(Slamming a small screwdriver onto the bench)Repetition is precision! You think your "art" is better because it’s messy? This watch belonged to a man who crossed the Atlantic. It kept his pulse when everything else was sinking.
(Without looking up)You’re breathing too loud, Clara. It throws off the balance.
I’m leaving tomorrow. For the residency in Berlin. I came to say goodbye.
The stage is filled with the rhythmic, polyphonic ticking of dozens of clocks. ELIAS sits at a workbench, a jeweler’s loupe pressed to his eye. He is working on a delicate gold pocket watch. CLARA stands by the door, holding a messenger bag.
[ELIAS freezes. He slowly removes the loupe and looks at the pocket watch, not her.] Berlin. They have clocks there, I suppose.
[CLARA walks to a large grandfather clock in the corner. It is silent.]
And now it’s in a box. In a shop. In a town where nothing happens.