Fascist

The clock went for about a hundred years, then I was born, my dad bought these clocks and hanged them on the wall so that they would continue to go already at our house. Ordinary such an old clock with battle, the proud inscription "PAVEL BURE" on the plate.
But suddenly, as always unexpectedly, the clock stopped and the house immediately became empty and anxious without their whistling, whistling and ringing. The room was filled with cotton silence, which occurs immediately after the silent explosion.
I, in general, had never lived without Paul Burre and it was as if my nipple had been removed from me. I wanted to start, but the pioneers didn’t cry. My dad and I removed the dead clocks from the wall and, of course, carried them to the Fascist in a tank. To whom else?
A Fascist is a cute, white-brushed uncle, a watchmaker from a cabin across the road. As soon as someone needed a key to the big, or a clever advice on the technical part, everyone immediately ran into the tank to the Fascist. It was we children who called him a Fascist, first because he was a child, secondly because he was an ethnic German, and thirdly because he wrapped his bucket with grey metal sheets. And, of course, he was not a fascist, but exactly the opposite, he was a simple, Soviet, crumbling war veteran with order planks on his jacket. (Al, at that time, almost every man under fifty and older was a frontman. It was a wonderful time.)
In his eyes, of course, we called him Uncle Robert.
Most of all, Uncle Robert loved watches, just fanatically loved them. He repaired them in German qualitatively, thoughtfully, with a half-smile and always on time. Now I am simply convinced that the Fascist was sitting in his “tank” not for the sake of money, but in order to solve another puzzle. If only one piece of the clock had been brought to him, the Fascist uncle would have looked at her through the lump and would have said with a breathtaking breath, “There is very much missing here, but I will try.” Come on Thursday, don’t worry, I’ll repair your walks.
And behold, the Fascist looked at our dead clocks, leaned to them with his ear, moved the factory key, blinked at us with a huge eye through the lobe and said strictly:

Obviously, the spring has been crossed. I crashed.

My dad and I were ashamed.

Uncle Fascist placed Paul Boure on a feather shelf, covered it with a special flanel cloth and went on more peacefully:

Come back tomorrow afternoon, I will. Three rubles will cost, money after repair.
Thank you Uncle Robert. to Goodbye.

The next day after lunch we returned to the Fascist in the tank and a very upset uncle Robert said:

- Here, this is what the matter is, everything is not as easy as I wanted. I replaced the plug, the mechanism works, of course, but not exactly as it should. It turns out, some, in the covers, the master, well buried in your clocks, his hands would be cut off. It was probably fifty years ago, even under Lenin. In short, I have to go somewhere in the days and, if I'm lucky, I'll find the right spare parts there, otherwise not. It is good yet that you came to me, the other would not even understand what is there for what, ticking and fine.
Come in a month, not sooner. I hope I get the necessary details. Don’t worry, the price will not change.

What we have left? We said – thank you, Uncle Fa-a-e-Robert. to Goodbye.

A month later the clock was really ready and the joyful Fascist announced:

Oh shit, I did it. I did not expect to have to look for your detail so hard. But I found it, just from such a mechanism. As for the springs, you need to start the clock once every two weeks at the same time and count the half-turns. It should be sixteen, or rather fifteen, then it will serve another two hundred years. Take it. You will get rid of it when you hang it on the wall.
You have 3 rubles.
If I wonder, I will tell you what was there. Your mechanism is a German, of the year of 1878 edition, a rare mechanism, and some unworked master, something from there pulled out to inject this little detail instead, it clings behind such, as would you explain, stickers, like scratches, with such hooks and they in turn... now I will draw you in detail.
So, this detail, which he inspired, will only be invented in 1907, so it should not be on your clock in any case. This is not useful - it is self-activity. This thing was invented to make the clock run more accurate. Did your clock run plus or minus half a minute a day? So is?
Well, it might even be more precise.
Well, here, and such accuracy for your mechanism can not be. But I found the original part, I returned everything back and your Pavel Bure will go exactly as it was created in the factory - it's a plus-minus two minutes a day. I put the wrong piece in your paper. Do not forget her.

We paid off with the Fascist, thanked from the heart, carefully covered the door in the tank and went home, not knowing whether to cry for us or whisper.
Since then, forty-five years have passed, the clock has changed many walls, cities and even countries, but the owners have so far remained largely the same. The clock, as it was in 1878, is not concerned about the accuracy of time. All the same unpredictably walk for one and a half minutes a day, but the main thing - they go and turn everything around into their home with their museum bell.

P.S

Today I will remember my old people who survived the war, and not only mine. I will not forget to knock through the clock glass with the Fascist. Although time has not existed for him for a long time, but let him always have the necessary details at hand.

9 May 2021