The Watchmaker's Workshop

Gabriel arrived one night at the boarding house, and Doña Zara handed him an envelope. He no longer doubted who the letter might be from, and a strange feeling told him that this would mark the beginning of significant changes in his life. He went up to his room. Without wasting time, he tore open the envelope. The letter, like the previous ones, was brief but meaningful in its words:

"Dear Gabriel:

 The time has come and there is no more time to waste. We need to meet urgently. I am living ten blocks from the boarding house. The address is Azcuénaga 320.

 Don Anselmo"

Nothing more. No further explanation. He didn't waste any time. He called a taxi and headed to the given address.

He found himself in front of an old building with a worn-out sign that read: "Watchmaker's Workshop." The front of the shop was unlit; by that hour, most businesses had already closed their doors. He looked through the window, through a shabby plastic curtain, and saw a faint light coming from the back. He knocked on the door, and a raspy voice responded from inside:

—Come in!

The place was shrouded in twilight. Hundreds of ticking sounds of different tones and the noises of oiled gears greeted him in a room crammed with old clocks of all kinds. In the back, he could make out the silhouette of a person sitting and hunched over a desk. A single light from a wall lamp illuminated the man's workspace.

 —Come closer, boy. Don't be afraid —the man said without turning around.

 Gabriel approached and observed an elderly man with gray hair. A strong sweet aroma filled the air.

 —How are you, Gabriel? It's a pleasure to see you again! —the man added, turning around.

At first, the young man didn't recognize him. But soon, he realized who the old man with thick glasses, a broad nose, red cheeks, and bushy eyebrows that jutted out above his spectacles was. A lit pipe rested on the work desk; it was the source of the aroma that filled the room.

 —My, how you've grown, boy!

 —Are you...?

 —Don Anselmo. You can call me Don Anselmo.

 —Yes, yes! But what I mean is, are you the man I met when I was a child?

 —In Don Carlos's store. Exactly, boy.

 Gabriel was astonished. It was that old man who hadn't changed at all in all these years. One could argue that when a person gets old, they stop aging, but this man seemed just as vital as he did eighteen years ago.

 He recalled the comment made by the old man while he waited to be served by Don Carlos: "Good book, that! Old Verne took my advice." –J.V. Now I get it, Gabriel said, thinking out loud and coming back to reality.

 —What, boy?

 —J.V. Julio Verne?

 —Exactly. I thought you'd figured it out by now.

—Honestly, I didn't remember you, and those postscripts at the end of each letter were driving me nuts: 'The friend of J.V.' Very funny.

 —Funny?

 —Well, if someone claims to be a friend of a person who lived in the nineteenth century, it's funny, even a bit silly, I'd say.

 —You'd be surprised by the number of people I've met.

 —I'd like to understand what this is all about. You've been sending me books since I was in the orphanage. Are you perhaps a distant relative of mine?

 —Not at all, boy.

 —Then what is the reason for all this? What do you want?

 —Everything has an explanation, but the best explanation I can give you will seem unbelievable. I just want to ask you to give me the chance to clarify things. Then you can decide.

 —I'm listening, then.

 —Alright, but not here. I want to show you something.

Don Anselmo stood up.

 —Come, follow me," he said, moving to the center of the room.

 He moved aside a rug that covered part of the wooden floor. Underneath, it concealed a hatch that led to a basement. The old man grabbed the handle and, with effort, pulled it back, revealing the entrance. The basement was lit. A somewhat rickety staircase led to the bottom.

 —Down here, I keep some relics that are, in a way, memories of all my times spent on this side of the world.

 Gabriel didn't understand the old man's words but decided not to comment for the moment.

 —Be careful going down, Gabriel, the steps are a bit loose.

They began to descend. To the left of the staircase, mounted against the wall, was a very rustic, ancient, polished wooden structure that formed an odd combination: it was both a bookshelf and a bed. It had four shelves where dusty books were stacked, just a part of the total collection, and almost at floor level, beneath these shelves and serving as the support for the entire structure, was a wider plank of wood than the others.

This part of the furniture served as a base for a mattress with a couple of blankets on top. To the right of the staircase, on the other wall, hung a large painting featuring the imposing figure of a unicorn standing on its hind legs, in a defiant and majestic pose. In the center of the basement stood a large table made of the same wood as the "bookbed" (as Gabriel had thought of calling it from the first moment he saw that piece of furniture).

On this table, in great disorder, were books, various notes, and assorted objects. At the back of the basement, lost in the shadows on the floor, with no apparent order and piled up to the ceiling, were hundreds more books and some relics that Don Anselmo took great care of and refused to part with. The room was completed with a cupboard filled with rustic utensils and a stove; the bathroom was upstairs.