr said. “Did you hear that?”
“I heard that,” Kinza confirmed.
“Yes,” Mikhail said, as they both turned their eyes to him.
“Ok so it’s a slow tick,” Dagr said.
“Wait, be still!”
“What?”
“I heard it again.”
“Shhh.”
“Hear that?”
“I missed it.”
“Dagr stop breathing for God’s sake.”
“I heard it. I heard it!” Mikhail, excited, clapped his hands.
“It’s irregular then,” Dagr said. “The beats are irregular.”
“It can’t be if it’s a watch.”
“Something might be jammed,” Dagr said. “It could be a broken part somewhere inside, and this is just two gear heads rubbing against each other.”
“I can’t see anything broken.”
“Nor can I, but we’d have to take it apart a bit more.”
“Can you put it back together again?”
“Maybe. Probably not. I’m going to count the vibrations.” Dagr put his finger on the round flat gear and closed his eyes. They sat still for ten minutes. “Ok, there are definite tremors. And it’s completely without pattern. It doesn’t feel broken. Should I take it apart?”
“I’d hold off,” Kinza said.
“Why?”
“Well, either it’s broken, or it’s not. What if it’s not broken?”
“Someone made a watch that tells irregular time?” Dagr looked at him strangely. “And the hands don’t move. Not an iota. Either it’s broken, or it’s not a watch at all.”
“That could be it, couldn’t it?”
“It’s not a watch?” Dagr stared at it, his left eye grown hideously distended through the microscope. “Not a watch. Superficially it looks like one, but it isn’t. But someone went to great trouble to disguise it as one.”
“The Druze?”
“Hmm, yes, since it’s their watch,” Dagr said.
“That’s an odd thing to do.”
“Well, they’re Druze, aren’t they?”
“True.”
“Not that I’m anti-Druze or anything.”
“The imam at our mosque always preached that they weren’t really Muslim. The Druze, and Ahmadiyas. And on a good day, even Agha Khanis were out.”
“You went to a mosque?”
“I used to walk past it sometimes.”
“Never went in, did you?”
“To a mosque? Are you mad?”
“I haven’t either, in a long time,” Dagr said. “Perhaps I should have.”
“How would that have helped?”
“Might have learned something about these Druze.”
“Don’t think an imam would be of much use there.”
“I see.” Dagr tapped the gear with his tweezers, a little bit disappointed. The urge to take apart the machine was almost unbearable. “Let’s assume, for conjecture, that these Druze made a fake watch. What could be some reasons? A practical joke?”
“No one would bother preserving a joke watch,” Kinza said. “It was given to Fouad Jumblatt. He’s a big shot, right?”
“Chief of all Druze in Syria at that time, I think.”
“Plus, it’s made of gold. The case, I mean,” Kinza said. “It would be an expensive practical joke.”
“Not a joke then,” Dagr said.
“What else?”
“Really useful if we could get hold of a Druze.”
“Yes, even better if we had old Fouad with us.”
“Joking aside, there must be a Druze somewhere around here. How did this watch get to Baghdad in the first place?”
“Maybe it’s actually junk.”
“It’s a gold watch with Fouad Jumblatt’s name on it. So, not junk.”
“Why did the Lion have it?”
“Perhaps he stole it?”
“Perhaps it was his to begin with. Perhaps he is the Druze.”
“Maybe we should ask him.”
“Maybe we should.”
Excerpted with permission from Escape from Baghdad! by Saad Z Hossain, Aleph Book Company .
We welcome your comments at
letters@scroll.in.
Inside was the same nightmare of unfamiliarity, bizarre despite hours spent poring over watch diagrams. There was a spring, attached to the winding mechanism. That much was clear. The purpose of everything else was opaque.
“See the spring,” Dagr peered through his handheld microscope. They each had one, different colours and sizes. His was horn rimmed and with the best resolution since he was doing the actual work. “I don’t understand what it’s connected to. The gears are all wrong. Maybe they used to do it differently back then?”
“Not really,” Kinza said. “The basic watch mechanism has been more or less unchanged from the first Breguets.”
“There should be a gear like this,” Dagr pointed at a glossy diagram, their principal source for identifying parts. “The main gear, which should connect to the catchment. And this spring basically retains the tension, which makes the watch go round until it’s time for a winding.”
“Did you try winding it up?”
“We did that yesterday. The hands don’t move.” “But look at the spring. There’s tension there. And this gear seems to be moving.”
“So it’s working?” Dagr looked again.
“It’s doing something.”
“The hands haven’t moved even a single micrometre,” Dagr said. He turned the watch over and put a piece of gridlined tracing paper on top to show them. “See, I took the measurements before.”
“You’re having fun with this, aren’t you?”
“It’s like a science project,” Dagr shrugged. “We have nothing else to do.”
“No, I mean, it’s good,” Kinza said. He smiled reassuringly at Mikhail. Dagr noted Mikhail’s immediate alarm and reminded himself to advise Kinza to avoid reassuring people in the future.
“Back to the spring. It obviously works.” “Are the gears really moving? I can’t tell.” “Try to hear it. You might get a sound.”
A few minutes of concerted silence, with all three of them bending their ears to the job, their heads comically placed, almost touching, the sound of breathing at first discordant, and then, in fine rhythm, as all three of them adjusted. Five minutes like that, straining—
“I heard that,” Dagr said. “Did you hear that?”
“I heard that,” Kinza confirmed.
“Yes,” Mikhail said, as they both turned their eyes to him.
“Ok so it’s a slow tick,” Dagr said.
“Wait, be still!”
“What?”
“I heard it again.”
“Shhh.”
“Hear that?”
“I missed it.”
“Dagr stop breathing for God’s sake.”
“I heard it. I heard it!” Mikhail, excited, clapped his hands.
“It’s irregular then,” Dagr said. “The beats are irregular.”
“It can’t be if it’s a watch.”
“Something might be jammed,” Dagr said. “It could be a broken part somewhere inside, and this is just two gear heads rubbing against each other.”
“I can’t see anything broken.”
“Nor can I, but we’d have to take it apart a bit more.”
“Can you put it back together again?”
“Maybe. Probably not. I’m going to count the vibrations.” Dagr put his finger on the round flat gear and closed his eyes. They sat still for ten minutes. “Ok, there are definite tremors. And it’s completely without pattern. It doesn’t feel broken. Should I take it apart?”
“I’d hold off,” Kinza said.
“Why?”
“Well, either it’s broken, or it’s not. What if it’s not broken?”
“Someone made a watch that tells irregular time?” Dagr looked at him strangely. “And the hands don’t move. Not an iota. Either it’s broken, or it’s not a watch at all.”
“That could be it, couldn’t it?”
“It’s not a watch?” Dagr stared at it, his left eye grown hideously distended through the microscope. “Not a watch. Superficially it looks like one, but it isn’t. But someone went to great trouble to disguise it as one.”
“The Druze?”
“Hmm, yes, since it’s their watch,” Dagr said.
“That’s an odd thing to do.”
“Well, they’re Druze, aren’t they?”
“True.”
“Not that I’m anti-Druze or anything.”
“The imam at our mosque always preached that they weren’t really Muslim. The Druze, and Ahmadiyas. And on a good day, even Agha Khanis were out.”
“You went to a mosque?”
“I used to walk past it sometimes.”
“Never went in, did you?”
“To a mosque? Are you mad?”
“I haven’t either, in a long time,” Dagr said. “Perhaps I should have.”
“How would that have helped?”
“Might have learned something about these Druze.”
“Don’t think an imam would be of much use there.”
“I see.” Dagr tapped the gear with his tweezers, a little bit disappointed. The urge to take apart the machine was almost unbearable. “Let’s assume, for conjecture, that these Druze made a fake watch. What could be some reasons? A practical joke?”
“No one would bother preserving a joke watch,” Kinza said. “It was given to Fouad Jumblatt. He’s a big shot, right?”
“Chief of all Druze in Syria at that time, I think.”
“Plus, it’s made of gold. The case, I mean,” Kinza said. “It would be an expensive practical joke.”
“Not a joke then,” Dagr said.
“What else?”
“Really useful if we could get hold of a Druze.”
“Yes, even better if we had old Fouad with us.”
“Joking aside, there must be a Druze somewhere around here. How did this watch get to Baghdad in the first place?”
“Maybe it’s actually junk.”
“It’s a gold watch with Fouad Jumblatt’s name on it. So, not junk.”
“Why did the Lion have it?”
“Perhaps he stole it?”
“Perhaps it was his to begin with. Perhaps he is the Druze.”
“Maybe we should ask him.”
“Maybe we should.”
Excerpted with permission from Escape from Baghdad! by Saad Z Hossain, Aleph Book Company .
