Sword Hands

A short story

As carefully as a pâtissier applies the final layer of couverture chocolate to their signature dessert, I slip out from under the duvet so I don’t wake April, who remains fast asleep, and will be, until eleven o’clock or later. Likely later.

She had another late night, and although I know exactly what she was doing, though not with whom, depriving her of sleep will only make my life more miserable, and it’s miserable enough.

I’ll leave the blackout curtains closed, knowing I won’t return to the bedroom until after work, at which time I may or may not see her—and I don’t particularly care.

What I care about is keeping my post-surgery patients as pain-free as possible. My day ahead includes an open heart operation at nine and a hernia at two in the afternoon, with patient visits in between.

I pick up my Grand Seiko wristwatch from the valet tray and strap it to my arm, letting the clasp close with a satisfying click.

April stirs. Did I interrupt your beauty sleep?

The cool metal band and watch back feel invigorating against my skin. Except for my watch, I’m naked, and I like that sensation.

I pad to the bathroom and silently close the door. I turn to the full-length mirror on the back of the door and admire my nudity and the way this magnificent watch looks on me, not to mention the way I look, which is fit—not bad for a man of forty-five.

Once upon a time, April lusted for my body. After three years of marriage, am I that different? Or is it her? Or did the hot chemistry between us just peter out, like a soda going flat on a summer afternoon?

No, she was always like this; I just didn’t know it until too late.

I squint at the mirror. My chestnut hair is bent from bed head, but a shower, shampoo, and five minutes with the Dyson will cure that.

I raise my arm to get a closer look at my watch and— “What the fuck?” I put the watch right against my eye. “Fuck! Who did this?”

April.

Why? I let her have her affairs. So why did she—?”

I fling the bathroom door open so powerfully that it’s like a thunderclap when it slams into the wall. I stomp into the bedroom and yank open the window curtain.

Blazing sunshine, the kind of bright yellow that would instantly vaporize a vampire, fills the bedroom.

April groans and shrouds her head with the duvet.

I rip it off her so fast that the air shatters as the fabric breaks the sound barrier.

“Stop it, Josh. I need to sleep.”

“What did you do?”

She rolls onto her belly and buries her face in the pillow.

I pull the pillow away and shriek—yes, shriek because shrieking is called for—“You removed the hands from my Grand Seiko.”

Pushing with her elbows and slinking like a caterpillar, April props herself against the headboard. “What are you talking about?”

“My watch. Somehow you took off the seconds, minute, and hour hands. I didn’t know you had that skill, but that’s beyond the pale. I let you have your affairs, I let you wear the jewelry your boyfriends give you, but dammit you have no right to break my watches. Have you touched my others? My Rolex Explorer? My Vacheron Annual Calendar? Any? I swear if you’ve ruined—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and I haven’t touched anything. I just want to sleep.”

“And fuck lots of guys.”

“Yeah. After I sleep.”

I stab my finger at her face. “Just, just stay right here. I want to check the other watches.”

As I dash to the walk-in closet where I keep my twenty-two-piece collection in a walnut box, I hear April’s mocking laugh. “You and your silly watch hobby.”

After a minute, I return to the bedroom. “They’re all intact. Lucky for you or—”

“Or what? You’ll kill me? You? You can’t even muster enough courage to ask for a promotion. You should be head of the anesthesiology department by now, rather than a lowly gas-man.”

“Or I’ll divorce you.”

“You haven’t the nerve for that, either. I swear you chose anesthesiology so you don’t have to deal with conscious people.”

I glance at the bedroom clock. Shit. I’m going to be late. “We’ll talk about this later, if you’re home.”

“I won’t be,” April says and smirks.

I shower, shave, dress, and select my Cartier Santos-Dumont from my watch box. The broken Grand Seiko is bad enough, but it irks me that I have to disrupt my ritual of choosing a timepiece the night before, winding it, setting it, and positioning it on the leather valet on my side of the bed so it’s the watch’s face I see in the morning.

I choose a light gray dial Breitling Chronomat for Tuesday, place it on the valet, close my eyes, and know that despite everything—April’s affairs, the dreariness of work, and she’s right I choose anesthesiology to avoid having to talk with people as much as possible—I know I will fall asleep and sleep soundly until my alarm rings at 5:30 a.m. Being on your feet all day and tending to unconscious patients has a way of helping ensure your slumber.

At five-thirty, I put the Breitling on—it’s got a leather strap and doesn’t make a sound—and walk into the bathroom, where, a hundredth of a second after turning on the bathroom light, I scream, “Fuck you, April!”

She did it again! She fucking took the hands off a ten thousand dollar watch.

I snap the duvet off April. She’s wearing a black dress, still with a diamond necklace from Bob or Jim or whoever, and a gold bracelet from another Bob or Jim, and stockings. Her pumps lay cockeyed at the bed’s side.

“Get up, April! I want a full explanation. Why are you destroying my watches?”

“What?” Her hoarse voice sounds like rocks rubbing against each other. She probably did a lot of screaming last night.

“You removed my Breitling’s hands. That’s two watches in a row.”

She rubs her eyes and shakes her head. “What?”

“Again, you did it again.”

“I did not. Listen, Joshua, we have our problems. I cheat on you. You are emotionally distant. I like sex, you don’t—”

“I do like sex, just not with—”

“All right.” She raises her hand like a cop at an intersection. “Rewind. You say I’m taking your watches’ hands.”

“Yes.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To get back at me.”

“For what? You’re not the one sleeping around.”

“Because you think I have too many watches.”

“You do have too many watches, but if I wanted revenge I’d sell, not ruin them.”

I fold my arms across my bare chest and harrumph.

“Also, how would I take the hands off? I don’t know how to do that.”

I don’t say it, but she has a good point. First, she needs specialty tools. Second, she requires specialized watchmaking skills, which I know she doesn’t possess.

Or does she?

Later, I will check for watchmaker tools in her bureau.

“Yeah, but then what happened to the Grand Seiko and Breitling?”

“I don’t know, but it wasn’t me.”

I believe her, but I’m not sure I trust her. There’s a difference. “Can we talk more about this after work?”

April presses her lips together and says, “Sorry, I have plans. I won’t be back until after you’re asleep.”

“What else is new?”

I have a plan. It’s a bad plan because it’s going to kill me the next day, and no amount of coffee will help, but I have to stay up all night. I’ll get into bed, but I won’t sleep. If it’s April—somehow she’s acquired the ability to take hands off a watch and reseat the movement in its case—I’ll have proof. Because it has to be April.

The only other explanation is that I’m insane.

I select my Breguet Day Date 3330, a dress watch with a white, textured dial, roman numerals, and a platinum inner dial seconds hand at the six o’clock position. I love the Breguet’s minute and hour hands: anodized blue steel, pointed, with perfect circles right before the hand’s apex.

A fuzzy, tepid light from a three-quarter moon illuminates my bedroom. I stare at the watch as I lie in bed. It’s a delightful view.

At 3:43 a.m. a click from under the bed startles me. It’s not loud, certainly hushed enough so I wouldn’t have heard it had I been asleep. I focus on the sound. Mice? There’s a pitter-patter moving along the floor. Definitely mice.

Ugh.

But what do mice know about watches?

I follow the sound with my ears, noting that whatever it is is making its way up the night table’s leg to where my Breguet is.

What the hell?

I scout April’s side of the bed with my hand, running it over the cool sheet. She’s not there. It’s just me and—

I turn on the night table light and see five, no six, small people about as tall as my forefinger is long. They are wearing what looks like medieval armor. Metal clads them from toe to head, leaving only their glowing eyes exposed.

I must be asleep and in a dream.

“Who are you?” I ask in a loud whisper in my dream. “What are you doing here?”

Five of the little knights step back while the one wearing the shiniest suit of armor skips forward. He removes his helmet, shakes out his shoulder-length black hair, and says, “Good sir, we are the Knights of the Kingdom of Pyrritha in service to Queen Ravenshade. We are here on a mission of utmost urgency. Our castle is at war with the Castle Darkmoor, and we—”

The knight does not flinch when I jerk my face right to him.

This isn’t a dream. These little people are as real as me, as awake as me. And then I see it.

“Hold on a second. I point to his sheathed sword. Is that my Grand Seiko watch’s minute hand?”

The knight nods. “It is, sir. If we are to defeat Darkmoor, an evil clan led by the Troll Morava, who eats humans, we need more swords. We are low on weapons, and your timepieces’ hands are the perfect size and strength, and they are deadly sharp. We are fighting for our lives.”

I’ve never thought about that, but yes, watch hands are pointy. They would make good swords.

But…

“You’re ruining my watches. They’re expensive. I love them.”

“The lives of twenty thousand citizens of Pyrritha depend on these swords.”

“What are you? Where is Pyrritha? I don’t understand any of this.”

One of the knights in the back moves forward on my night table and removes his helmet.

Only it isn’t a him. It is a tiny woman with perfect skin, blonde hair, and coral-blue eyes. “I am Queen Ravenshade. We have traveled to your land across the bridge of vines and through the cave of songs to acquire the weapons we must have to defeat Darkmoor and Morava.” She slips off her chain metal gloves and touches my cheek. A static charge cascades through my body to my toes. “Please don’t deny us our lives and freedom.”

I squint to focus more clearly. Ravenshade is beautiful.

“We have many wounded. We need healers like you, too.”

“How did you know I’m a doctor?”

“We can take you back to Pyrritha. Despite the war, it’s a beautiful land with mirrored lakes, rainbow birds, and all manner of magic.”

“I still don’t know how you—”

I hear the front door lock unlatch. It’s 4:05 in the morning.

April.

Anger boils my blood.

“Take me with you.”

The knights and queen wrap their arms and legs around the table’s legs and slide down. They then scurry under my bed.

I step out of bed and lie on the carpet. There’s a fist-sized hole in the floor with a whirlpool of gold and red glitter inside. The knights jump, and their queen dives into the hole and disappears. I touch the swirling plasma with my pointer and index fingers—it’s warm and ferocious, like a hurricane’s wind—and hear my bones creak and feel an otherworldly bending and twisting in my muscles as my body shrinks to Pyrritha size in under a second.

I’m warm all over.

I open my eyes wide and leap into the vortex.

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If you enjoyed this story, I think you’ll also like The Dawn of Dogs.