08:31 One Day in the Life of Arnold Clockmann

In a large, sunny parlour room of a stately retirement home there stands an ornate antique Grandfather clock. Its dulled ivory face reads 08:29. At its base sits a wooden crate filled with old toys. Atop the pile is sprawled a small tin man; a burnished bob-watch fills its chest. Several aged residents in the room sit in over-stuffed armchairs or propped up in wheelchairs. Some stare at a muted tele-screen splashing grotesque images against the wall, others out into space. Slanted shafts of early sunlight filter into the room. The residents wear nightshirts or pyjamas, dressing gowns and slippers. Most of them are ‘just-not-there’ – except for one silver-haired gentleman – a retired robotics engineer – he sits stiff-backed, bright eyes shining. He manoeuvres his wheelchair across the room so he can see the old clock and the crate. He mumbles, ‘Not long now…’

    A nine-year-old boy, Arnold, clomps into the room. He wears a short-sleeved shirt, shorts, a sleeveless coarse woollen vest, brown socks and heavy, solid boots. His whole body is covered with ultra-thin gauze, flesh-coloured; it gives him the look of a mummified burns victim. The boy glances toward the elderly scientist and then plods over to the wooden crate.

    ‘Hello, Mr Clockmann, what’s the time?’ asks Arnold. The boy leans down and lifts the tin man from the pile and flicks open the watch-cover. The dial shows 08:31. Arnold closes the cover and in a mechanical fashion carries Mr Clockmann over to the elderly scientist.

    ‘Hello, Grandpa.’

    The old man smiles. He reaches into his pocket and lifts out an intricate platinum key and inserts it into a slot in the tin man's back. He carefully winds it five times, then hands the tin man back to Arnold.

    ‘There... another day for you,’ the boy says looking down at the now animated Mr Clockmann.  

    Mr Clockmann thinks: Recharge – 08:31.

    ‘Today is day for Zoo,’ says Arnold.

    Zoo – what is a Zoo? Mr Clockmann thinks.

    The elderly scientist nods, silently amused. He reaches over and gently pats the lad’s rough hair in a familiar gesture.  Looking down at the tin man, the boy says, ‘Yes, you can come too!’

    Arnold laughs and throws him into the air; as he drops, he tries to catch him, but misses and Mr Clockmann drops and hits the tiled floor hard. The boy bends down awkwardly to retrieve him and sees that an arm has been damaged at the shoulder. ‘Boy – I am glad I not like you, Mr Clockmann. I would not like to hurt so easy...’

  .  .  . 

Arnold, now accompanied by a large robot minder, walks towards a transit tube. Surrounding them is a diorama of terra-formed structures in honeycombed profusion, interspaced between myriad walkways, bridge-walks and hollow perspex transport-tubes which spaghetti through the moiré city landscape like an alien ant nest made of plastic, concrete and steel. Arnold and his minder enter a metro-tube. The other passengers show little interest in the stiff-limbed lad in his strange garb, carrying his mini- man made of tin and the clunky silent robot minder beside – except for one passenger – he leans toward them and nodding at the toy asks, ‘What’s his name?’

    The boy replies, ‘Mr Clockmann.’

    ‘Oh, I see,' says the man. 'And, is he yours?’

    ‘He lives at the home; with my Grandpa.’

The tube carriage slows to a stop. Arnold and his minder wait for the pneumatic whoosh of the access panel for the door to slide open. They exit the metro-tube and are confronted by the various moving walkways all running in different directions, hydra-like, spiralling out from the platform. Arnold holds Mr Clockmann, unaware that he dangles by the damaged arm. The body of the tin man drops, pulling away from the arm, hitting the flexi-pave with a muted thock.

    My arm! Can I feel my arm? I can’t feel my arm…

    Arnold bends down and picks up the little tin man. There is a fresh dent in its thin tin head. He holds Mr Clockmann's body in one hand and the broken-off arm in the other. The boy’s head lolls from side to side. He is confused. The robot minder strides up to Arnold and points to a walkway. The boy drops the broken arm and obediently walks in that direction. They step onto the walkway as it takes them to a huge, clear, plexi-dome and they enter ‘the Zoo’.

    Leaning closer, speaking carefully to Arnold, the minder says: ‘Now, take note what is about you and try and remember that you are here to learn. Do you understand?’

    ‘Yes. I will be good-boy.’

    What is this place? Is this the zoo? Where is my arm? Why am I here?

    Another moving walkway scouts the inside perimeter of the building, allowing visitors a transient view of the exhibits as they pass on by. The robot minder, followed by Arnold, step onto the walkway and are slowly transported past enclosures with the various life-forms on display. They pass cages and working installations and open areas; some decorative or educational, others containing

alien, human or animal life-forms; some with a combination of creatures co-habiting the one enclosure. The walkway slows and then stops to allow extended viewings of special exhibits. At one, Arnold and his minder stand and stare: several dwarf-hominids mill beneath a copse of stunted, semi-tropical trees abutting a shallow artificial lake. Other human forms perch on large, smooth rocks that girdle the water. Some of the smaller creatures dig at the earthen floor with sticks. Occasionally, they glance over at the watchers in a disaffected manner, only to lose interest and continue their digging. The boy looks down, and sees what appears to be a crudely-shaped toy man, fashioned from sticks and twine lying on the ground at the edge of the enclosure. Arnold leans closer to look but his head strikes the almost invisible Perspex barrier with a thwack. He steps back and the minder throws him a cautionary glare.

    Those creatures – what are they? Am I like them? I am not of them. Am I?

    The walkway begins to move again. At the far end of the dome, the minder and the boy step off and enter a utility and reception area. The minder wanders off to a maintenance cubicle to adjust some mechanisms on his torso and Arnold sits on a steel bench and flips open Mr Clockmann’s chest to reveal the dial. Arnold places the chest to his ear to hear the ticking sound again.

    Arnold places Mr Clockmann onto the bench alongside him and looks around at the scene. Another robot minder, attempting a head count, ushers his group of rowdy children past the boy on their way outside. A red-haired delinquent takes his chance and tries to grab the tin man as the group passes. Arnold spies his intent and a brief tug-o-war ensues. Mr Clockmann loses a tiny metal foot as the scavenger rushes to rejoin his departing group, holding aloft and waving his miniscule prize like a demented golem.  

    Is this real? Can this all be happening – to me? Who was that monster?

    The robot minder returns, oblivious to what has passed. He notes Mr Clockmann’s missing foot but does not compute a response; instead, he instructs Arnold to follow and they exit the confines of the Zoo.              

                                                            .  . .       

Arnold (still holding the tin man) and his minder, wander into the nearby public park. They see a large pond and make their way over to it.

    ‘Now, as further instruction, it is my duty to explain about water. Watch!’

The minder leans over and places his metallic hand into the water. He lifts it out again, cupped, and then tilts it slowly, to demonstrate the effect of falling water to the boy. Arnold tries to copy his movements, but leans too far over, but he props and manages to steady and stop himself from falling. Mr Clockmann is not so lucky.

    What, what, wha… (Mr Clockmann falls into the water.) The Minder leans over quickly and fishes about near the edge of the pond. He is able to retrieve the dripping tin man. Arnold wipes his toy hurriedly on his forearm and then flicks open the bob-watch cover. Satisfied, he gives the face a final, clumsy wipe and shuts the cover again.

    ‘Mr Clockmann wet – Ha, Ha!’ Arnold barks out a harsh laugh.

    Well I never. I mean, I never…          

. . .

Arnold and his minder enter a massive store. Before them stands an enormous plexi-glass cabinet with all the latest gadgets and electronic wizardry on display. As they walk through the various sections they come to other installations showing various retail goods set out on shelving and cupboards. There are mechanical

appendages, electronically-controlled walkers and ‘gophers’, prostheses, artificial limbs and mobility aids. In the next department they see a counter with a sign – ‘Robot Repairs While-U-Wait’. Turning to Arnold, the minder states, ‘I am in need of further minor adjustment. Stay close and I will call for you presently.’

    Arnold, still holding his tin friend, walks further into the complex and discovers a partitioned department wholly devoted to clocks and clockwork figurines. It is a wonderland of mechanical inventiveness. Every wall, nook and cranny is covered with shelving containing clocks and timepieces of innumerable shape, size, style, colour, fashioning and dimension. The boy’s eyes open wide with surprise and fascination. Mr Clockmann is simply speechless. Arnold and his toy go from shelf to shelf examining the figures in a state of amazement. All the clock dials read 08:29.

    Is this place real – or am I in a dream?

    ‘So many…’

    Suddenly, an electronic signal triggers an alarm and the sound of the ticking clocks begins to reverberate in unison – louder and louder until it reaches a cacophonous crescendo of ticking and tocking, of buzzing and clanging – rising, swelling to an overwhelming blizzard of clockwork termagancy, filling all the room. Arnold and his tin man look about wildly. They try to take it all in. In a panic, the boy drops Mr Clockmann and flees the room. The small tin man lies on his side, staring up at a lone, unmoving figure on a shelf directly above. It is an exact replica – except that it is female. Mr Clockmann’s small body begins to vibrate, then shake. A minute passes, then two, three and at last the robot minder comes striding into the crazy room full of clocks, now gently ticking as before.

    ‘There you are!’ He slowly bends down and picks up the limp Mr Clockmann. 'Thought we had lost you… can’t have that – the Boy would be most unhappy…’

    The three personae exit the store and step out onto a walkway which takes them out and beyond to another transit terminus.

. . .

The Minder and his charge (and Mr Clockmann) ride the transit-tube on their way back to 'the home’. The tin man is pensive: that place, those machines and devices. I am like them. I am… one of them. I am, like that, like that… Like that other me I saw. But it was different. But It had a clock too, and hair; long hair, I wonder if…

    The boy, too, is deep in thought, but their musings are interrupted by a passenger who, nodding to indicate the tin man states: ‘Looks like he’s had quite a day, little man.’

    Arnold covers Mr Clockmann’s head protectively with one hand and does not reply. The tube slides quietly on.                         

. . .

Outside, away from the terminus, the minder prepares to leave Arnold and Mr Clockmann. ‘Now it is time to go: for me this day is at an end.’

    Arnold lifts up Mr Clockmann and flips open the cover on its chest. He turns the figure around to face the minder.

    ‘Yes, Boy – I can see.’

    What is the time? What is time? What… But Mr Clockmann's internal musings are cut short once again as the lid snaps shut on his chest.

    The Minder continues sententiously: ‘Today, there were many lessons. As you know, I have been assigned the task to make you – well, better able to live in this world.’

    Is he talking to me?

    Arnold stares up at the minder with dutiful attention.

    The minder continues: ‘And so, I expect that one day, you will take your rightful place as your Master has intended.’

    ‘What place is that? What Master? I do not understand. I thought I, I…’

    ‘There is no I - there is no we. THERE IS ONLY THOSE WHO INSTRUCT,

AND THOSE WHO… OBEY! This! This is what I am to teach you. This is what is real and what is not – And what is not, is not your concern, boy. Enough! Now go, return to your – to your Grandfather. Goodbye.’

    And so he goes. And so it goes. And so we must, go…

Dusk engulfs the lone figure of the boy clutching what remains of his small metal friend. Arnold waves goodbye to the robot minder and the night descends upon them both.

. . .

Still holding the tin man, the boy plods along a long, narrow passageway deep inside ‘the home’. He passes numerous doors on the left and right. Faint sounds, the clanging of kitchenware; plates, cutlery, and shuffling steps and a muted music somewhere within the domicile; a leaden, metallic throb reverberates behind walls and the lights in the passage dim as the house prepares for sleep. The boy enters the now empty drawing room; it is no longer warm and sunny. A single lamp casts a honeyed glow upon the time-worn face of the grand old clock. The boy approaches the wooden crate. He looks up and stares for a moment at the ancient timepiece above and pauses to listen for its sonorous velication: tick-tock, tick, tock – and then, it chimes, announcing the half of the eight. The boy places Mr Clockmann back upon the pile of toys, carefully arranging him so he sits upright. The battered

tin body sits rigid and straight, an arm has gone and also a foot, and the dented head tilts now permanently to one side. The boy flips open the watch-face cover one last time. It reads 08:31.

    ‘Goodnight, Mr Clockmann. Goodnight.’ The boy turns and leaves the room.

    Night, yes, it is night. It is time. I have time. No - I have no time. What is the time? What is… And with that, the clockwork mechanism inside the small man of tin slows to a final entropy and all within is still once more.

    Arnold makes his way back along the passage and through to a different wing of the home. He passes many doors until he finally reaches the one he seeks. On the cubicle door is printed 8-31.

    Arnold is expected and so the door slides open and the boy enters. There before him sits the old man working at his life-desk; an ergo-computer with screens and touch controls integrated into its flat black surface. Taped to a wall are faded newspaper clippings. They show the scientist in his youth, accepting honours and accolades for his pioneering work in Robotics. A narrow bookcase holds antique volumes by long-dead authors; a retractable clothes cabinet and a single bunk-bed are the only other fixtures to be seen.

    ‘Hello, Grandpa’.

    ‘Hello, Arnold, my boy. Come – come over here. Sit down and let me take a look at you.’ He points to the bed. ‘I trust you’ve had an instructive day?’

    The boy walks over and sits on the edge of the bunk.

    ‘Yes. We went to the Zoo, and saw the funny people and I saw strange things, Gran’pa – things I don’t even know how to tell about…’

    The elderly man nods, and wheels himself over and begins to undo the boy’s thick vest.

    ‘… and we went to the park and I saw the water pond… and Mr Clockmann fell in, and we went to the shops, and, and, there was this great noise in this room full of clocks that got real loud and I ran and ran and two different men talked to me, and, and…’

    The old man continues to undress the boy, unclasping his shirt fastenings and exposing the thin gauze beneath. He carefully separates the material at a join to reveal Arnold’s bare chest. The old man takes a quick glance up at his face, and then continues his examination. Arnold falls silent, and then goes on: ‘And poor Mr Clockmann… he is hurt now. Many things today. He got hurt, and, and…’

    ‘Yes, yes, but don’t worry about that now, as long as you’re alright.’

    Suddenly, the boy’s eyes open wide. His body shudders with a fierce jerk, he begins to vibrate and then to shake, his limbs flail and an uncontrolled trembling racks his torso and legs. His head flops to one side and his mouth opens and shuts –

but no words come. Arnold stares frantically into the eyes of the old man and with a final look of wild comprehension drops to the floor and does not move again.

           The old man slowly leans over the still body and calmly turns it over to reach the chest. He gently presses a panel, and with a click, a spring-loaded plasti-derm lid flips open to reveal a small keyhole. The old man fumbles with the long, thin, silver necklace around his wrinkled neck, until he finally finds the tiny, silver key. He lifts it clear and carefully inserts it into the opening and then, slow-as-death itself, he winds the clockwork key five times in Arnold's chest.

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