to a luminous and old-fashioned moon-cat

A thin lane separated Mr. Kalinsky's apartment from the clock tower where he worked. It was on this very lane that he first met Ms. Lilette. He'd learned that her family was also from the countryside, and they picked up snippets like this about one another until a small picture emerged. Their paths crossed once again early one morning, on her way to the corner market and elementary school where she taught. Ms. Lilette asked if Mr. Kalinsky would be interested in showing the children the inner workings of the tower. She was secretly thrilled at the prospect of finally seeing inside, and was looking for something new for the students, who she felt were growing restless with the repetition of days. He obliged, and it was set for a Thursday morning: a line of children swayed like a family of ducks along the hedges of the main road, around the corner market, until they reached the concrete steps of the church. Waiting for Mr. Kalinsky to arrive, Ms. Lilette tore pieces of bread for the children from the baguette that she had picked up at the market. It was early autumn, and parts of the branches were bare in a way that they could be mistaken for spring buds about to bloom.

That morning, the familiar shadow fell from the spire onto Mr. Kalinsky’s apartment like a sundial’s stripe. Mr. Kalinsky greeted them at the red wooden doors of the church. The huge doors opened more easily than Ms. Lilette imagined, and everyone stepped into the dimly lit building. The linoleum floor reflected fuzzy sunlit rectangles from the windows, with darkened hallways and doors all around, leading this way and that within the church – towards sunny balconies and parapets, as well as the down into the cavernous basement with its own set of doors and passageways. Mr. Kalinsky opened a putty-colored door and the children gathered onto a landing that echoed like a well. Ms. Lilette reminded them about their voices, and they all ascended the stairs together. Sunlight filled the top of the landing from a small window and made the children's colorful clothing vibrant. Mr. Kalinsky opened the door and the students and Ms. Lilette filed in.

After her eyes adjusted, the room wasn’t quite what Ms. Lilette had pictured. She imagined almost a second apartment for Mr. Kalinsky. After all, it was such a commitment to commandeer such an important timepiece. She had envisioned a thick oriental carpet with an end table, and even a small bed under lamplight. She pictured a desk, as in a study, and a globe on a pedestal. Could he see the constellations through skylights at night?, she had wondered.

The presence of the children and Ms. Lilette enchanted Mr. Kalinsky and the objects in the mechanical room felt like they were dusted with a sweetness. In front of the class, he wound the crank more deliberately, feeling his energy making the wheels and pinions turn. The gear’s teeth felt prominent, making a satisfying connection. The children were mesmerised by the flow of the machinery and the pendulum knocking back and forth within the stillness of the room, whose click seemed to disappear if one stopped focusing on it. He had always enjoyed the crescent window around the clock face where he could see church grounds below him, the iridescent crow that perched on a ledge beneath him, and the expanse of town stretching towards berry colored mountains. On this particular day, light entered the space so charmingly, with an almost preciousness that felt as though his room were a living diorama.

He demonstrated his trade to the watchful students, setting one clock face, then rushing over to the other side of the room to set another. This inevitably would lead to the long minute hand of each face, under careful inspection, to display a slightly different position on each dial, though he would insist that they were all precisely in sync.

Mr. Kalinsky was a devoted craftsman, but not a natural teacher, and intricately explained that weight had to be added in the winter to keep the clock accurate. Ms. Lilette knew this would be too complicated to explain to the children because she didn’t quite understand herself.

        Mr. Kalinsky thought to himself that he would like to bring a lamp up here and perhaps make it a bit cozier, less industrial. He smiled warmly at Ms. Lilette.

“Thank you very much for showing us your discovery, Mr. Kalinsky,” she said, satisfied that they’d seen enough, but mostly because she sensed the children becoming unquiet, their fidgety hands and shoes began to move, some of which were pointing towards the exit. “Would you join us for another discovery?” Mr. Kalinsky held the door open and they descended the stairwell until they were all in a grassy area in front of the church.

“Alright, class, Mr. Kalinsky has kindly shown us his clock room. This week, it’s Agata’s turn to share her discovery.” A girl with straight, shoulder-length hair struggled with and unzipped her backpack, and produced a glass spice container, handing it to Ms. Lilette — and another, and another until there were three containers, cinnamon, black pepper, and a jar of dill that Mr. Kalinsky offered to hold. The child gestured for Ms. Lilette to lift the spice to her nose, and without missing a beat the teacher announced, “Alright, class! We’re going to use one of our senses and smell these spices!" She unscrewed the top of the pepper and demonstrated how to waft the top of the jar with the lid. Her face contorted as if she was going to sneeze. “I want to try! I want to try!” the children implored melodiously, even though they likely had each of the spices at home. When she collected herself, she said “Okay, let’s start with the cinnamon!” “Let’s count to three and pass it on. What does it remind you of?” She passed the container of cinnamon to the student next to her and led the count, with the children joining in together. The student closed her eyes just like Ms. Lilette and smiled. “It smells kind of sweet.” “Good!” “Does it remind you of anything?” “Grandma’s house”, the little girl said. The container moved along, warming each person who smelled it, until even Mr. Kalinsky got to try, wafting some cinnamon with the cap. The aroma transported him to a richly wood-paneled world, that of his Great Aunt’s house and her Christmas pierniczki that she wrapped and tied with a golden bow — but he could not bring himself to share this with Ms. Lilette.

The dill smelled like a garden, grass, a tree, and other things fresh. One child said that it smelled green and the children laughed. When they got to the pepper, Ms. Lilette changed it to a count of one. Every student still scrunched up their face like Ms. Lilette had, except Agata who thought it smelled normal.

A sudden breeze sent wisps of Agata’s black hair flying. It also glanced off each of the still-open spice containers, not enough for a person to detect but it was now present in the air somewhere.

Someone asked if the sky could smell. “Do you mean if it has a sense of smell as we do?” The student nodded. “That’s a great question. It doesn’t in the same way we do, but there are very small things living in the air that we can’t see. They might get a whiff of the cinnamon and react in some way."

A girl asked if Ms. Lilette had a discovery. She often had some natural wonder: an assortment of hand-selected shells that shifted inside the box as they were passed along, some branches that were all white that they would arrange together, icicles that they'd hold up in front of an eye and squint through to make a winter wonderland. Today, she didn’t have anything prepared. “Ah!” Mr. Kalinski said, sensing a lull in the moment as he walked over to the ground’s clothesline and unpinned a peach-colored sheet. He handed Ms. Lilette two ends and stepped back to form a narrow cotton roof. A breeze caught it like a sail and it swelled in the center. One of the children ran under. A second followed, laughing, and another, until there was a continuous flow of children, round and round giggling, their shadows streaming underneath. When the sheet dipped in the wind, Mr. Kalinsky and Ms. Lilette’s eyes met like old friends. When the pace hinted that it was becoming too wild and unruly, Ms. Lilette let go of her end and the scene faded, although some of the children were still energized, jumping towards a branch just out of reach.

Ms. Lilette looked towards the clock tower, shielding her eyes to see it better. The day had come to an end. Ms. Lilette tore a piece from the baguette. She bent her knees and dipped her arm down low, and dramatically thrust her hand upwards, releasing the bread high into the blue yonder. Mr. Kalinsky’s class ring sparkled in the sun.

Flapping its wings across space at an alarming rate, the bread was snatched from the sky in one motion by the tower crow that flew off with it, becoming a pinpoint on the horizon.