Maybe it was easier to miss her when she was gone, than live with her. Maybe he is ashamed of his shtetl wife

I

t’s not far to the Old Town Square, where the astronomical clock looks upon them from on high. There is always a crowd that gathers as the clock prepares to strike the hour. At eleven o’clock in the morning, they’re lucky that the gathering is relatively sparse.

The boy’s mother had been reluctant to let them go, but Mama had pushed, gently. “Let him go and see Prague,” she had said. The woman had shaken her head.

Mama, unusually, had persisted. “You need a little peace. Have a rest while I do some tidying.”

A long hesitation. Mama had signaled to Felix and he had held out the pencil and notebook for the child, who had accepted them with glee.

A half nod from the mother, and the boy slipped his hand into Felix’s and they had set off to find the Orloj, the famous astronomical clock.

A tug on his hand. “Where?” the boy asks again. “Where? Tell me where to look to see the clock.”

They are directly in front of it now, joining the small crowd—passersby and students and even local shopkeepers—who linger, to mark the passing of another hour. Felix bends down to him. For a second, he has the sensation of being at Leibe’le’s height, and of seeing nothing more than knees and shoes. He hoists the little boys up in his arms, and puts him on his shoulders. “There, now you can see better than I can.”

Felix’s hair is thick, but that doesn’t prevent it from hurting when Leib’le grabs it with both hands.

“Here,” Felix says. He reaches up and gently disengages the boy’s hand from his hair, and places them on his forehead.

He points. “That up there, is a clock.”

“A Zieger?”

“A clock. Do you know what a clock is, Leibe’le? It tells the time. It tells us if it’s the morning, the afternoon, the evening.”

Beside him, a man in a butcher’s apron tips back his head to have a good look. A schoolmarm troops along with her class of schoolchildren—probably some history lesson.

Felix watches the second hand move slowly around the clockface. It won’t be long now.

“Like the zun.”

“Well, yes. The sun, maybe was the first clock.”

“Even though it’s a ball of fire. A ball of fire clock.”

The little child is bright. Felix is strangely glad. “Yes.” He should pay attention to the way this little boy’s mind works. After all, he is writing for children now.