“Oh,” she said, stifling a yawn, “we don’t do… repairs.” The last word was delivered with undisguised malice. Above her head was the company logo on which the firm’s watchwords were boldly proclaimed: ‘ INTEGRITY, QUALITY, CARING ‘.
“You need to update your sloganeering,” he told her.
“How so?”
“I suggest ‘COMPLACENCY, CONDESCENSION and PRETENSION.’ It’s more appropriate.”
The woman’s arrogance might have induced a rise in his blood pressure as he drove away. He pulled over to the shoulder and stopped the car. A glance in the mirror reassured him. His heartbeat seemed normal. In the silence of the pause, as he rested his head against his arm on the open window, he heard the imperturbable tick-ticking of the watch that had been his faithful companion for so many years, asking nothing of him in return. He continued on his way home.
“And what happened to Tissy after that, Grandad? Was he OK?” The little one’s face was round-eyed with anxiety.
“Yes, Missy, he was fine. But not long after that Mr. James gave him a long rest, in the comfortable box he came in, after all the adventures he and Mr. James had shared together.”
“Like the time you forgot to take him off, and he went for a swim in the pool?”
“Yes, you remember that story well, don’t you?”
“Uh-huh, and the one when he was running too slow, and you had to take him to the watch clinic, and nearly missed your exam!”
“That too. That was a long, long time ago now. But we’ll save the others for another night. It’s time for bed now.”
“How old is Tissy now, Grandad?”
“Well, he came in his box many years ago, when I was a little boy myself.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Almost a hundred years ago!”
“No!” Melissa’s credulity had reached its limit. Grandad scratched his head, put his arm to his ear, and whispered, “He says he is sixty-one now.”
Melissa considered this with a furrowed brow. “Can I see the box he sleeps in?”
“Tomorrow, Missy. It’s time to say good night now.”
“Tissy is like the Velveteen Rabbit*. He is old but he is loved… Like you, Grandad.”
James smiled. “Yes. Just like the Velveteen Rabbit*. And your mum’s ring. Quality lasts forever.”
“Will Tissy live forever, too?”
“In our memory, even longer, dear.”
“Night, Grandad.” James tiptoed out of the room.
All the while Tissy continued tick-ticking as he always had, through graduations and weddings, through worries and uncertainty, in sickness and health, through trial and temptation, fair weather and foul. Even in an age of impermanence, of turbulence and turmoil, dissolving relationships, rising oceans of floating discarded plastic garbage, of heedless waste and unfettered consumerism, all the detritus of the era of disposables that ours has become, the love of Quality remains its own reward for those of us discriminating enough to perceive it.
* The Velveteen Rabbit is a classic children’s story, in which a stuffed toy rabbit becomes real. It was written by Margery Williams one hundred years ago, in 1922.
