Chapter Five

The Appointment

t exactly nine Weyland rang the bell. Goldin knew that it was exactly nine because he had the radio on. They went to the workshop. During the rest of the day they finished the ring. They hardly spoke. Goldin found himself appreciating Weyland’s taciturn company. Someone good to have in a workshop.  

Sol called mid-morning and Goldin told him it would be ready by five. He felt confident. Whenever Weyland did anything, he seemed calmly competent but he professed ignorance at each task. “How do you do this? What’s that for?” Under instruction, he cleaned the bees in acid and painted block-out on all but the indentations in their wings. His brush-stroke was deft and steady, capable of the finest detail even with the sticky nail-polish that he used. He complained about light, then took a small bright lamp from his tool-kit and set it down next to him. Goldin watched him carefully. Tools looked right in his hands.

 The little flowers were relatively easy—inserted into holes which were simply drilled out. When the bees had been plated, Goldin set them in the drilled spaces in the band. He hammered the metal down with a small punch, then smoothed it with a burnisher, trimming any excess with a diamond burr. Weyland had polished the burnisher to a mirror slickness. He did the engraving, quickly and easily, holding the ring in a wooden clamp and using a burin which he’d spent four minutes sharpening. He didn’t look at the design, but cut the letters as though it were his handwriting:  to rolos.

At four forty that afternoon it was finished. Goldin gave it its final rub with a fresh polishing cloth. As he passed it to Weyland for a look, he said: “That’s as close as you can get to exactly what he wants.”

“What she wants, I’d say.”

“Who?”

“Urania. My grand-niece... or is she an aunt? She designed the ring, after all. Or did I? No, I’m sure she did. Certainly not Sol. He’s just her secretary. Oh, she fooled you, did she? She’s much older and smarter than she looks. Almost an adult. Sol’s her secretary. She likes to call him Uncle. It’s her joke.”

“Her parents?”

Weyland shook his head. “They passed away some time back.”

 “And who looks after her?”

“She lives with Sol and one or two others. They’re very wealthy.”

“The coming of age—how old will she be?”

“How old do you think?”

“Thirteen? Bat Mitzvah age. She looks young, though.”

“Oh no. She’s even older than that.” He laughed. She duped you, didn’t she?”

Goldin shrugged, put his head to one side. “This coming of age...what is it? Like a Bat Mitzvah?”

“Yes, well... a bit. It’s a ceremony we have.”

“Catholic?”

“No.”

“You know, when she spoke, it was as if I heard it inside my head and outside at the same time, if you know what I mean.”

“Hadn’t you better call Sol?” He gestured to the ring.

“Oh, yes.” He dialed the number. Tartarus answered. “Hello Mr. Tartarus. It’s ready. The ring. Fine. Yes, see you then.” He hung up. “Sol will be here in fifteen minutes.” They made coffee and waited.

Sol was wearing a grey shantung suit and beige and brown brogues. Urania was dressed in a black track-suit and running shoes. She looked very young. As Goldin followed her down the passage, he noticed how long and curly her hair was, below her shoulder-blades.

In the workshop, the angel said: “Weyland! You shifty shirker, I see you’ve been helping Mr. Goldin. How did it go?”

Weyland smiled darkly but remained taciturn. The girl said “Good morning Uncle Weyland,” and grinned, showing rounded teeth like little white shells.

Goldin gave the ring box to Tartarus. He opened it. His thin moustache crinkled towards a smile. He slipped it onto his little finger, opened and closed his hand, held it out in front of him. “Perfect. Thank you. This is exactly what we had in mind.”

The girl said “Let me see, let me see,” and pulled his arm towards her. She looked at the ring on the angel’s hand without touching it. Goldin said: “Well, aren’t you going to try it on?” and she pulled away, saying “No, not until later.”

Goldin bent down until his face was level with hers. “Urania, I am very interested to see how the ring will be used. It has taken me so many hours and I’ve thought about it so much. May I attend your coming of age ceremony?” he asked.

The angel interrupted: “No. I’m afraid it’s a closed event. Unfortunately.”

She looked from him to Goldin and said “I’d like you to come. The ring is lovely, just like I imagined it.” She held out her hand to him.

He took it and said “I’d love to. Thank you.” Her eyes were big and earnest.

She turned to Sol. “You will fetch him, won’t you Uncle Sol?” Tartarus bent to whisper in her ear. Goldin couldn’t hear what he said, but when she stamped her foot and said “I don’t care!" in a raised voice, the sound seemed to enter him from all around. He was surprised that the tools didn’t come crashing from their shelves, that everything remained in place.

Tartarus straightened and said: “All right, honeybunch. It’s your event. You deal with it,” and she answered, “I will.”

After the angel and the girl had left, Weyland said, “I must also go,” and snapped his tool-kit closed. Goldin asked: “Will I see you again?” and he said “Oh, yes. Tomorrow at eleven.”