{"id":25400,"date":"2025-12-03T01:00:21","date_gmt":"2025-12-03T05:00:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/?p=25400"},"modified":"2025-12-03T01:00:23","modified_gmt":"2025-12-03T05:00:23","slug":"patricia-highsmith-a-clock-ticks-at-christmas","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/short-stories\/patricia-highsmith-a-clock-ticks-at-christmas\/25400\/","title":{"rendered":"Patricia Highsmith: A Clock Ticks at Christmas"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Synopsis: <\/strong>\u201cA Clock Ticks at Christmas,\u201d a short story by Patricia Highsmith published in Mermaids on the Golf Course<\/em> (1985), introduces us to Mich\u00e8le and Charles, a wealthy Parisian couple whose life is turned upside down after Mich\u00e8le’s chance encounter with a poor boy on Christmas Eve. Moved by the spirit of generosity of the Christmas season, Mich\u00e8le invites the boy into her home and offers him help. However, the visit exposes fundamental tensions and differences in the couple, revealing their different perspectives on charity, trust, and the value of human relationships.<\/p>\n\n\n

\n
\n
\"Patricia<\/figure>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n\n\n

A Clock Ticks at Christmas<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

Patricia Highsmith
(Full story)<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHave you got a spare franc, madame?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was how it began.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le looked down over her armsful of boxes and plastic bags at a small boy in a loose tweed coat and tweed cap that hung over his ears. He had big dark eyes and an appealing smile. \u201cYes!\u201d She managed to drop two francs which were still in her fingers after paying the taxi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMerci,<\/em> madame!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd this,\u201d said Mich\u00e8le, suddenly remembering that she had stuck a ten-franc note into her coat pocket a moment ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy\u2019s mouth fell open. \u201cOh, madame! Merci<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One slippery shopping bag had fallen. The boy picked it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le smiled, secured the bag handle with one finger, and pressed the door button with an elbow. The heavy door clicked open, and she stepped over a raised threshold. A shove of her shoulder closed the door, and she crossed the courtyard of her apartment house. Bamboo trees stood like slender sentinels on left and right, and laurels and ferns grew on either side of the cobbled path she took to Court E. Charles would be home, as it was nearly six. What would he say to all the packages, the more than three thousand francs she had spent today? Well, she had done most of their Christmas shopping, and one of the presents was for Charles to give his family\u2014he could hardly complain about that\u2014and the rest of the presents were for Charles himself and her parents, and only one thing was for her, a Herm\u00e9s belt that she hadn\u2019t been able to resist.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFather Christmas!\u201d Charles said as Mich\u00e8le came in. \u201cOr Mother Christmas?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She had let the packages fall to the floor in the hall. \u201cWhew! Yes, a good day! A lot done, I mean. Really!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo it seems.\u201d Charles helped her to gather the boxes and bags.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le had taken off her coat and slipped out of her shoes. They tossed the parcels on the big double bed in their bedroom, Mich\u00e8le talking all the while. She told him about the pretty white tablecloth for his parents, and about the little boy downstairs who had asked her for a franc. \u201cA franc\u2014after all I bought today! Such a sweet little boy about ten years old. And so poor looking\u2014his clothes. Just like the old stories about Christmas, I thought. You know? When someone with less asks for such a little bit.\u201d Mich\u00e8le was smiling broadly, happily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles nodded. Mich\u00e8le\u2019s was a rich family. Charles Clement had worked his way up from apprentice mason at sixteen to become the head of his company, Athenas Construction, at twenty-eight. At thirty, he had met Mich\u00e8le, the daughter of one of his clients, and married her. Sometimes Charles felt dazzled by his success in his work and in his marriage, because he adored Mich\u00e8le and she was lovely. But he realized that he could more easily imagine himself as the small boy asking for a franc, which he would never have done, than he could imagine himself as Mich\u00e8le\u2019s brother, for instance, dispensing largesse with her particular attitude, at once superior and kindly. He had seen that attitude before in Mich\u00e8le.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOnly one franc?\u201d Charles said finally, smiling.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le laughed. \u201cNo, I gave him a ten-franc note. I had it loose in my pocket\u2014and after all it\u2019s Christmas.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles chuckled. \u201cThat little boy will be back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le was facing her closet whose sliding doors she had opened. \u201cWhat should I wear tonight? That light purple dress you like or\u2014the yellow? The yellow one\u2019s newer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles circled her waist with his arm. The row of dresses and blouses, long skirts, looked like a tangible rainbow: shimmering gold, velvety blue, beige and green, satin and silk. He could not even see the light purple in all of it, but he said, \u201cThe light purple, yes. Is that all right with you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course, dear.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were going out to dinner at the apartment of some friends. Charles went back into the living room and resumed his newspaper, while Mich\u00e8le showered and changed her clothes. Charles wore his house slippers\u2014the habit of an old man, he thought, though he was only thirty-two. At any rate, it was a habit he had had since his teens, when he had been living with his parents in the Clichy area. Half the time he had come home with his shoes and socks damp from standing in mud or water on a construction lot, and woolen house slippers had felt good. Otherwise Charles was dressed for the evening in a dark blue suit, a shirt with cuff links, a silk tie knotted but not yet tightened at the collar. Charles lit his pipe\u2014Mich\u00e8le would be a long while yet\u2014and surveyed his handsome living room, thinking of Christmas. Its first sign was the dark green wreath some thirty centimeters in diameter, which Mich\u00e8le must have bought that morning, and which leaned against the fruit bowl on the dining table. Mich\u00e8le would put it on the knocker of the apartment door, he knew. The brass fixtures by the fireplace gleamed as usual, poker and tongs, polished by Genevi\u00e8ve, their femme de m\u00e9nage.<\/em> Four of the six or seven oil paintings on the walls were of Mich\u00e8le\u2019s ancestors, two of them in white ruffled lace collars. Charles poured himself a small Glenfiddich whiskey, and sipped it straight. The best whiskey in the world, in his opinion. Yes, fate had been good to him. He had luxury and comfort, everywhere he looked. He stepped out of his clumsy house slippers and carried them into the bedroom, where he put on his shoes for the evening with the aid of a silver shoehorn. Mich\u00e8le was still in the bathroom, humming, doing her make-up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Two days later Mich\u00e8le again encountered the small boy to whom she had given the ten-franc note. She was nearly at her house door before she saw him, because she had been concentrating on a white poodle that she had just bought. She had dismissed her taxi at the corner of the street, and was carefully leading the puppy on his new black and gold leash along the curb. The puppy did not know in which direction to go, unless Mich\u00e8le tugged him. He turned in circles, scampered in the wrong direction until his collar checked him, then looked up smiling at Mich\u00e8le and trotted after her. A man paused to look and admire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot quite three months,\u201d Mich\u00e8le replied to his question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was then that she noticed the small boy. He wore the same tweed coat with its collar turned up against the cold, and she realized that it was a man\u2019s suit jacket, much too big, with the cuffs rolled back and the buttons adjusted so it would fit more tightly around the child\u2019s body.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cB\u2019jour,<\/em> madame!\u201d the boy said. \u201cThis is your<\/em> dog?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, I\u2019ve just bought him,\u201d said Mich\u00e8le.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow much did he cost?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le laughed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy whipped something out of his pocket. \u201cI brought this for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was a tiny bunch of holly with red berries. As Mich\u00e8le took it with her free hand, she realized that it was plastic, that the berries were bent on their artificial stems, the tinsel cup crushed. \u201cThank\u2014you,\u201d she said, amused. \u201cOh, and what do I owe you for this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNothing at all, madame!\u201d He had an air of pride and looked her straight in the eyes, smiling. His nose was running.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She pressed the door button of her house. \u201cWould you like to come up for a minute\u2014play with the puppy?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOui, merci!\u201d<\/em> he replied, pleased and surprised.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e9le led the way across the court and into the lift. She unlocked her apartment door, and unfastened the puppy\u2019s leash. Then she handed the boy a paper tissue from her handbag, and he blew his nose. The boy and the puppy behaved in the same manner, Mich\u00e9le thought, looking around, turning in circles, sniffing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat shall I name the puppy?\u201d Mich\u00e8le asked. \u201cAny ideas? What\u2019s your name?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cPaul, madame,\u201d the boy replied, and returned to gazing at the walls, the big sofa.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go in the kitchen. I\u2019ll give you\u2014a Coca-Cola.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy and the puppy followed her. Mich\u00e8le set down a bowl of water for the puppy, and took a bottle of Coca-Cola from the fridge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy sipped his drink from a glass, while his eyes wandered over the big white kitchen, eyes that reminded Mich\u00e8le of open windows, or of a camera\u2019s lens. \u201cYou give the puppy biftek h\u00e2ch\u00e9,<\/em> madame?\u201d asked the boy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le was spooning the red meat from the butcher\u2019s paper into a saucer. \u201cOh, today, yes. Maybe all the time, a little bit. Later he can eat from tins.\u201d The child\u2019s eyes had fixed on the meat she was wrapping up, and she said impulsively, \u201cWould you like some? A hamburger?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cEven uncooked! A little bit\u2014yes.\u201d He extended a hand whose nails were filthy, and took what Mich\u00e8le held out in the teaspoon. Paul shoved the meat into his mouth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le put the meat package back into the fridge, and nudged the door shut. The boy\u2019s hunger made her nervous, somehow. Of course if he were poor, his family wouldn\u2019t eat meat often. She didn\u2019t want to ask him about this. It was easier for her, a moment later, to offer Paul some cookies from a box that was nearly full. \u201cTake several!\u201d She handed the box to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Slowly and steadily, the boy ate them all, while he and Mich\u00e8le watched the puppy licking the last morsels from his saucer. Then Paul picked up the saucer and carried it to the sink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIs this right, madame?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le nodded. She and Charles had a washing machine, and seldom used the sink for washing dishes. Now the boy was putting the empty cookie box into the yellow garbage bin. The bin was almost full, and the boy asked if he could empty it for her. Mich\u00e8le shook her head a little, in wonderment, feeling as if a Christmas angel had wandered into her home. The boy and the white puppy! The boy so hungry, and he and the puppy so young! \u201cIt\u2019s this way\u2014but you don\u2019t have to.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy wanted to be of help, so she showed him the gray plastic sack at the servants\u2019 entrance, where he could dump the contents of the garbage bin. Then they went back into the living room and played with the puppy on the carpet. Mich\u00e8le had bought a blue rubber ball with a bell in it. Paul rolled the ball carefully for the puppy. He had politely declined to remove his coat or to sit down. Mich\u00e8le noticed holes at the heels of both his socks. His shoes were in worse condition, cracked between soles and uppers. Even his blue jeans cuffs were tattered. How could a child keep warm in blue jeans in this weather?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThank you, madame,\u201d said Paul. \u201cI\u2019ll go now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAw-ruff<\/em>!\u201d said the puppy, wanting the boy to roll the ball again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le found herself as awkward suddenly as if she were with an adult from a different country and culture. \u201cThank you for your visit, Paul. And I wish you a happy Christmas in case I don\u2019t see you again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paul looked equally ill at ease, twisted his neck, and said, \u201cAnd to you, madame, happy Christmas.\u2014And you!\u201d He addressed the white puppy. Abruptly he turned towards the door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019d like to give you a present, Paul,\u201d Mich\u00e8le said, following him. \u201cHow about a pair of shoes? What size do you wear?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHa!\u201d Was the boy blushing? \u201cThirty-two. Thirty-three maybe, since I\u2019m growing, my father says.\u201d He lifted one foot in a comical manner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat does your father do?\u201d Mich\u00e8le was delighted to ask him a down-to-earth question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDeliverer. He takes bottles down from trucks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le imagined a sturdy fellow hauling down boxes of mineral water, wine, beer from a huge truck and tossing up empty crates. She saw such work all over Paris, every day, and maybe she had even glimpsed Paul\u2019s father. \u201cHave you brothers and sisters?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne brother. Two sisters.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd where do you live?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOh\u2014we live in a basement.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le didn\u2019t want to ask him about the basement, whether it was a semi- or total basement, or whether his mother worked too. She was cheered by the idea of a present for him, shoes. \u201cCome back tomorrow around eleven, and I\u2019ll have a pair of shoes for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paul looked unbelieving, and wriggled his hands nervously in the pockets of his coat. \u201cYes, okay. At eleven.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The boy wanted to go down in the lift by himself, so Mich\u00e8le let him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning at a few minutes past eleven, Mich\u00e8le was strolling along the pavement near her apartment with the puppy on his leash. She and Charles had decided to name him Ezekiel last evening, a name already shortened to Zeke. Mich\u00e8le suddenly saw Paul and a smaller figure beside him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy sister, Marie-Jeanne,\u201d said Paul, looking up at Mich\u00e8le with his big dark eyes, then at his sister, whose hand he pushed towards Mich\u00e8le.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le took the little hand and they greeted each other. The sister was a smaller version of Paul, with longer black hair. The shoes.<\/em> Mich\u00e8le had bought two pairs for Paul. She asked them both to come up. The lift again, the apartment door opening, and the same wonder in the eyes of the sister.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cTry them on, Paul. Both pairs,\u201d said Mich\u00e8le.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Paul sat on the floor and did so, excited and happy. \u201cThey both fit! Both pairs!\u201d For fun, he put on a left and a right shoe of different pairs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marie-Jeanne was taking more interest in the apartment than in the shoes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le fetched Coca-Cola. One bottle each might be enough, she thought. Her heart went out to these children, but she was afraid of overdoing it, of losing control somehow. When she brought the cold drinks in, Zeke was starting to chew on one new shoe, and Paul was laughing. Quickly his sister rescued the shoe. Some Coca-Cola got spilled on the carpet, Mich\u00e8le brought a sponge, and Paul scrubbed away, then rinsed the sponge.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then suddenly they were both gone, each with a box of shoes under an arm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That evening Charles could not find his letter-opener. It lay always on his desk in a room off the living room which was their library as well as Charles\u2019s study. He asked Mich\u00e8le if she had possibly taken it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo. Maybe it fell on the floor?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI looked,\u201d said Charles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But they both looked again. It was of silver, like a flat dagger with the hilt in the form of a coiled serpent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cGenevieve will find it somewhere,\u201d said Mich\u00e8le, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she suspected Paul\u2014or even his sister. A throb went through her, akin to a sense of personal embarrassment, as if she were responsible for the theft, which was only a possibility, not yet a fact. But Mich\u00e8le felt guilt as she glanced at her husband\u2019s slightly troubled face. He was opening a letter with his thumbnail.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat did you do today, darling?\u201d asked Charles, smiling once more, putting his letter away in a business folder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le told him she had argued with the telephone company about their last bill and won, this on Charles\u2019s behalf as he had queried a long-distance call, had looked in at the hairdresser\u2019s but only for an hour, and had aired Zeke three times, and she thought the puppy was learning fast. She did not tell Charles about buying two pairs of shoes for the boy called Paul, or about the visit of Paul and his sister to the apartment.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I hung the wreath on the door,\u201d said Mich\u00e8le. \u201cNot a lot of work, I know, but didn\u2019t you notice?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOf course. How could I have missed it?\u201d He embraced her and kissed her cheek. \u201cVery pretty, darling, the wreath.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was Saturday. On Sunday Charles worked for a few hours in his office alone, as he often did. Mich\u00e8le bought a small Christmas tree with an X-shaped base, and spent part of the afternoon decorating it, having put it on the dining table finally, instead of the floor, because the puppy refused to stop playing with the ornaments. Mich\u00e8le did not look forward to the obligatory visit to Charles\u2019s parents\u2014who never had a tree, and even Charles considered Christmas trees a silly import from England\u2014on Christmas Eve Monday at 5 P.M. They lived in a big old walk-up apartment house in the 18th arrondissement.<\/em> Here they would exchange presents and drink hot red wine that always made Mich\u00e8le feel sickish. The rest of the evening would be jollier at her parents\u2019 apartment in Neuilly. They would have a cold midnight supper with champagne, and watch color TV of Christmas breaking all over the world. She told this to Zeke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYour first Christmas, Zeke! And you\u2019ll have\u2014a turkey<\/em> leg!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The puppy seemed to understand her, and galloped around the living room with a lolling tongue and mischievous black eyes. And Paul and Marie-Jeanne? Were they smiling now? Maybe Paul was, with his two pairs of shoes. And maybe there was time for her to buy a shirt, a blouse for Marie-Jeanne, a cake for the other brother and sister, before Christmas Day. She could do that Monday, and maybe she\u2019d see Paul and be able to give him the presents. Christmas meant giving, sharing, communicating with friends and neighbors and even with strangers. With Paul, she had begun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOo-woo-woo,\u201d said the puppy, crouching.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOne second, Zeke, darling!\u201d Mich\u00e8le hurried to get his leash.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She flung on a fur jacket, and she and Zeke went out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Zeke at once made for the gutter, and Mich\u00e8le gave him a word of praise. The fancy grocery store across the street was open, and Mich\u00e8le bought a box of candy\u2014a beautiful tin box costing over a hundred francs\u2014because the red ribbon on it had caught her eye.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMadame\u2014bonjour<\/em>!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Once more Mich\u00e8le looked down at Paul\u2019s upturned face. His nose was bright pink with cold.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHappy Christmas again, madame!\u201d Paul said, smiling, stamping his feet. He wore the brown pair of new shoes. His hands were rammed into his pockets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWould you like a hot chocolate?\u201d Mich\u00e8le asked. A bar-tabac<\/em> was just a few meters distant.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNon, merci.\u201d<\/em> Paul twisted his neck shyly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cOr soup!\u201d Mich\u00e8le said with inspiration. \u201cCome up with me!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMy sister is with me.\u201d Paul turned quickly, stiff with cold, and at that moment Marie-Jeanne dashed out of the bar-tabac.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAh, bonjour,<\/em> madame!\u201d Marie-Jeanne was grinning, carrying a blue straw shopping bag which looked empty, but she opened it to show her brother. \u201cTwo packs. That\u2019s right?\u2014Cigarettes for my father,\u201d she said to Mich\u00e8le.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWould you like to come up for a few minutes and see my Christmas tree?\u201d Mich\u00e8le\u2019s hospitality still glowed strongly. What was wrong with giving these two a bowl of hot soup and some candy?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They came. In the apartment, Mich\u00e8le switched on the radio to London, which was giving out with carols. Just the thing! Marie-Jeanne squatted in front of the Christmas tree and chattered to her brother about the pretty packages amassed at the base, the decorations, the little presents perched in the branches. Mich\u00e8le was heating a tin of split pea soup to which she had added an equal amount of milk. Good nourishing food! The English choirboys sang a French carol, and they all joined in:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

           <\/em>Il est n\u00e9 le divin enfant . . .<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

           <\/em>Chantez hautbois, r\u00e9sonnez musettes . . .<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then as before they were gone all too suddenly\u2014their laughter and chatter\u2014Zeke barked as if to call them back, and Mich\u00e8le was left with the empty soup bowls and crumpled chocolate papers to clear away. Impulsively Mich\u00e8le had given them the pretty cookie box to take home. And Charles was due in a few minutes. Mich\u00e8le had tidied the kitchen and was walking into the living room, when she heard the click of the lift door and Charles\u2019s step in the hall, and at the same time noticed a gap on the mantel. The clock! Charles\u2019s ormolu clock! It couldn\u2019t be gone. But it was<\/em> gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A key was fitted into the lock, and the door opened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le seized a box\u2014yellow-wrapped, house slippers for Charles\u2014and set it where the clock had been.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHello, darling!\u201d Charles said, kissing her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles wanted a cup of tea: the temperature was dropping and he had nearly caught a chill waiting for a taxi just now. Mich\u00e8le made tea for both of them, and tried to seat herself so that Charles would take a chair that put his back to the fireplace, but this didn\u2019t work, as Charles took a different armchair from the one Mich\u00e8le had intended.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s the idea of a present up there?\u201d Charles asked, meaning the yellow package.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles had an eye for order. Smiling, still in a good mood, he left his first cup of tea and went to the mantel. He took the package, turned towards the Christmas tree, then looked back at the mantel. \u201cAnd where\u2019s the clock? You took it away?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le clenched her teeth, longing to lie, to say, yes, she\u2019d put it in a cupboard in order to have room for Christmas decorations on the mantel, but would that make sense? \u201cNo, I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSomething the matter with the clock?\u201d Charles\u2019s face had grown serious, as if he were inquiring about the health of a member of the family whom he loved.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know where it is,\u201d Mich\u00e8le said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles\u2019s brows came down and his body tensed. He tossed the lightweight package down on the table where the tree stood. \u201cDid you see that boy again?\u2014Did you invite him up?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, Charles. Yes\u2014I know I\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd today was perhaps the second time he was here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le nodded. \u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFor God\u2019s sake, Mich\u00e8le! You know that\u2019s where my letter-opener went too, don\u2019t you? But the clock! My God, it\u2019s one hell of a lot more important! Where does this kid live?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles made a move towards the telephone and stopped. \u201cWhen was he here? This afternoon?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYes, less than an hour ago. Charles, I really am sorry!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHe can\u2019t live far from here.\u2014How could<\/em> he have done it with you here with him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHis sister was here too.\u201d Mich\u00e8le had showed her where the bathroom was. Of course Paul had taken the clock, then, put it in that blue shopping bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles understood, and nodded grimly. \u201cWell, they\u2019ll have a nice Christmas, pawning that. And I\u2019ll bet we won\u2019t see either of them around here for the next many days\u2014if ever. How could you bring such hoodlums into the house<\/em>?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le hesitated, shocked by Charles\u2019s wrath. It was wrath turned against her. \u201cThey were cold and they were hungry\u2014and poor.\u201d She looked her husband in the eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSo was my father,\u201d Charles said slowly, \u201cwhen he acquired that clock.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le knew. The ormolu clock had been the Clement family\u2019s pride and joy since Charles had been twelve or so. The clock had been the one handsome item in their working-class household. It had caught Mich\u00e8le\u2019s eye the first time she had visited the Clements, because the rest of the furnishings were dreadful style rustique,<\/em> all varnish and formica. And Charles\u2019s father had given the clock to them as a wedding present.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFilthy swine,\u201d Charles murmured, drawing on a cigarette, looking at the gap on the mantel. \u201cYou don\u2019t know such people perhaps, my dear Mich\u00e8le, but I do. I grew up with them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThen you might be more sympathetic! If we can\u2019t get the clock back, Charles, I\u2019ll buy another for us, as near like it as possible. I can remember exactly how that clock looked.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut and turned away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le left the room, taking the tea things with her. It was the first time she had seen Charles near tears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles did not want to go to the dinner party to which they were invited that evening. He suggested that Mich\u00e8le go alone and make some excuse for him, and Mich\u00e8le at first said she would stay at home too, then changed her mind and got dressed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI don\u2019t see what\u2019s the matter with my idea of buying another clock,\u201d Mich\u00e8le said. \u201cI don\u2019t see\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMaybe you\u2019ll never see,\u201d Charles said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le had known Bernard and Yvonne Petit a long time. Both had been friends of Mich\u00e8le\u2019s before she and Charles were married. Mich\u00e8le wanted very much to tell Yvonne the story about the clock, but it was not a story one could tell at a dinner table of eight, and by coffee time Mich\u00e8le had decided it was best not to tell it at all: Charles was seriously upset, and the mistake was her own. But Yvonne, as Mich\u00e8le was leaving, asked her if something was on her mind, and Mich\u00e8le was relieved to admit there was. She and Yvonne went into a library much like the one in Mich\u00e8le\u2019s apartment, and Mich\u00e8le told the story quickly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe\u2019ve got just the clock you need here<\/em>!\u201d said Yvonne. \u201cBernard doesn\u2019t even much like it. Ha! That\u2019s a terrible thing to say, isn\u2019t it? But the clock\u2019s right here, darling Mich\u00e8le. Look!\u201d Yvonne pushed aside some invitation cards, so that the clock on the library mantel showed plainly on its splayed base: black hands, its round face crowned with a tiara of gilded knobs and curlicues.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The clock was indeed very like the one that had been stolen. While Mich\u00e8le hesitated, Yvonne found newspaper and a plastic bag in the kitchen and wrapped the clock securely. She pressed it into Mich\u00e8le\u2019s hands. \u201cA Christmas present!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut it\u2019s the principle of the thing. I know Charles. So do you, Yvonne. If the clock that was stolen were from my family, if I\u2019d known it all my life, even, I know it wouldn\u2019t matter to me so much.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI know, I know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the fact that these kids were poor\u2014and that it\u2019s Christmas. I asked them in, Paul first, by himself. Just to see their faces light up was so wonderful for me. They were so grateful for a bowl of soup. Paul told me they live in a basement somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yvonne listened, though it was the second time Mich\u00e8le had told her all this. \u201cJust put the clock on the mantel where the clock was\u2014and hope for the best.\u201d Yvonne spoke with a confident smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When Mich\u00e8le got home by taxi, Charles was in bed reading. Mich\u00e8le unwrapped the clock in the kitchen and set it on the mantel. Amazing how much it did look like the other clock! Charles, behind his newspaper, said that he had taken Zeke out for a walk half an hour ago. Otherwise Charles was silent, and Mich\u00e8le did not try to talk to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The next morning, Christmas Eve, Charles spotted the new clock on the mantel as he walked into the living room from the kitchen, where he and Mich\u00e8le had just breakfasted. Charles turned to Mich\u00e8le with a shocked look in his eyes. \u201cAll right, Mich\u00e8le. That\u2019s enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYvonne gave it to me. To us. I thought\u2014just for Christmas<\/em>\u2014\u201d What had she thought? How had she meant to finish that sentence?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou do not<\/em> understand,\u201d he said firmly. \u201cI gave the police a description of that clock last night. I went to the police station, and I intend to get that clock back! I also informed them of the boy aged \u2018about ten\u2019 and his sister who live somewhere in the neighborhood in a basement.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles spoke as if he had declared war on a formidable enemy. To Mich\u00e8le it was absurd. Then as Charles talked on in his tone of barely repressed fury about dishonesty, handouts to the irresponsible, to those who had not earned them or even tried to, about hooligans\u2019 disrespect for private property, Mich\u00e8le began to understand. Charles felt that his castle had been invaded, that the enemy had been admitted by his own wife\u2014and that she was on their side. Are you a Communist, Charles might have asked, but he didn\u2019t. Mich\u00e8le didn\u2019t consider herself a Communist, never had.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI simply think the rich ought to share,\u201d she interrupted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSince when are we rich, really rich, I mean?\u201d Charles replied. \u201cWell, I know. Your family, they are<\/em> rich and you\u2019re used to it. You inherited it. That\u2019s not your fault.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why on earth should it be her fault, Mich\u00e8le wondered, and began to feel on surer ground. She had read often enough in newspapers and books that wealth had to be shared in this century, or else. \u201cWell\u2014and as for these kids, I\u2019d do the same thing again,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles\u2019s cheeks shook with exasperation. \u201cThey insulted us! This was thievery!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le\u2019s face grew warm. She left the room, as furious as Charles. But Mich\u00e8le felt that she had a point. More than that, that she was right. She should put it into words, organize her argument. Her heart was beating fast. She glanced at the open bedroom door, expecting Charles\u2019s figure, expecting his voice, asking her to come back. There was silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Charles went off to his office half an hour later, and said he would probably not be back before 3:30. They were to go to his parents\u2019 house between four and five. Mich\u00e8le rang up Yvonne, and in the course of their conversation Mich\u00e8le\u2019s thoughts became clearer, and her trickle of tears stopped.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI think Charles\u2019s attitude is wrong,\u201d Mich\u00e8le said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cBut you mustn\u2019t say that to a man, dear Mich\u00e8le. You be careful.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That afternoon at four, Mich\u00e8le began tactfully with Charles. She asked him if he liked the wrapping of the present for his mother. The package contained the white tablecloth, which she had shown Charles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m not going. I can\u2019t.\u201d He went on, over Mich\u00e8le\u2019s protestations. \u201cDo you think I can face my parents\u2014admit to them that the clock\u2019s been stolen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Why mention the clock, unless he wanted to ruin Christmas, Mich\u00e8le thought. She knew it was useless to try to persuade him to come, so she gave it up. \u201cI\u2019ll go\u2014and take their presents.\u201d So she did, and left Charles at home to sulk, and to wait for a possible telephone call from the police, he had said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le had gone out laden with Charles\u2019s parents\u2019 presents as well as those for her own parents. Charles had said he would turn up at her parents\u2019 Neuilly apartment at 8 P.M. or so. But he did not. Mich\u00e8le\u2019s parents suggested that she telephone Charles: maybe he had fallen asleep, or was working and had lost track of time, but Mich\u00e8le did not telephone him. Everything was so cheerful and beautiful at her parents\u2019 house\u2014their tree, the champagne buckets, her nice presents, one a travel umbrella in a leather case. Charles and the clock story loomed like an ugly black shadow in the golden glow of her parents\u2019 living room, and Mich\u00e8le again blurted out the events.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Her father chuckled. \u201cI remember that clock\u2014I think. Nothing so great about it. It wasn\u2019t made by Cellini after all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the sentiment, however, Edouard,\u201d said Mich\u00e8le\u2019s mother. \u201cA pity it had to happen just at Christmas. And it was careless of you, Mich\u00e8le. But\u2014I have to agree with you, yes, they were simply little urchins of the street,<\/em> and they were tempted.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le felt further strengthened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot the end of the world,\u201d Edouard murmured, pouring more champagne.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le remembered her father\u2019s words the next day, Christmas Day, and on the day after. It was not the end of the world, but the end of something. The police had not found the clock, but Charles believed they would. He had spoken to them with some determination, he assured Mich\u00e8le, and had brought them a colored drawing of the clock which Charles had made at the age of fourteen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNaturally the thieves wouldn\u2019t pawn it so soon,\u201d Charles said to Mich\u00e8le, \u201cbut they\u2019re not going to drop it in the Seine either. They\u2019ll try to get cash for it sooner or later, and then we\u2019ll nail them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cFrankly, I find your attitude unchristian and even cruel,\u201d said Mich\u00e8le.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cAnd I find your attitude\u2014silly.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was not the end of the world, but it was the end of their marriage. No later words, no embrace if it ever came, could compensate Mich\u00e8le for that remark from her husband. And, just as vital, she felt a deep dislike, a real aversion to her within Charles\u2019s heart and mind. And she for him? Was it not a similar feeling? Charles had lost something that Mich\u00e8le considered human\u2014if he had ever had it. With his poorer, less privileged background, Charles should have had more compassion than she, Mich\u00e8le thought. What was wrong? And what was right? She felt muddled, as she sometimes did when she tried to ponder the phrases of carols, or of some poems, which could be interpreted in a couple of ways, and yet the heart, or sentiment always seemed to seek and find a path of its own, as hers had done, and wasn\u2019t this right? Wasn\u2019t it right to be forgiving, especially at this time of year?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Their friends, their parents counseled patience. They should separate for a week or so. Christmas always made people nervous. Mich\u00e8le could come and stay at Yvonne\u2019s and Bernard\u2019s apartment, which she did. Then she and Charles could talk again, which they did. But nothing really changed, not at all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mich\u00e8le and Charles were divorced within four months. And the police never found the clock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

THE END<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cA Clock Ticks at Christmas,\u201d a short story by Patricia Highsmith published in Mermaids on the Golf Course (1985), introduces us to Mich\u00e8le and Charles, a wealthy Parisian couple whose life is turned upside down after Mich\u00e8le’s chance encounter with a poor boy on Christmas Eve. Moved by the spirit of generosity of the Christmas season, Mich\u00e8le invites the boy into her home and offers him help. However, the visit exposes fundamental tensions and differences in the couple, revealing their different perspectives on charity, trust, and the value of human relationships.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":17800,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[559],"tags":[581,876,630,570],"class_list":["post-25400","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-stories","tag-christmas","tag-patricia-highsmith-en","tag-realism","tag-united-states","generate-columns","tablet-grid-50","mobile-grid-100","grid-parent","grid-33"],"acf":[],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":559,"label":"Short stories"}],"post_tag":[{"value":581,"label":"Christmas"},{"value":876,"label":"Patricia Highsmith"},{"value":630,"label":"Realism"},{"value":570,"label":"United States"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/lecturia.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/12\/Patricia-Highsmith-Un-reloj-hace-tictac-en-navidad.webp",1024,1024,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Juan Pablo Guevara","author_link":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/author\/spartakku\/"},"comment_info":"","category_info":[{"term_id":559,"name":"Short stories","slug":"short-stories","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":559,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":421,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":559,"category_count":421,"category_description":"","cat_name":"Short stories","category_nicename":"short-stories","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":[{"term_id":581,"name":"Christmas","slug":"christmas","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":581,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":17,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":876,"name":"Patricia Highsmith","slug":"patricia-highsmith-en","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":876,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":3,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":630,"name":"Realism","slug":"realism","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":630,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":52,"filter":"raw"},{"term_id":570,"name":"United States","slug":"united-states","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":570,"taxonomy":"post_tag","description":"","parent":0,"count":294,"filter":"raw"}],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25400","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=25400"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/25400\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/17800"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=25400"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=25400"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lecturia.org\/en\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=25400"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}