I lost my watch in Berlin.

It was a nice watch

aesthetically, very pleasing

If you liked a vintage look.

Gold, with a green leather strap.

Not the original strap, of course

long worn away.

I’d been through a few myself, in fact

so I knew they didn’t last.

 

It was a Swiss watch-

they’re good at watches, you see.

A nice watch, sure,

but not an investment piece

well

not really.

Expensive, if you were a Swatch or a Casio or a Seiko kinda guy,

but not at all if you were a Patek Phillippe or a Vacheron or a

well,

I can’t really think of the others

which is perhaps a hint at the kinda watch guy

I am.

I reported it to the police,

at their station near the Kreuzberg junction

which incidentally

is just up the road from where it happened.

Sunday morning and I just buzzed at the door.

A German voice

came through the intercom.

Nein, ich spreche kleine Deutsche (sic)

German again

I imagined he said

“fuck off this is Berlin

so get to speaking German”

I pushed the door,

which didn’t move

and so I walked away.

 

Unsatisfied,

or regaining my courage

I called the station.

It was him again,

with strained foreign words.

Turns out it was a pull-outwards door

not a push-inwards door

and he was very nice

but

just couldn’t speak English.

 

So I waited,

and another officer came to take my statement.

He asked me what it was worth.

I gave an estimate

and he repeated the number,

a bit surprised.

Maybe half his salary,

for a month.

So as things go,

expensive

but as watches go,

really not a lot.

But it wasn’t about the money.

He asked if I had a picture,

which incidentally I did,

and whether it had any distinctive markings.

It is engraved on the back, I said,

around the sphere

at whose centre is a golden image of an observatory,

and some starts.

At the bottom

it has 29-08-1968

and above it,

on the opposite side of the sphere,

curving to a different aspect,

is a name.

It has a calligraphic “D”,

at least I think that’s what you’d call it,

and quite broad letters

I said.

Your father?

Yes

I said,

that was my father,

His birthday?

Yes,

I said

That was his twenty first birthday,

in fact

but he is gone now,

and so too was his watch

so there was no more to say about that.

And now, perhaps,

it was on the wrist of a Columbian man,

at least that’s what he said:

with a wide smile and a firm handshake

and an earnest “welcome to Berlin!”

As he vigorously shook my hand

and wouldn’t let go

and writhed in a strange way.

Like a serpent, as green as it’s strap.

We parted and I smiled

and stumbled on home

to bed.

 

When I woke up

it was gone.

And it struck me that perhaps he wasn’t

a friendly Colombian man

but a robber,

or a pick pocket,

or a watch thief,

or whatever.

And it probably wasn’t on his arm,

but in some pawn shop

and he’d moved on

to another fix.

 

The watch was never coming back.

And telling the police

would mean nothing

but I wanted to tell someone,

to have done all I could

so that I felt

I’d done enough.

I wanted to tell you about it,

but now you were gone too

and I’d done that

so thought I shouldn’t,

or couldn’t,

and so I didn’t.

 

And it was just a thing.

A special thing.

But a thing.

And now it was gone,

and I had one less thing,

and so I was one step closer

to freedom.