The Tick in the Book Box

Dalia sold old books at the Sunday street market. Her stall was small. It had three tables and a green umbrella. Her neighbor Imran sold apples at the next stall.

One morning, a man left a box at her stall. He did not give his name. He said, "Please take these. I do not need them." Then he went away.

Dalia put the box under her table. She opened the first one and read the covers. Most books were about gardens and cooking. They were nice, but nothing special. At ten o'clock, the market was busy. Dalia sold two books. Then she heard a sound. Tick, tick, tick.

She stopped. "Imran," she said.

"Do you hear that?" Imran put down an apple.

"Hear what?"

"A clock. Under my table." Imran listened.

"I hear people and cars and a baby. I do not hear a clock."

Dalia felt silly. She went back to work. But after a few minutes, the sound came again. Tick, tick, tick. This time it was louder. "It is the box," she said.

Imran came over. He knelt down and put his ear on the books. His eyes grew big. "You are right," he said.

"Something ticks in there."

"A bomb?" Dalia whispered. She laughed at once.

"No. That is silly."

"It is silly," Imran agreed.

"But let us not open it near the apples."

They carried the box behind the stall. Dalia took out the books one by one. Cooking, gardens, a book about birds, a book about boats. The sound got louder with each book. At the bottom, there was a thick red book. Tick, tick, tick. "This one," Dalia said.

She opened it. The pages were thick and soft. In the middle, someone cut a small hole. Inside the hole lay a tiny gold watch. It was no bigger than a coin. The long hand moved slowly around its little face.

"A watch!" Imran said.

"Why does it tick?" Dalia asked.

"It is very old."

"Maybe somebody winds it every day."

Dalia looked at the watch for a long time. On the back, there was a line of tiny words. She read them slowly. "For Mina. Every minute is yours."

"Who is Mina?" Imran asked.

"I do not know. But someone loved her very much."

At noon, the market was almost empty. Dalia sat at her table with the watch. She did not want to sell it. She did not want to keep it either.

"The man left the box this morning," she said.

"He did not know the watch was inside. Maybe he forgot it."

"Then he will come back," Imran said.

"Maybe."

They waited. At one o'clock, an old woman walked along the street. She looked at every stall and then she saw Dalia. She stopped. Her mouth opened. "Oh," she said.

"Is the red book here?"

"Yes," Dalia said.

"Are you Mina?"

The woman nodded. Her eyes were wet. "My son gave away my books by mistake. I looked at six stalls today. The watch was my husband's present, many years ago. I hide it in a book so it is safe. Every night, I wind it, and I listen to it."

Dalia stood up. She held out the watch. Mina took it with both hands. She held it near her ear. She closed her eyes. Then Dalia took the red book from the table. She put it in Mina's bag. Imran gave the old woman his reddest apple.