The Man Who Couldn’t Mend Himself

 

The Man Who Couldn’t Mend Himself

          A short story entered in the annual HG Wells Short Story Competition

 

Old Josef Kubitt lived next door, over his shop. He had always kept odd hours, so I wasn’t surprised to see his shop lights on in the evening as I came home from my legal practice. People would bring things for him to repair, and he would spend hours fixing them, making them look just right.

The shop was rather dowdy, shelves ranged with boxes of items awaiting repair, brown, curling labels identifying each client. A big workstation at the back was well lit, but the corners were dim and dusty.

He used to mend clocks a long time back, teasing them back to a tick tock regularity after people had overstretched the mainsprings, or making them chime sweetly again. People tend not to have mechanical clocks anymore, though, so he moved onto other things, repairing toys and heirlooms. He had a way of gluing porcelain back together that was nearly miraculous.

My mother had worked in a pottery factory in Stoke-on-Trent, and she had collected lots of bone china figurines that she kept in a china cabinet. By the times she was in her eighties, she was frail and starting to suffer from dementia. She lived in sheltered housing and used a three-wheeled stroller to move around her flat. One thing that she had not lost was her streak of pure stubbornness. If she couldn’t get through with that stroller, she would just keep on pushing till the obstacle gave way.

One day, when I went round to see her, I saw that several figurines were on their sides in the cabinet. The little Doulton figure of a girl holding her teddy, that she had always said was me, was lying there in pieces. We were both in tears. Of course, she couldn’t remember how it had happened. Had she crashed into her china cabinet? We would never know. I told her that Josef would mend it for her.

My heart was in my mouth when I went round to Josef’s. That little figurine meant so much to us. For me it was as if it stood for all the aspects of my mother that were dwindling away. I had managed to collect all the pieces, but I doubted it would be the same.

“I can feel all the memories in this little girl,” he said. “She has been much loved for a very long time.”

  Somehow, I ended up telling him all about my mother and how afraid I was of her developing dementia.

When I went back the next day, he gave me my figurine, so perfectly glued together I couldn’t tell where it had been broken.

He also recommended a company that provided carers and suggested that they could help for a while. He had listened so sympathetically that I felt a little bit mended as well.

When I next passed his shop, there was a group of boys outside, steaming up the window, with little round dots where each boy’s nose had been pressed against the glass.

“Is it working, is he putting it back together?” said one.

 “Ssh, said another, I recognised as Danny Jenkins from down the road. “Don’t speak too loud, you’ll distract him. He hasn’t got the head back on yet.”

I stuck my head round the door, grinning, “Has restoration become a spectator sport?”

Josef was gluing a big pottery bulldog statue back together. It was like a three-dimensional jigsaw, being built back up. The head was in pieces on his desk, the brown glaze contrasting sharply with the white of the edges.  

“They seem quite keen on this being repaired as soon as possible,” he smiled. “Mrs Jenkins brought it in earlier. I think a football was involved. I understand the restoration of their pocket money depends on my putting this back together,” he said, patting the bulldog on its back.

On Saturday as I passed, he was talking to a group of boys outside his shop. He was looking at what looked like a Transformer Voyager toy and trying to understand it. They were showing him how it converted from a robot into a truck, and what it would not do any more.

“All right, he said. I will look at this, but I may have to order some parts. Why don’t you ask your mother to come and see me?”

“Stupid old man!” one of them shouted and pulled the toy back out of his hands.  The kids ran off.

“I could have fixed that,” he said, rubbing his hand, looking after them.

“It probably wasn’t theirs,” I said. “They are collectable, I think. They probably wanted to fix it and sell it. No-one would have paid for the parts.”

He shook his head, looking sorry for the boys. I recognised Danny Jenkins, who seemed almost as if he would stay, but then he looked round at the others and ran after them.

 

 

As time passed, people became more environmentally conscious, and Josef’s business picked up. People were less inclined to throw things away and buy again. Television shows featured skilled craftsmen and women repairing treasured heirlooms. I told all my friends and colleagues that there was such an expert right next door to me.

Josef’s shop had people in it every time I passed. He looked more and more harassed. I suspected that the joy of his trade was as much having the time to chat with people as in repairing things for them. I suggested he advertise for an assistant.

The next time I saw him, he was showing a young man around his shop. I recognised him as an older Danny Jenkins.

Josef told me, “I have set up a system. Danny logs in the items and gives a receipt. I examine them, to have an idea of how long a repair will take and give an estimate. When the people come back, he checks out the piece and takes payment. At least this way, he has a job and I get time to do the repairs.” He seemed happier, and the shop looked smarter, brighter, lit by Danny’s grin.

I heard lots of stories of Josef in the months that followed, of amazing and immaculate repairs of treasured possessions.  The new arrangement seemed to be working well.

One night, I saw his lights on particularly late, so I knocked, and he let me in. The shop was a mess, the boxes where Josef had carefully stored all his repair commissions upturned, with pieces mixed up and crushed on the floor.

“A break-in,” he said sorrowfully. I don’t know how I am going to sort all this out.”

“Has much been taken? Have you called the police?”

“Yes, they said not to touch anything. They will be here in the morning. I think they have taken some jewellery that I was due to repair. Those poor people, they entrusted it to me. I did not understand at first how the robbers knew it was here.”

“How did they get in?”

“They jemmied the side window. I have managed to secure it, at least, for tonight, but it is devastating.”

“Come and sit down, I’ll make you some tea.”

“Thanks, I do need to sit down. It is crazy how distressing this feels. At least, they couldn’t get into the back room.”

He took me into the back. I made the tea, put a good teaspoon of sugar into it, and sat him down. I was amazed to see, on a sideboard a stunning model of a small town. It was full of half-timbered little houses, their upper floors leaning towards each other as if they were sharing secrets. The decoration was beautifully detailed, even down to shop signs, done in a Germanic-looking Gothic script. The town leaned over a river below, as if it were looking for fish.

“Is this something you’re repairing for someone?” I asked, wonderingly. “It’s so beautiful.”

 “No, I made it, it is where I come from. It is Minkastel on the river Mosel.” He smiled, wistful. “Look, that is my mother and I.” He pointed and I could see, at the edge of town, two tiny figures running away.

“We escaped just in time, before the Nazis rounded up the Jews. Most of my family were lost, in Dachau, in Buchenwald, in Auschwitz.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, stroking his arm. “It’s terrible, I never realised. You spend your whole life helping people, putting them back together.”

“Yes, I am afraid there are some breakages that can never be completely fixed.” He turned to me. “We are who we have to be. That little boy stays inside.” He tapped his heart. “Now I must think how to save young Danny.”

“You think he did it?”

“No, on reflection, I  think he tipped off that gang of friends he has that there were valuables in the shop. You are a good friend. Could you help me please? We must work out what to do.”

“If you tell the police you don’t know, then you’ll not get the jewellery back,” I mused. “If you give them your suggestions about the gang, they will probably give the police Danny’s name as well. You could post a reward, but then that just encourages the little blighters. How about this….”

I dashed home and changed back into my work clothes, the formal suits I wear to see clients. Josef phoned Danny and persuaded him to come back to the shop. I sat, looking intimidating, at Josef’s table.

“Danny, is it? Good evening. Thanks for coming. I am going to ask for your help.” He bridled, but I held up my hand. “Please let me finish. I am a lawyer, representing a significant local client.” Josef breathed in sharply, looking scared.

“You mean…?”

“Yes, they are not to be trifled with.”

“And now some jewellery they brought here has been stolen.”

“But it said Mrs Jones on the ticket, I signed it in myself,” protested Danny.

I raised my eyebrows. Did he realise what he had just admitted?

“My clients like to maintain their privacy. What they do not like is having their possessions stolen or their friends’ property attacked. They do not tolerate that at all well.” I put as much menace as I could into my tone. “Now I don’t believe that you undertook this burglary, but I don’t believe either that it was a coincidence that your friends heard about what was here.”

“You could be of great help in restoring our property. On the other hand, you and your friends could deny all involvement. The police will undertake their investigations, but my clients are unlikely to wait for that. Their interest could be quite detrimental. Do you understand me?”

“Er, yes,” said Danny. “If I let it be known that the jewellery should be brung back immediately…”   

“If it is returned, if Mr Kubitt’s shop is cleaned up, and it is understood that he is protected from anything further, then giving your names to the police will be unnecessary.”

Josef nodded. Danny could not get out of the shop fast enough. I sat back and looked at Josef.

“Was I convincing?”

He grinned. “Terrifying.”

Danny was back almost immediately.

“They said it’d be better if I brought the things back for them,” he said, handing a bag to Josef, who pulled out the gold chains and pearls. A little enamelled box was there too.

Josef raised his eyebrows but made no other comment.

“It is all there,” he said to me. “I will repair it as a priority and will let you know. There will be no charge. Danny will help me clear everything up. You will need to put every fragment and shard into separate envelopes, so we can sort it out.”

Danny sighed but nodded, looking at me, still scared.

“Thank you for your assistance Danny,” I said. “My clients have asked me to let you and your friends know that you are under their surveillance.  Do not take one step out of line.”

He gulped and nodded again.

“Now go home, and be back early tomorrow morning,” said Josef, severely, “We have lots to do.” Danny scuttled out of the shop.

I held onto my severe expression, as we took the jewellery into the back room, and then collapsed onto a chair, laughing.

“Oh, I didn’t think I could keep a straight face much longer,” I groaned.

Josef laughed as well, but he held my hand between both of his.

“You were magnificent, my dear.” He handed me a glass.

“My very special Slivovitz,” he said, raising his glass. “to your very scary lawyer mask, my dear”.

“Yes, not bad for someone who spends most of her days conveyancing,” I grinned.

 

 

Word Count: 2,132