He stands
behind his counter in the North Wells Street repair shop looking much too
large for the store itself and grotesquely out of proportion with the
springs, keys, screws and miniature tools before him.
Attached to Gustave's right eye is a microscope. It is fastened on by aid
of straps round his large head. When he works he moves the instrument over
his eye and when he rests he raises it so that it sticks out of his
eyebrow.
Gustave is a watchmaker. When he was young he made watches of curious
design. But for years he has had to content himself with repairing
watches. Incased in his old-fashioned leather apron that hangs from his
shoulders, the venerable and somewhat Gargantuan Gustave stands most of
the day peering into the tiny mechanisms of watches brought into the old
furniture shop. Gustave's partner is responsible for the furniture end of
the business. As Gustave grows older he seems to lose interest in things
that do not pertain to the delicate intricacies of watches.
* * * * *
I had a watch that was being fixed. Gustave said it would be ready in a
half-hour. He slipped the microscope over his eye and, bending in his
heavy round-shouldered way above the small watch, began to pry with his
thick fingers.
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