The Clockwork Boy

The Clockwork Boy



Once upon a time there was a clockwork boy. He was nimble as you please, with clever little fingers made from old gears and scrap metal. He could manipulate a pencil with little difficulty. Which came in handy, because as soon as his creation was complete, the clockwork boy's father shipped him off to boarding school. 

The clockwork boy had no trouble at boarding school, in great part because he could remember anything the teacher told him perfectly, and repeat it back word for word. The one thing the clockwork boy couldn’t do was think for himself. Every day, his teacher would put a paper in front of the clockwork boy and ask him to write, but all that ever came out was the topic of that day's lesson. Despite the teacher’s disappointment, the clockwork boy just couldn’t come up with anything original.

One day the clockwork boy was approached by one of the other students. He stopped, gears grinding to a halt at the sight, as he had never before been approached by another student. Others deemed him unfeeling, and why would an unfeeling being notice the small slights that had become a regular occurrence. But this girl had walked up to him as if he were any other student.

“What’s your name?” she asked. The clockwork boy just shook his head, he had no name as far as he knew. All his teachers just called him boy, and surely that wasn’t a name. The girl sighed and walked away. 

Later that day in class, when the clockwork boy was done with languages, he walked up to the teacher.

“Teacher, do I have a name?” The clockwork boy asked. The teacher laughed.

“Of course you have a name. Everyone has a name.”

“Then what is mine?”

The teacher frowned at the question. “Well now that you mention it, I can’t think of yours. Tell you what, why don’t you come up with your own name.” The clockwork boy nodded, thinking this was a fair solution. The clockwork boy thought very hard about his dilemma for the rest of the day. But when the girl approached him once again, he still had no answer. The clockwork boy could not think for himself, so try as he might, no names came to mind.

After the day's lessons were over, the clockwork boy sat alone in his room thinking about how he should go about getting a name. Then suddenly the idea struck him. The clockwork boy would go to find his father. After all that’s how children usually got their names wasn’t it, from their parents?

So the clockwork boy set out. He walked until midnight and reached his father’s village. He went up to one of the few people who was still awake and tugged on their arm.

“Have you seen my papa?” 

The man turned, a scowl on his face, but the expression softened as his eyes slowly took in the clockwork boy. 

“Now I do believe the blacksmith is out of town for the weekend but why don’t you stay with me until he returns?” The clockwork boy nodded and let himself be led away by the man. He was given a small room to rest in until his father got back and in this manner the clockwork boy spent several days with the man as he awaited his father’s return. Then several more days. Then a few more. Soon the clockwork boy realized the man had no intention of returning him to his father. A tireless assistant was too useful to just let go.

Then one day, in the middle of the night, the clockwork boy simply stood up from his bed and walked to the door. There he paused for a second as he decided if he really wanted to leave the man. Although the clockwork boy had to work, he enjoyed his new life. The clockwork boy made his decision, and without a backward glance, he walked out into the village.

The clockwork boy had a newfound wariness of strangers after the encounter with the man, so he crept along as stealthily as he was able until he reached the edge of the village. There he stood up and began the long trek back to the school. 

As he was walking, the clockwork boy came across a strange fellow. His back was bent and he hobbled along on a mechanical leg much like the clockwork boy’s own. When the clockwork boy passed him by, the man stopped and stared. The clockwork boy walked a few more steps before turning to face the man.

“Excuse me,” the clockwork boy asked, “have we met before?” The old man sighed before speaking,

“Pray tell, what is your name?” The man asked.

“I have no name.”

“No name!” The man exclaimed. “But everyone has a name.”

“I don’t. I was trying to get my papa to tell me but I couldn’t find him.” 

“Who’s your papa?” 

“The blacksmith.”

“Why there are a great many blacksmiths. Do you know his name?” The clockwork boy shook his head. “Well, if you want a name here’s what I say, you should go and see if anyone in the next village over knows where your father might be.” 

The clockwork boy shrugged and continued on his way. But something was bothering him. The way the man had moved was eerily familiar. As soon as the clockwork boy realized who he had been talking to he turned around and raced back the way he’d come. However the clockwork boy's father was already out of sight. The clockwork boy knelt to the ground and wept, for he had come so close to his goal and now all was lost.

The words of his teacher came back to him, “choose your own name.” The clockwork boy hadn’t been able to do this before, but why not? It seemed so simple now. It was rather obvious in fact. The clockwork boy ceased weeping and stood up. He looked around and then continued on his journey. 

When he reached the school he was met by his teacher.

“Chose a name, did you?” The teacher asked. The clockwork boy nodded. “What is it?” 

“My name,” the clockwork boy said, “is Reloj.” 

“Reloj.” The teacher said, trying out the name. “You do realize this is the Spanish word for clock?” Reloj nodded. 

Clock, the perfect name for a clockwork boy.