The Thirteenth Bell

Dalia is always in a hurry. She works at a flower shop in the morning. In the afternoon, she delivers parcels by bike. In the evening, she cleans an office. She eats lunch on her bike. She sleeps for six hours.

Today is Tuesday. It is three o'clock. Dalia is on the main street. She has four parcels in her basket. The big clock tower in the square starts to ring. Dalia counts the bells without thinking. One, two, three.

She counts to twelve. Then she hears one more. "Thirteen?" she says. She stops her bike and looks up at the tower. The old clock face shines in the sun. Nothing looks strange. But the thirteenth bell is still in the air.

A man stands at the foot of the tower. It is Goran, the clock keeper. He is old, and he wears a blue work coat. He looks at Dalia and smiles. "You heard it," he says. "The clock is wrong," Dalia says.

"The clock is never wrong. It only rings thirteen on one day every few years. The old people in town have a rule. You hear the thirteenth bell? Stop everything for one hour."

Dalia laughs. "I cannot stop. I have four parcels."

"Everyone says that," Goran says.

"Then they try to go on."

"I will go on," Dalia says. She waves at him and pushes her bike away.

On the first street, many cars block the road. A truck stands in the middle. Dalia waits. Five minutes pass. She takes another street. A small boy and his grandmother cross it, very slowly. Dalia waits again. Then she turns to the park. A duck walks across the path in front of her. It stops and looks at her bike.

"Please, go," Dalia says. The duck sits down.

Dalia groans. She tries a fourth way. At the corner, the traffic light turns red. It stays red for a very long time. She looks at her watch. It is ten past three. She loses ten minutes. She still has all four parcels. "This is silly," she says.

She leans her bike against a wall. Next to her, there is a bench under a tree. The sun makes the wood warm. On the bench lies a pear, round and yellow. Nobody is near. A card is tied to the stem. It says, "For whoever needs it."

Dalia reads the card twice. Then she looks at the clock tower far away. Goran is a small blue dot at its foot. He lifts one hand.

She sits down. She takes the pear and eats it slowly. It is sweet, and juice runs down her fingers. For the first time in months, she hears birds. A soft wind moves the leaves above her. Her legs feel heavy. Her back relaxes against the bench.

She does not think about parcels. She does not think about the office. She watches the clouds. One looks like a fish. One looks like a boat. After an hour, the church clock rings four. Dalia stands up. Her head feels light and quiet. She looks at the light, and it turns green.

She rides to the first address. The woman at the door says, "You are early!" The next customer is not at home. She leaves the parcel next door. The third is a short ride. The fourth is next door to the third. In forty minutes, all four parcels are delivered.

On her way home, Dalia passes the clock tower. Goran closes the door. He looks at her and does not ask anything. "It was a good pear," she says.

"I know," says Goran.

"I put it there."