Because Of Mistakes! pt 10

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

At about 2:31 PM the next day, Friday, Latham, walking across the bridge toward Westminster, was able to determine that the large policeman shambling toward him was, in fact, Inspector Raymond. He hadn't seen Raymond since the incident at Waterloo station. Not very many paces later, Latham began to suspect that the large-linked watch chain protruding from Raymond's waistcoat pocket was platinum; when they were within twenty paces of each other he was sure it was. Then they were face to face, and stopped and stood there, neither one saying Hello or anything else for the nonce. Finally Latham said, "That's an extraordinary watch-chain, Inspector. D'ya have a rich aunt die on you lately?" The two of them weren't in the habit of laying hands upon one another, but Latham unceremoniously pulled the watch from Raymond's pocket, a Waltham 1883, yes, it was the very same watch Charlie had described to him, the same in every detail down to the unusual, deep scratch next to the stem. Latham unfastened the chain from Raymond's vest, looked around to make sure no other pedestrians were near them on the bridge, and tossed the watch and chain into the Thames. "Don't worry," he told Raymond, "I'll get you a new one, you know I will, you just have to ask. You like that sort of heavy chain, no problem. I'll give you a beautiful heavy platinum watch to match it."

They just stood there for a while, neither one knowing what to say. Finally Latham asked Raymond, "So, what are you up to?"

Raymond shrugged several times before he spoke: "To tell you the truth, I'm wandering around aimlessly."

"You look terrible. Pardon my saying so, I say it out of concern."

"I know. I know you do. I know I do."

Latham looked around again to be sure that they were out of anyone's hearing, and asked, "How long were you wearing that watch and chain?"

"A week, a day and a few hours."

"Good."

"Good?"

"It's clear that you're very upset about something. And that's bad. What I meant is that it's good that, apparently at least, you're not so upset that you've lost all sense of time. Good Lord, has it been a week since you've changed your clothes? Never mind, answer me this instead: have you got fresh clothes at home?"

Raymond nodded: "Yup."

"Right." Latham whistled loudly, an empty hansom cab stopped, Latham herded Raymond into. "Oh," he said, "I don't know your address." Raymond gave the driver his address in Lambeth. They were silent for the several minutes it took the cab to get there. Once Latham got Raymond into a hot bath in his flat, he said, "Look, I understand how sometimes you can't tell someone something. It may hurt my feelings when that someone is me, but I understand that there are more important things in the world than my hurt feelings. The thing is, Charlie, ahhh... I don't think Charlie understands the concept of secrecy."

"Charlie? Ah, you mean that imbecile back at Waterloo Station?"

"He's not an imbecile!"

"You sure?" Raymond asked. "The way you say that, sounds like you've said it several times already."

"He's not an imbecile. Without him you never would've identified that watch and chain."

"No?"

"No. And he would've spotted the chain several times further away than I did. A football field away. At dusk."

"Would he have now?"

"You remember the drawing of the watch, in the packet I sent you?"

"Yeah."

"You know Charlie made that drawing?"

"Oh. Actually, I hadn't realized that. Thought you drew that."

"Wish I could draw like that. Charlie banged that out in two minutes. I'm not exaggerating. Two minutes. He's a genius." He looked up to meet Raymond's eyes after saying this, saw Raymond's skeptical expression. "He's a genius in some areas, not in others. Alright?"

"Well, he seems to be a draftsman, alright."

"The drawing's nothing compared to what he can do with watches. What he can do with a watch with his bare hands. He's spending some time over at the Latham plant now, with proper tools and so forth. But I don't know. I don't know if he shouldn't better be some place like the British Museum. Or Cambridge."

"Alright, alright, I apologize for insulting your talented friend. But I believe how we started talking about him was that you said, ahh, you said that he... doesn't understand the concept of secrecy."

"I suspect he doesn't. And he's got eyes like a hawk. So you've been wearing that watch and chain for a week now. Maybe sort of halfway hoping someone would notice it and it'd get you in trouble, eh?"

"Mm. Maybe so."

"Well, if you've got a guilty conscience about something. Or if there's some shady business in the police, or somewhere else, and you sort of halfway want to expose it, because you think it's rotten -- or whatever's upsetting you, you're a grown-up and it's your business. But imagine if it hadn't been just me on the Westminster bridge. Imagine if Charlie'd been walking along beside me, and a hundred yards away from you he starts pointing at you and shouting excitedly about the watch and the chain and the man running through Waterloo Station with all the police looking for him. Charlie's as harmless as a baby, you saw that yourself. Can't even defend himself. You hurt him, all he can do is scream in pain. And just as easy as that you could've gotten him tangled up in -- God knows what, in something too horrible for you to talk about it with me, just because you're being melodramatic and wearing that watch and chain because -- I don't know why, because you're angry, or sad, or you feel guilty, I don't know. Could've turned Charlie's whole life upside-down because of some melodramatic play-acting on your part."

"Alright, alright, Latham, you've made your point. And you're right. You and me and our friends, we've chosen to carry a lot of secrets around, and we accept the risks. But Charlie hasn't asked for any of that."

"Exactly."

"So he's a wizard with watches, Charlie is."

"Oy. Only person I've ever seen who's better at fixing a watch than I am. And he's miles better."

"And you and he are both... autistic."

"Yep."

"You said you understand Charlie much better than you understand me or most people. That was disturbing."

Latham was taken aback. "Sorry, Inspector, didn't mean to disturb you, but there it is."

"But that would mean that you're..."

"Imbecilic? Try to look at it the other way round: it means Charlie isn't nearly as much an imbecile as he seems to you," Latham said, and raised his glance to see Raymond laying back in the tub and staring at the ceiling with an expression of great puzzlement, as if he were having a great deal of trouble looking at Charlie another way around. Latham was exasperated. What more did Raymond have to know in order to revise his preconceived categories of people?

Because Of Mistakes! (novel about autism in London in 1900) pt 9

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

On Thursday the next week, the 17th of May, at about 10:24 AM, Latham and Charlie and Spilman were approaching a side entrance of the Latham plant. It was Charlie's 2nd visit here. He was so excited that he was jumping up and and down. As Latham unlocked the side door, Charlie shouted, "It's nice in there!" and he ran in ahead of the other two. Latham closed the door behind Charlie.

"He going to to be alright in there by himself?" Spilman asked.

"He's not by himself. Everybody in there knows him, and almost all of them like him very much or are pretending to. And this time we've got his own work table and tools waiting for him. Believe me, he'll be just fine. Won't miss the two of us a bit."

Spilman said, "Freddy tells me the drive to overturn Factory & Workshop is... dead. Deader than dead. They're worse off than when they started."

"That's what I've been told as well," Latham replied. As Spilman had said last week, the money he and his associates were going to steal, money intended to bribe MP's, couldn't be reported as stolen, because it was off the books, unreported income, and reporting the theft would instigate an investigation. But something better than they could've hoped had happened: one of the bribers did report the theft of a satchel containing thirty-five thousand pounds, which had been intended to be divided into bribes for three MP's. (Instead, it had been divided into anonymous donations to various charities in London, Liverpool and Dublin.) The courier who'd been relieved of the satchel turned out not to have very steady nerves: in exchange for anonymity and immunity from prosecution, he'd named many names in the bribery campaign. Intentionally or not, news of the bribery investigation (as well as news of the by comparison much less sensational investigation into unreported income) was leaked to the press and had made headlines five days in a row now, counting today. Unknown to the press but known to Spilman and Latham and their friends, some of the MP's who'd already received bribes had given them back. These MP's, to a man, were now publicly, loudly, denouncing bribery and corruption and singing the praises of the poor exploited salt of the Earth.

"Do you realize what a genius Charlie is?" Latham said. "I met him to begin with because, last week, he saw less than a third of the face of an ordinary watch protruding from a pocket of a man running past him at full speed on a crowded railroad platform, and he knew exactly what kind of watch it was. Even saw a distinctive scratch on the case. Also, he saw from that fleeting glimpse that the watch was attached to a platinum chain. If you saw a watch chain for half a second, could you tell if it was platinum or silver or nickel or steel? I certainly couldn't. He makes incredibly detailed and accurate drawings quicker than I can blow my nose. He can fix a watch with his bare hands in ten seconds, with no magnification, that'd take me ten minutes with a ten-power loupe and five different specialized tools. Now we're giving him the loupes and all the tools and the bright lamps and a proper workspace, and the benefit of all of our experience and advice. God knows what he'll be able to do. He's simply awesome."

"He's an idiot savant, then."

"I object to the term 'idiot' being applied to Charlie."

"Hey, hey," Spilman said, "no offense to Charlie. I love the little guy, and I'm not pretending. Drop the 'idiot,' then. He's a savant. He's focused onto certain things. He identified the fugitive's watch, but remembered nothing about his face or clothes. He'll fix a man's watch with his bare hands, but forget the man's name."

"Yes, he does miss a lot that most of us notice, and that is because he's focused on other things. Still. You or I could focus and concentrate as hard as we wanted to, for years, and we'd still be very far from doing some things Charlie does. As a man who loves his work, and has concentrated very hard on watches since he was a small boy, trust me when I say this."

"Oh, I believe you, Al. I know Charlie has very rare talents. I've noticed. Oh, oh... It bothers you when I call you 'Al,' doesn't it? That's alright. I'll call you Latham. It's fine. Whatever makes you comfortable. If you want me to call you 'Shirley,' I shall."

"Thanks, Spilman. 'Latham,' for now. I know it's a bit quirky of me." Latham also knew that his sensitivity about what people called him -- his family called him "Albert" or "Al," and he preferred that no one else did -- he knew that this was an example of the symptoms of the condition he shared with Charlie, who didn't like to be called "Evans." But he still hadn't talked about autism to anyone except Inspector Raymond, and his father, and Eugen Bleuler, who'd coined the term "autistic," and with whom Latham corresponded in German.

"It's fine, Latham. It makes you more comfortable, and it's no more difficult for me. So, you think some of your people may only pretend to dote on Charlie? Think there may be some resentment of the Wunderkind?"

"I have no specific suspicions of something like that. It's just -- I can't read people's minds. And from Charlie's point of view, it makes no difference. We are what we pretend to be."

"'We are what we pretend to be!'" Spilman exclaimed. "There's a portentious statement. Are you a Nietzschean? That sounded somewhat Nietzschean. 'Wir sind das, was wir vorgeben zu sein.'"

"I like Nietzsche. And Shaw. And Freud. And Marx. And Heine. And many other authors. But I don't think of myself as an -an, or an -ist, or an -ian of any sort. In fact, I hope I'm not. If I were, I think that would mean I was missing a lot of the most important points those and other great writers were attempting to make. And you, Spilman?"

"What you just said. And very well-said. I try to be my own man."

"Oh, I don't think there's the slightest doubt in your case, Spilman." They had strolled to the front doors of the factory. "Well, shall we give you a tour of the plant, then?"

Because Of Mistakes! (novel about autism in London in 1900) pt 8

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

This is how it was: Inspector Raymond officially reported to Chief Superintendent Martin. Martin was almost universally thought to be a corrupt tool of the capitalists, in the pocket of the Liberal MP Lyle Chambers. Working in one of Chambers' many factories was known to be a very unfortunate fate. Chambers had lobbied hard against Factory and Workshop, and since it had passed he'd routinely bribed officials to overlook his violations of the law. In reality, Chief Superintendent Martin was a Socialist double-agent, staying close to Chambers and other reactionary capitalists and gaining their trust in order to thwart them. For just one recent example, Martin had told Raymond about the campaign of bribes to overturn Factory and Workshop, and it had been Raymond who'd told Fontaine and Spilman.

Martin didn't tell Raymond who else knew that he was a double-agent. Not one name. And Raymond told no-one about Martin's actual activity. The information he passed along, as far as any of Raymond's other comrades believed, was either from a source Raymond wouldn't name, or from this or that person who was nothing but a name Raymond told them, persons who didn't really exist. Whenever the two of them, Raymond and Martin, discussed their real business, not official police business, they spoke one on one behind closed doors. Raymond saw someone or other from Martin's staff nearly every working day. Raymond knew that some of that staff certainly had to be Socialist double-agents just like Martin, but he had no idea which ones.

For another example, someone working for Martin had discovered that George Smith, Raymond's friend whom he had just murdered, the man who ran through Waterloo Station with a Waltham 1883 on a heavy platinum chain, a clerk in the House of Commons and a long-time well-trusted Socialist with a huge number of Socialist contacts, had begun to sell his friends' secrets to right-wingers. "By a great stroke of luck," Martin had said to Raymond on Monday, two days ago, "he sold some of that information to one of us, someone I know, another double-agent who's a capitalist tool as far as the world is concerned. As far as I know, we've been able to discredit most or all of the information in the eyes of the right-wingers Smith sold it to. But only just, and that's been extremely difficult, putting out those fires. And in the meantime, Smith's old left-wing friends are catching on that he's turned informer, while the right-wingers want more information in place of the information they've already paid for which they think is inaccurate, because we were able to discredit it. Smith is panicking, which of course makes him extremely dangerous to all of us. He put together a packet which would've exposed me, you, Fontaine, Spilman and hundreds of others, beyond anything I could do to undo it. A constable who works for me took that packet off of him on his way to sell it to -- someone, I don't know who -- and was going to take him into custody, but Smith fought him off with his fists and ran off. Smith needs to be found, and made to vanish."

"You want him dead?"

"It's an awful thing. I don't see that we've got any other choice."

And the next day, Tuesday, Raymond's men just missed Smith at Waterloo Station, chasing him off of a train headed east, and then they'd come across that strange young man obsessed with watches, and then with Latham's help interviewing that young man they'd found the pawnbroker's where Smith sold an expensive watch and put a cheaper one onto a platinum chain, and from there they found the room near Waterloo he'd been holed up in, and from there he was seen boarding another train headed east, and an unknown source -- unknown to Raymond, presumably known to Martin once again -- gave them a message that he was in that fleabag hotel in Southend, where Martin said that Raymond would meet three men. Those three men who hadn't bothered to give Raymond their names, possibly police, possibly not. And Raymond had told them he'd finish it himself.

Raymond got to the station as the morning shift was coming on. "Oy, Boss," a constable called out, "you alright?"

Raymond hadn't slept in two days and he'd just killed a friend. "Got a bit of a cold," He said. "You might want to stay a pace or two away if you haven't had it lately. Other than the cold I'm fine, thank you for asking."

A Detective Sergeant said, "I've got some reports of sightings of men with cheap watches on expensive chains, Inspector." If the Detective suspected that the watch-chain hanging from Raymond's vest was worth three hundred quid, he gave no sign of it.

"Oh, you didn't hear? Higher-ups took that case over yesterday evening. We're done."

"Sorry, Sir, I hadn't heard."

"No worries. Never need to apologize to me for working hard. You got it all written up?"

"Yessir." The detective held up an envelope.

"Right. Put it on my desk, I'll pass it along, and you're on to the next case."

"He out of London, Sir? That why we're off the case?"

"They didn't tell me a thing except that we're off of it, Detective. Ours is not to question why."

Because Of Mistakes! (novel about autism in London in 1900) pt 7

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"Who are they looking for?" Freddy asked.

"Raymond wouldn't tell me," Al said. "It's all very hush-hush. Strange Raymond not confiding in me. Unusual."

Spilman said to Latham, "Freddy and I've been talking about the campaign to overturn Factory and Workshop, have you heard about this?"

"Yes indeed," Latham said. "It's flabbergasting. And it actually has a chance, it seems."

"Terry and I were discussing it over lunch," Fontaine said. "It seems some very large bribes have been given to MP's who otherwise might've been on the fence in the effort, or voted to uphold the law as it stands. It'd be great if we could publicly expose these bribes, prove to the public that they've been given, but that seems easier said than done. You rub shoulders with some of the people involved in all of this muck -- factory owners, the ones giving the bribes. You might be able to throw a wrench into it."

"I'll certainly try."

Fontaine handed him a slip of paper, labelled "A": "The names on this list, we know for sure they're involved."

"Good God!"

"Yes. Shocking behavior from pillars of society and great philanthropists such as these." Fontaine handed Latham a second slip of paper, labelled "B": "We suspect these men, but we're not certain yet."

"I can bring up the subject of Factory and Workshop, try to loosen a few lips."

"Good man, Latham," Fontaine said.

"I wish I could honestly say I was shocked," Latham said. "It's all very sad."

Fontaine had also in no way been shocked to learn that these individuals, men he had known since he and they were boys in some cases, were bribing members of Parliament in order to cut costs at the expense of laborers. Latham often seemed to miss irony and sarcasm. He was aware that he missed it, and had asked Fontaine to point it out when he did, but this time Fontaine let it go. Fontaine was saddened as well, and the sadness was sapping his energy.

Latham asked, "What else have we got in place, what other plans, to try to stop further bribes? I take it that as it stands now, the effort to over turn the law will fail."

"Oh," Spilman said, "you don't want to know."

"Don't I?" Latham retorted with some obvious annoyance. "First Raymond, and now for the second time today I'm not to be trusted by my own comrades?"

"Terry," Fontaine said, "by all means, tell him."

"All right. Well, we happen to know of some large sums being gathered together, great big packages full of cash which aren't supposed to exist, whose existence couldn't be explained without giving criminal activity away. Therefore their owner wouldn't be able to report it if they were stolen. Therefore, we're going to steal a lot of it."

"Oh... Oh... Wow," Latham said.

"Mad, bad, and dangerous to know, this one," Fontaine said, clapping a hand on Spilman's shoulder.

"Ironically, though," Spilman said, "I've never been able to stand Byron." Latham didn't understand that remark. "It's about time that I get back to the cloak and dagger business," Spilman said, stood up and stretched and yawned and took his leave. "Terrific lunch, Freddy, as always. You're certainly right about that."

At about 7:32 AM the next morning, Wednesday, Inspector Raymond picked the lock on a hotel door in Southend. It was a dismal little room, filthy, without as much as one tiny window, although the cracks in the wall were large and numerous enough that the place was quite light in the sunrise. What a shyte place to die, Raymond thought sadly. Raymond's entrance had awoken the man sleeping on the cot which took up more than half the room. He recognized Raymond, and at first he smiled. That smile faded quickly as Raymond kicked the door shut behind him and advanced on him. He put his knee on the man's chest and forced him back down onto his back, took the pillow from beneath the man's head and placed it over his face. Raymond was an enormous man and quite fit, he was much stronger than his erstwhile friend here, now his victim. He easily held the pillow in place with one hand, making the man's screams almost entirely inaudible, while with his other hand he took the revolver out from underneath his jacket, pushed it into the pillow to muffle the sound of the shots, and fired three times.

As instructed, he handed the revolver over to the men out in front of the hotel, dressed like an Inspector and two Constables. No one had bothered to give Raymond their names. He wouldn't have been surprised if they weren't actually policeman at all. "Hurry," he told them, "the door's unlocked. Top of the stairs, second door on the right facing the front of the building."

"Right, Raymond. Off you go then, we'll take it from here. Good job, just as expected."

Just as expected, Raymond thought. So either they had heard about him, heard that he got things done, or they were lying by implication. On the train back downtown, Raymond took the watch and the very heavy chain he had taken from his friend's corpse as a sort of impotent private protest. So that is a Waltham Model 1883, he said to himself. And that, he thought, looking at the chain from which the watch swung before him, is a bloody great lot of platinum, worth about a half year of my salary. Wonder whether those three goons knew that much precious metal was there. Wonder whether they were planning to steal it. Raymond unhooked his old watch and chain and put them into a pocket of his jacket, fastened the platinum watch in its place and put the 1883 into his waistcoat pocket. He knew it was very foolish to do so, but he continued his protest in this manner. I dare somebody to say something about it, I really do. Although, he didn't actually know whether any other policemen -- or goons and fake policemen, or what have you -- would even notice his friend's watch and chain.

Raymond had never done anything remotely like this before. He had always prided himself on protecting those smaller and weaker than himself -- and since around his 15th birthday, that had included almost everyone he met. Even those he arrested, he treated gently and with respect, and insisted that everyone in his command always do the same. He began to cry. Other passengers in the train snuck startled glances at this enormous crying police Inspector.

Because Of Mistakes! (novel about autism in London in 1900) pt 6

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Part 5

At about 1:26 PM the same day, Latham climbed out of a hansom cab on Victoria Street and knocked on Fontaine's door. Charlie had looked at the four 1883's which had been brought over from the Latham plant and picked the one which looked the most like the one which had been coming out of the running man's pocket. Latham asked many detailed questions about the exact appearance of the watch, and had gotten many detailed and helpful answers, and made copious notes, before he fell silent and looked one more time at the remarkably accurate drawing of the new clock on platform 3 at Waterloo, a drawing he had noticed right away upon coming to Charlie's table, an amazing drawing, because, as Latham knew, Charlie had made it in the middle of the crowd and bustle of platform 3, without an easel, without even a pad -- and it was then that Latham asked Charlie if he could draw a picture of the running man's watch, with the face about 8 inches wide. He sent the constable back to Raymond with the 1883 Charlie had picked and his notes and Charlie's drawing and caught a cab.

He found Fontaine and Spilman in the dining room having dessert. "So, you two really have never met before?" Fontaine said. "It's high time, then. Terry, Albert Latham. One of us. Al, Terrence Spilman. One of us."

"Spilman," Latham said, and shook Spilman's hand. "A pleasure." He turned to Fontaine and asked, "What can I do for us today?" Fontaine first insisted that Latham sit and have lunch, and after he'd gotten his soup from Charles, the cook -- and also one of us, and served as waiter as well, which meant that, when the guests were all us, conversation could be to the point at meals at Fontaine's house -- Fontaine explained Spilman's problem with watches. "You called at the perfect time," Latham said, and pulled a packet from a pocket, in which were three smaller packets, in which were the three 1883's remaining after Charlie had picked one. "They're known as railroad watches. This category of watch came into being in the US some years ago, after there'd been a terrible head-on collision between two trains, because, apparently, one or both conductors had had poorly-working watches, and one or both of the trains was on the spot at an unscheduled time. Laws were passed regulating what sort of watches conductors would wear and how often they'd be repaired. They're accurate for the safety of the railroads, and inexpensive, because the conductors buy their own. Look like what you're after?"

"That one there, the case is -- what, pewter?"

"Waltham -- the company that makes these -- calls that 'silveroid.' It's mostly copper and nickel."

"And how accurate is it?"

"All three of these are accurate to within two or three seconds a day."

"Crikey! You pulling my leg, mate?"

"You'll find that Al never jokes about watches," Fontaine said. "Or oversells their performance."

"Well, I can tell that that one is silver and that one is gold, so, silveroid it is. How much?"

"Please," Latham said. "I'm rich, and I'm always glad to contribute to us."

"Huh!"

"Something wrong?"

"On the contrary. I just don't know if I've ever heard someone call himself rich before," Spilman said, at looked at Fontaine.

"I know," Latham said, and looked at Fontaine too. "Everyone seems to think he deserves even more than he has."

Fontaine looked quite unimpressed. He simply said, "I've never heard either of you complain about the food at my table."

"Okay, then," Spilman said to Latham, "just out of curiosity, how much would a Waltham like this one cost in a jeweler's shop?"

"Three pounds. Maybe two and ten."

"For within two or three seconds a day?!"

"No. No. You see, I adjusted this watch. Took it apart when it was new, measured and adjusted and balanced everything very carefully. Your average 1883 -- all three of these are Waltham model 1883 watches. They started making them in 1883 -- your average 1883 will run within ten or fifteen seconds a day."

"That's still quite impressive, to me," Spilman said. "So, 'railroad watch' was the key phrase. They run like the 1883's, for the same price?"

"About the same. Most real railroad watches will be slightly more expensive. Unfortunately, though, not everything sold as a railroad watch is the real thing. Some wouldn't be accepted by any railroad in the US, the UK, or even Ireland!" Latham saw Spilman wince at that last word, and added, "I'm joking about Ireland. I'm Irish. And they make some very fine watches in Ireland, and as far as I know their record of railroad safety is just fine. Did my little joke upset you? I'm sorry."

"It would've upset me if you'd meant it."

"I was making fun of anyone who would say such a thing and mean it. My jokes don't always come off. Now: 'railroad watch,' that's one key phrase here. Another one is 'lever set.' Do you know what that means?"

"No."

"Alright then, watch this." Latham took the silver watch and unscrewed its front cover. "There are key-wind watches. There are fewer of those made today. You wind them and set them with a key. Then there's stem-wind, stem-set: turn the stem to wind it, pull the stem out and turn it to set the time. These are lever-set watches. Don't try to pull the stem out on a lever-set watch. The only way you'll make it come out at all is if you break something. Don't pull on the stem." With a fingernail Latham pulled a lever out from behind the uncovered watch face, near the the numeral 2. "This is the lever. On Walthams, they're next to the 2 on the watch face. Some other brands have the lever in some other position. When the lever is pulled out, and you turn the stem -- see -- you reset the time. The lever can't be pulled out unless the cover is taken off. And when the lever is not pulled out, turning the stem winds the watch. Oh, and don't bother going to jewelers for watches from now on. Just come to us. Winston Latham & Sons. Just north of the east end of the Westminster Bridge. On your way to Waterloo Station. Bring that in once a year for a cleaning and adjustment. Or, of course, if anything goes wrong. If it runs fast or slow. If you drop it. Anything."

"Do it," Fontaine chimed in. "They're the best."

"My father, Winston, is one of us. My two bothers, unfortunately, aren't. Dad and I are trying, of course. Dropping hints and saying sensible things."

Stilman took his old watch off of its chain and put the Waltham in its place. Latham looked at Spilman's old watch and winced as one might do at the sight of a three-legged dog. "I'll trade you," Spilman joked.

"Well, if you don't have any plans for it..."

"I did, actually. I was planning to hurl it smartly at the very next brick wall I saw."

"In that case, I definitely want it," Latham said, quickly sheltering it in his hands as if it really were a suffering stray animal and Spilman had just kicked it.

Terry looked quizzically at Freddy, who just shrugged and said, "Mad about watches. Never met one he didn't deeply care for and respect. That's why he's the best. Your old watch there will soon be more accurate than it was new, I assure you."

"Setting the bar rather low," Terry muttered.

"Latham," Fontaine asked, "how did it happen that you had three -- railroad watches? -- on your person when you came to call?"

"Well. Inspector Raymond -- " Latham turned to Spilman and asked, "Do you know Inspector Raymond?"

"Indeed I do. One of us. A good man."

"That he is. Raymond is looking for someone. A witness noticed the man they're after was carrying an 1883. I talked to the witness and narrowed down what kind of 1883 it was."

Just figured out what the title of the novel is going to be:

The title will be: Because of Mistakes! A phrase from one of Charlie's interior monologues. The title may seem strange to many people. There's no reason why it shouldn't: Charlie is profoundly autistic. Profoundly different than most people. Differences and misunderstandings are what this novel is about.

AUTISM In London in 1900: A Novel (pt 5)

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Part 3

Part 4

Earlier that same day, at around 10:04 AM, Charlie, his friend from the neighborhood, the constable and the nice man who'd frightened away the physician arrived at the door of Charlie's father's pub. It had taken Charlie 76 steps to go from the bench where the physician had made the constable hold him down to outside of Waterloo Station; and then another 780 steps to get here. It shouldn't have taken 780 steps. The others took two wrong turns on the way here. It should've taken 743 steps. Those two wrong turns had been absolutely unnecessary. ...Yes. ...Yes. Charlie could see absolutely no reason at all for having taken those turns. He was done counting steps now and was about to start complaining about the wrong turns. For all he knew, none of the three others had any idea that the walk here could've been about 4.75% shorter. 37 steps shorter. 37! Because of mistakes! And his friend lived just two houses down!

The constable knocked on the door and Charlie's father opened it. At first he looked upset, but then he smiled at Charlie and tossled his hair. Charlie convulsed and grimaced and said, "AAAHHHH, AAAHHH, AAAOOOOO!" If you didn't know Charlie you might think was an expression of displeasure, but no. Charlie knew his father, knew that he wished him only good. He also knew that the toussling was most likely going to last no more than a second and a half, and he knew why his father toussled his hair: it was to express good will and affection. Charlie returned that affection, and because the toussling was familiar and Charlie knew it wasn't going to lead to more touching, there was a pleasure about it which outweighed the jolt that the touch gave him. It was pleasant. Charlie didn't mind when his father toussled his hair. And as he had gotten older Charlie had also realized that it was important to his father to touch him once in a while. His father was like most people: they needed to touch other people a certain amount, especially people they were close to, and if they didn't get to do that, it hurt. Achieving this insight made Charlie mind the hair-toussling even less. He felt affection toward his father and didn't want to make him hurt.

Charlie went behind the bar to get a table-top lamp, and then headed to his favorite table when the pub was quiet, in a corner all the way away from the front door. His father and the constable and his friend from the neighborhood and the man who's chased away the physician all sat down at a table near the front door and began to talk quietly. Charlie lit the lamp and adjusted it so that it shine brightly on the table-top and not into his eyes. He put both hands on the table-top. He liked the table-top. It was lacquered. The lacquer finish was deep and well-made. This made the table very easy to clean. Charlie liked the way it looked and the way it felt. Charlie rubbed the table-top, and rocked back and forth and said, "IIIIIIHHHH! IIIIIIHHHH! IIIIIIHHHH!..." After he had done this for a while he felt much more relaxed. It still made him very tense when he thought about the noisy crowds at Waterloo Station, and about being touched -- and especially that physician -- but rubbing the table and rocking and making the noises helped very much. And it helped that he was at home. And his friend being here, and even the constable and the nice stranger, that all helped, because he knew they all were there to protect him.

And he knew they were going to ask him some more about the man with the Waltham 1883. In the meantime, before they came over and started asking him questions, he took the piece of paper with the drawing of the new clock on it out of his pocket, unfolded it and looked at the drawing. He had gone to platform 3 at the station to see the new clock. The clock had been disappointingly uninteresting, but Charlie had his drawing of it now, so that was done. It was a full-on front view of the face, about actual size, about 12 inches in diameter, plus the green enamel band around the face, about three-quarters of an inch wide. The green enamel band was actually more interesting than any of the mechanics of the clock! Charlie snorted in amusement at the thought of that. He imagined that the enamel would feel something like this table-top to his hands. That was a soothing thought. The dark green color was soothing too.

The nice man had come over to him. "Hello, Charlie," he said. "I'm Al. May I sit down?"

"Yes." Charlie took a deep breath as Al sat down and said, "I know you want to ask me more questions about the man with the Waltham 1883. I'm sorry I wasn't able to be more helpful back at the station. It seems to be very important to the police to find that man. It seems they have a lot of policemen looking all over for him. Sorry."

"That's alright," Al said. "I know the noise at the station was making it hard for you to talk. I know people grabbing you made it even worse."

"Yes, you understand that better than most people. That's strange. Are you a doctor?"

"No, Charlie. Actually, I make watches."

"Ah-HAAAA!" Charlie exclaimed, and bounced up and down excitedly in his chair. "A watch-maker! That's great!"

"I understand you fix watches."

"Sometimes. It depends what's wrong with them. I don't have a lot of tools, so..."

"Well, maybe you'll get more."

"Yeah. So you want to know about the man with the 1883."

"Yes. You don't remember his face?"

"No."

"Was he short? Tall?"

"I don't know."

"Do you remember what he was wearing?"

"No. Probably a waistcoat. The Waltham was coming out of a pocket. That was probably a waistcoat pocket."

"But you don't know for sure."

"No. Sorry."

"That's alright, that's alright."

"You said the chain was unusual, the chain the 1883 was on."

"Unusual for an 1883. Very unusual. It was platinum. Great big heavy platinum chain."

"Platinum! Are you sure?"

"Yep. Just like your watch."

This took Latham aback. He knew he hadn't taken his watch out of his waistcoat pocket since meeting Charlie. He knew it hadn't slid partway out either. "When did you figure out that my watch is platinum?"

"After you sat down there."

Latham was well out of the glare of the table-lamp. He looked down. He himself could barely see the outline of his watch in its pocket. "You can see right now that my watch is platinum?"

"Of course. Didn't you know your watch is platinum?"

"Yes, I knew that. What surprises me is that you can see so well. In this light I can hardly see my watch at all."

"Oh. I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry. I have very good vision. But it seems yours is extraordinary."

"I guess so. People say so. So, you're not a physician at all?"

"No, Charlie, not at all."

"I go to Dr Brown. He has to touch me sometimes when he examines me, but he knows how to do it so it doesn't hurt."

"Well, that's very good. That's excellent."

"That doctor at Waterloo Station didn't understand how to do that."

"No, Charlie, he didn't understand that at all."

"Maybe you could be a doctor someday."

"Oh. Hah. Huh. No. I like watches. I want to keep on making watches and fixing them. That's all I want to do."

AUTISM In London in 1900: A Novel (pt 4)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

At about 12:15 PM the same day, Terrence Spilman came to call on Frederick Fontaine in Victoria Street. He hurried past the butler because he known the miserable man disliked him, felt that Spilman's entire existence was an affront to him and his cherished career of keeping people like Spilman out of that place; paused one flight up to exchange warm smiles with a much friendlier maid; then continued up.

The double doors to Fontaine's office were wide open. Spilman took the notebook from his pocket which he'd just finished filling with notes on the comings and goings and meetings and habits and other activities of a few of their adversaries. He'd been tossing the notebooks from farther and farther away toward that bare patch of Fontaine's desk, hadn't missed yet. Fontaine was seated behind the desk, absorbed in writing something. Before he was within two full paces of the double doors, Spilman flicked his wrist and let fly the notebook, and bang! it landed full in the middle of the bare patch of desk, a good six inches from the edge.

Fontaine looked up from his work and stood and smiled and cried, "Terry!" But before the smile had begun there'd been something else, and Spilman had seen it and been filled with understanding. Fontaine give him a quizzical look. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

Spilman closed the double doors behind him and asked, "Freddy, why are we here? Why are we so busily engaged in all of this skullduggery and snooping about?"

"Well, we want better wages for laborers -- "

"That's part of it."

"We want to better living conditions for the less fortunate, see to it that they're not so egregiously exploited -- "

"That's part of it, Freddy! We are here to try to overcome class barriers. We have agreed that the two of us, you and I, have much to teach each other about habits and tic and peculiarities and damned well absurdities which are class-based, because we come from two very different social classes, and things which are ingrained and unconscious in each of us are quite obvious to the other. We have already helped each other quite a bit by telling each other about each other, have we not?"

"We have."

"Learned quite a bit each about his own class and the other's, simply by telling each other what we see in each other which doesn't exist in our own class. And I've already mentioned a few instances of your damnable class-based reluctance to express annoyance. You people buck up and carry on and are terribly embarrassed by your own feelings, and you all expect other people to read your minds, and so you've become quite good at reading each other's minds, so that when one of you realizes that he's been doing something every day for fifty years which bothers another one of you, you're terribly embarrassed and you stop doing it, and isn't that wonderful, it only took fifty years, and you keep so much bottled up behind those terrible stiff upper lips, and it gives you heart attacks and epileptic fits and constipation and god know what all else."

"Terry, why don't you tell me what you're talking about?"

"Oh, that's a good one! Why don't I tell you about how I've just realized I've been doing something twice a week or so for months which bothers you ever so much? Why don't you tell me, Freddy? That's the whole point. I suppose I'm going to have to tell you. You may actually not even know what I'm talking about. That stiff upper lip may really be that much of an automatic habit. Alright, I'll say it: today, when you were absorbed in your work and I tossed a notebook onto your desk beside you where it landed with a round full 'smack,' today, in a split-second before you rose to greet me with a smile, I saw you give a start and a grimace which you very, very quickly squelched, and your smile is distinctly stiff-upper-lipped. It gives you a great start when my presence is announced by something smacking onto your desk-top, and almost certainly the start has been getting worse each time I've come in that way, and it aggravates you more and more, and probably you've actually lost some sleep being aggravated about it, and if there's been someone in bed next to you and she asks you if you're all right, you assure her that there isn't with a stiff upper lip, and if she's from your class she says well good I guess I'm imagining things or some other lie like that and her own upper lips stiffens and you both lie there in completely unnecessary agony which you barely even notice anymore because it's been in you since you've been four or five years old, just lie there giving yourselves and each other ulcers out of politeness. I can see that I'm annoying you by saying all this, yes I am, yes I am, don't even bother trying to deny it, because I see it. And it pains me to annoy you, because I love you -- that's right, I love you, you big silly stiff-arsed man, and annoying you for a moment now doesn't distress me as much as the thought of you dropping dead of a stroke in the middle of a cocktail party years before your time because you never resolved this... neurosis!"

"All right, all right! Yes, I wish you wouldn't toss the notebooks that way!"

"Well, I'm glad you said so, Freddy! I'll never do it again. So. From now on, if I come in and you're absorbed in your work and don't notice my approach, I'll -- what? Give a soft knock on the door-frame, like this?" Spilman knock twice on the door.

"Yes, yes, fine."

"Or perhaps just softly saying, 'Hello, Freddy' would be better."

"Now you're the one who's being silly."

"Nevertheless. Tell me what you'd prefer."

"Just say hello."

"So shall it be."

"And I... I... love you too."

"I know. Ah, that's great! Two major unstiffenings of the lip within a minute. Isn't that just like two big stones taken off of your chest."

"It is. Thank you so much."

"You're so very welcome."

"Well... While we're at it here... Might as well take off a third stone... You see, it would be a he."

"Pardon?"

"You imagined a scenario in which someone in bed with me would ask me if something was wrong. You said she would ask me if something was wrong. Well, it would be a he. In fact, for the past three years it would be Benjamin."

"Benjamin! Really."

"You didn't know I was...'

"I had no idea."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Why on Earth would it bother me?"

"Well then. And of course, you'll be discreet?"

"Why on Earth would I gossip about you?"

"Thank you."

"Benjamin. I would've guessed it was most likely Alice."

"Alice is a dear friend."

"And a very convenient shield against gossip, I imagine."

"Priceless, in that regard. We may even get married, eventually, for the sake of gossip."

"I have no problem with that. And does Alice..."

"Prefer women? Yes, she does. What?"

"I'd always found her very charming. Do I have no chance?"

"Never say never, my good man! but in this case, say almost certainly not."

"Well! I don't know about you, Freddy, but I'm exhausted and happy." Fontaine laughed. "It's been too long since I've heard you laugh, Freddy."

"I haven't felt so relaxed in some time."

"Well! What say we talk about our friend the MP? About half of that notebook contains observations about him." They sat. "We were right, he's attempting to organize a repeal of Factory and Workshop."

"It's not just a suspicion anymore?" Fontaine asked.

"It's certain."

"And do you know how he's going about organizing this effort."

"Bloody great bribes, for one thing." It was unusual for Spilman to use slang terms like "bloody" except when he was very angry, although he'd spoken like the Cockney he had been when Fontaine met him years ago. His speech had changed entirely since then. Although he no longer sounded anything like Cockney, he also didn't mimic the speech of other classes, as some ex-Cockneys did, some quite skillfully. Spilman truly did not aspire to join the middle classes. His speech was unique, as far as Fontaine's experience went. Classless.

"He's made bribes already?" Fontaine asked.

"Yes."

"To other MP's?" Fontaine asked as he opened the notebook and began to thumb through it.

"Yes."

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely certain."

"If we could prove this to the public -- "

"And exactly how would we prove something like that?" Spilman asked. They both were silent for some time. Then Spilman asked, "Perhaps some of the policemen on our side... ?"

"Perhaps. I'll talk to Raymond. You've met Inspector Raymond, haven't you?"

"Yes I have," Spilman said. Then he took a watch from pocket inside his jacket, looked at it and said, "Damn it!"

"What's wrong?"

"This watch is an unreliable piece of... Oh, it's aggravating. I've a long history of problems with unreliable cheap watches."

"And is it due to some lingering neurosis typical of the Cockney class that this is the first I've heard of these problems?"

Spilman sighed: "Yes, perhaps."

"Well then." Fontaine opened a desk drawer, took out a watch and held it out to Spilman. "Go on, take it. It's very accurate, very reliable, daresay you could drop it twenty feet onto concrete and it'd still run for a couple of days, long enough for you to get it to a repairman. I'm telling you, this is a very, very, very good watch."

But Spilman wasn't reaching out to take it. "It may very well be all you say," he said. "It's also platinum, and there are some real diamonds on the hands."

"You can tell that from looking six feet away?"

"Yes I can, and more to the point, so could many of the thieves I rub elbows with in the course of my work. These are men and women who will stoop to stealing a penny when the opportunity presents itself. I'm big and scary-looking enough to make them think twice about trying to take a watch off me they might get six shillings for. They'd be filled with much more courage and purpose if they saw me check the time on a watch that's worth... I'm afraid to even guess."

"Afraid to even guess! It cost three hundred pounds new two years ago."

"Jesus in heaven!"

"Now there is a Cockney neurosis showing! Shuddering at the mere mention of the price of a watch! But I see your point. You need a watch that keeps good time -- very, very good time if possible -- and that's tough enough you don't have to carry it like a raw egg, but that doesn't look like it's worth a pound."

"That's what I need. Is there any such thing?"

"I've no idea. But I happen to know someone who would know. As a matter of fact, it's someone who could make such a watch, if they don't already exist. Just a moment." Fontaine picked up the telephone. "Operator, would you connect me to the Latham Watch Company, please? ...Yes, in Lambeth, that's the one. Thank you." Fontaine covered the mouthpiece and said to Spilman, "Don't worry a bit. This man's a phenomenal genius when it comes to watches... Hello, Mr Latham! How are you, Sir? ...Swimmingly, as a matter of fact. ...I need to talk to Albert, if I can. ...I see. ...Yes. Can you hold on for a moment?" "Fontaine covered the mouthpiece and said to Spilman, "Our man's busy at the moment. D'you want to stay for lunch and talk about this awful mess in Parliament, and wait for him?"

"Yes."

"Brilliant. Mr Latham? Would you get a message to Albert, ask him to come round as soon as he can? Thanks so much. ...Yes. Thank you." Fontaine hung up and said, "An uncanny genius when it comes to watches, as I said. And he's one of us. As is his father, the owner of the plant. The rest of the family, we're unsure of."

AUTISM In London in 1900: A Novel (pt 3)

Part 1

Part 2

Before he got to platform 3, even above the noise of the crowd, Latham could hear a man bellowing in pain. He ran up the platform stairs and saw a bunch of policeman standing around looking unsure and befuddled, including two constables who were holding a man still on a bench while a doctor, seemingly either quite oblivious to the man's pain, or simply a sadist, poked at him with a tongue depresser and a mirror. "What the hell, Raymond?" Latham said. "Does he plan to extract a tooth from your witness? You called me here to talk to that man, right?"

"Yes. How did you -- "

"For God's sake, get the doctor away from him, will you?"

Raymond looked uncertain.

"Raymond! Does it look to you as if this doctor is helping?! Does your witness seem to you to be composing his thoughts in order to give the clearest possible statement?! Please, trust me, I'll explain as soon as we get that doctor out of here! Raymond! You've trusted me before, trust me now! The first thing we have to do is remove that doctor! Look, let me pretend to be another doctor, one who's used to ordering other doctors about. Trust me, I know what I'm doing here, and he doesn't! Please, Raymond!"

"Okay, okay! Go into your doctor act, I'll back you up."

"What on Earth do you think you're doing?!" Latham shouted right away. He had an effective, theatrically-strong baritone. The two constables holding the man still looked up. "Let go of him right now, and back away!" They both did as he told them. One of them had a familiar face. Latham wondered whether Raymond was literally backing him up, gesturing for them to play along. The constables letting his patient loose made the doctor look up. Latham pointed a finger square into the man's face and boomed, "You! Leave that poor wretch alone, pack up your bag, scurry away immediately, and hope that no-one here has remembered your name! I shan't tell you again, Sir! Leave of your own accord, or these constables will drag you away and place you under arrest! Yes, now! Thank you! I'll take it from here!"

The doctor did as he was told. The man on the bench had become noticeably quieter as soon as the constables had let go of him, and as the doctor left he became quieter still. He rocked back and forth energetically, moaning and holding his head in both hands. Latham said, "Sorry about the shouting, friend. I didn't know how else to make him leave." The man nodded in Latham's direction as if he knew he had been addressed, took a deep breath, and then resumed the rocking and moaning. "Give him a good six feet of space in all directions," Latham said to the two constables. "Don't touch him unless you need to stop him banging his head on something solid. I wouldn't be surprised if the doctor made him so upset he'll do that, but let's hope not."

He turned back to Raymond: "Right. So this man -- "

"Charles Evans."

"Charles Evans." Latham turned back to Evans: "How do you do, Mr Evans?" and then back to Raymond.

"We found somebody who knows him, says he usually goes by Charlie."

"Ah. Hi, Charlie." Evans interrupted his rocking long enough to nod at Latham. His moaning was barely audible now.

"My God," Raymond said. "How'd you get him to calm down so quickly."

"He's calming himself down, actually. The rocking back and forth, the moaning, grabbing hold of his head like that -- that's all very good medicine for him. helps him to get right again. All I did was get him some breathing room. Good God, could you really not see how the doctor was upsetting him?"

Raymond threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "Generally in a case like this a doctor'd be the expert."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a good rule of thumb, ninety-nine times out of a hundred."

"And how exactly does it come that you're the expert this time?"

"Well," Latham said, "we need to talk out of earshot about that." He nodded toward the nearby glass-walled stationmaster's booth and asked, "Can we talk alone in there?"

"Sure."

"You've trusted me several times in several important criminal cases."

"And not had cause to regret it yet."

"Thank you. Now I'm going to have to trust you. I'm going to tell you something about myself, and ask you not to tell anyone else. Not the boys at the pub, not the Superintendent, not even your wife."

"Alright."

"I mean it. It could make things very difficult for me."

"I can see that you're asking seriously. I promise, it's between you and me. Like a priest at confession."

"So," Latham said. "The thing is, I can understand Evans there a lot better than I can understand you, or Smith, or my own father, or the great majority of the people I meet. Because I'm much more similar to him than to the rest of you."

"W-what? I mean, you both seem to have a thing for watches."

"That's just a coincidence. It's very lucky for old Charlie there that you called me. The way the doctor was going at him, it looked like he might be headed for what is ironically known as an 'asylum,' and iron chains and daily ice-cold baths and such. Do they still flog inmates in asylums, Raymond? Attempt to beat the demons right out of 'em?"

"Um... I don't know."

"Evans and I are both autistics. Our condition is known as autism. Well -- it will be known as autism, I'll wager. Eugen Bleuler coined the term. A Swiss psychiatrist. A colleague of Freud's. You know Freud."

"Yes. Die Traumdeutung.You gave me a copy, thanks. I'm still working on it. My German isn't half as good as yours. Still, it's really fascinating stuff. So, this... Bleuler? Came up with a name for something you and Evans both have. Called autism."

"Yeah, that's what it's known as. Well, known to a half-dozen people, maybe. Seven, now that I've told you. I imagine that's what it will be known as, soon as Bleuler publishes a paper on it. But that probably won't happen for another ten years or so. Anyway. I'll wager Evans hasn't looked any of you in the eye."

"Not that I've noticed."

"Have you noticed I don't make eye contact often?"

"I have."

"It's uncomfortable to make as much eye contact as I do. But I try to blend in."

"D'you go into agony when someone touches you? Evans definitely doesn't like it."

"At times. At times I do. And I'll wager there are times when Evans doesn't mind being touched. And he might make eye contact now and then. With his parents, perhaps."

"Parent. Stepfather. No one knows who the real parents are. He was found on the doorstep of a pub when he was a baby. I gather the pub's owner has raised him as his own, and that Charlie is happy there. He's said several times that he wants to go home. In fact, I believe that's the only thing he's said since he fainted. He was talking to himself a mile a minute, then he fainted, and since then we can't get anything out of him except 'I want to go home.'"

"Well then I'd strongly recommend letting him go home. In fact it's rather a mystery how he ended up here to begin with. The noise and the crowds can't be comfortable for him. Ah," Latham said and pointed to a clock partway down the platform. "Brand-new clock. He must've been here to have a look at that."

"Well, Latham. I feel for the bugger. I do. But he very likely saw the man we're chasing. We need to get a statement from him."

"And how's that going? Getting a statement from him? Look. Where's this pub? He lives next to the pub?"

"Yeah. Not far. round the corner."

"Brilliant. Send Charlie, me, Charlie's friend and a constable to Charlie's place, let him relax and recover from a severe shock, and that'll be our best chance of getting a good statement out of him quickly. So, what'd he say so far?"

"Oy. He hasn't actually said the word 'watch,' but he was talking about something in a man's pocket, a man who was running fast, something coming out of the man's waistcoat pocket attached to a chain. Sounds like a watch. The man we're after -- "

"He have a name, by the way?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can't tell me his name? Well, that sounds very ominous and murky. Fine, I'll just assume he's a Crown Prince. It'd be pointless, I suppose, to ask why you're chasing him?"

"Utterly. But I can tell you that the man is fat. Probably runs very rarely, so that when he does, it's possible he bounces up and down in a way that would cause objects to come out of his pockets. Such as this object on a chain which caught Charlie's eye, which he said didn't match the chain it was on, and which he said had a scratch near the stem -- "

"Sounds even more like a watch now."

"Indeed. -- and which he referred to as an 1883."

"Aha."

"So there is a watch called an 1883?"

"There's the Waltham 1883. There may be others."

"Charlie said there are millions of 1883's."

"It'd be the Waltham, then."

"Any chance Charlie was using the term 'millions' as a euphemism?"

"Sorry. I'm afraid you'll find that autistics -- me included -- use euphemisms exceedingly sparingly. And it so happens that there are quite literally millions of Waltham 1883's, manufactured from 1883 until the present day, and no sign of sales slowing down."

"Damn. I was so hoping this would be a rare watch. Easy to track down, easy to spot." Raymond gave a loud sigh of discouragement. "But it's a needle in a great bloody haystack of identical 1883's, eh?"

"Similar, not identical. I have several different 1883's, I'll have them brought around to the pub, see if Charlie can tell us which one most closely resembles the watch which was coming out of the mystery man's pocket. And Waltham's an American firm, I'm pretty sure that most of those millions of 1883's are still in the US. But yes, I'm afraid that that still leaves us with a great bloody stack of them in London. In fact..." Latham opened the office door and shouted into the crowd: "Gentlemen! Gentlemen, if you please! Are any of you wearing a Waltham model 1883 watch?" Two men that Latham could see took 1883's out of their pockets and held them up. "Thank you!" he shouted, closed the door and laughed. "Now, don't look so glum, Inspector. Charlie said that the chain didn't match the watch?"

"He said it was very unusual to see an 1883 on a chain like that."

"There you go. The 1883 is the quintessential ordinary watch. Sounds as if the chain may be extraordinary. Chains are sold with watches. Maybe we've got something like a solid-gold chain here. The chain may be very helpful after all, if, for example, you find a pawnbroker who bought a gold watch from someone who purchased an 1883 at the same time and put it onto the gold chain. Some scenario like that. The chain may be very, very helpful indeed."

AUTISM In London in 1900: A Novel (pt 2)

Part 1

At about 9:14 AM, Albert Latham was standing about a quarter mile away, at the east edge of Westminster Bridge, just outside his family's watchmaking shop, looking across the river at Big Ben, and then down at his watch, and then at Big Ben, and then at his watch again. "Using Big Ben to check your watch, are you, Sir?" someone asked.

Without looking in the direction of the voice, Latham replied, "Other way around, my good man. Using my watch to check Big Ben. They're getting better. The thing really is extraordinarily accurate." Then he looked toward the voice, and saw a large grey-haired man with big moustaches smiling at him. Latham bowed his head in greeting and said, "Good morning, Sir."

"You don't remember me, do you?"

Latham frowned. "I'm terribly sorry, no."

"Oh, it's quite alright! I know you, and I knew you were checking to see how Big Ben was running, and not your watch. I imagine this might jog your memory," and he pulled a Latham watch from his waistcoat, gold, with a shimmering blue face, gold Arabic numerals and markings and hands.

"Mr White, of course! You purchased that from us in 1896. Started to plan the design of it with us in March, and we had it done for you in July. Our man Williams did most of the work on the movement, I made the face and the case and the hands. You brought it in last autumn for servicing, it seemed to be running alright at the time. I hope it still is?"

"More accurate than Big Ben, just like yours."

"We do try to make every watch we sell as solid and dependable as the ones we carry."

"And I daresay that's one of the reasons your firm is so highly admired."

Latham was about to comment more about the movement of White's watch, which was quite unique as far as he knew, and which in his opinion was particularly good in several different ways, when he recalled something his father had said to him the previous week: "Al, my own son and heir, very few people care a hundredth as much about watches as you do. Not even when they pay us thousands of pounds for one watch. They talk to you about watches coz they know you're daffy about watches. Sure, some other people are daffy about watches too, it's not just you and me and one of your brothers and the people who work for us. But chances are, they're just trying to be friendly and say hello to you. They don't really want to hear you go on about horology for the next half hour. Same way that when someone says, 'Looks like it'll rain,' they probably aren't looking for a half-hour lecture on some fascinating points of meteorology. It's just a way of saying 'Hello.' D'you understand, my dear?"

At this moment White seemed to Latham to be honestly fascinated by watches. It was so difficult for Latham to figure people out, most of them. But White, as far as he knew, only owned the one watch, was a lawyer whose career had nothing to do with watches and, indeed, had no call for precision timekeeping, and, to judge from what his father and some other helpful people had told Latham, White had probably spent so very much money on one watch for reasons having to do with fitting in in his social class. Latham found such things, purchases of expensive things the purchasers didn't particularly care about, and many other things people did all the time, to be perfectly bizarre, and it amazed him that almost no-one else found them to be bizarre, but at the same time he knew that he was not like most people, and that he needed to rely heavily on other people's advice and explanations of the ways people tended to be, in order to keep his life running smoothly, and in order not to disrupt other lives.

All of this flew through Latham's mind in about a half-second after White had finished saying, "And I daresay that's one of the reasons your firm is so highly admired." Raced through his mind and left him a bit exhausted. And so, although it seemed bizarre to him, he didn't talk any further about White's watch, but instead simply said, "It's very gratifying to hear such things from our customers. Thank you very much indeed, Sir."

Latham had thought that this would leave the door open for White to extend the discussion in the direction of horology, but instead White just said, "Oh, I'm very pleased with my watch. And I'll see you again this year for another servicing, or, hopefully, sooner. Good morning," and touched the brim of his hat and took his leave.

Like many social exchanges, this one had left Latham very tense, because of the unsuccessful effort to guess just what it was some other person wanted. So much effort, and so little success... He took his watch out of his waistcoat pocket again and held it to his ear, just to let the ticking sooth him. The chain was just long enough that he didn't have to undo it to hold his watch to his ear. He had no idea at all how much time passed before his brother William called to him from the back door of the shop. William, the one who didn't care at all about watches and would most likely go into some other line of work, if he didn't stay with the family business just to tend to the finances. How could anyone not be fascinated by watches, not love them, not count himself luckier than a prince to have been born into this family, which had been making some of the finest, most-desired watches in the world for four generations?

"Al!" William called. "Inspector Raymond would like you to meet him at Waterloo station, track 3, as soon as you're able to."

"He still on the telephone?"

"Yeah. How'd you know he telephoned?"

"Nevermind. Tell him I'm walking that way, see him in five or six minutes."

"Right."

AUTISM In London in 1900: A Novel (pt 1)

(AUTISM In London in 1900 is not going to be the title of the novel. Well -- probably not. I'm writing this novel directly onto the blog, and when I write a novel, I generally don't have a title for it when I start. As soon as I know the title of this one, so will you.)

At about 9:14 AM on Tuesday, the 8th of May, 1900, police were in Victoria Station, looking for a fugitive, questioning people who might've seen him running through a crowded platform. A Constable Smith was herding a young man toward Inspector Raymond, who was in charge of the investigation -- herding is how Smith thought of the difficult task of impelling the young man toward the Inspector. At first Smith had just taken the man by the arm, but he hadn't seemed to've liked that at all and became very upset and gave a loud and alarming bellow until he was let go of again, when he went right back to muttering, as he'd been doing until he was touched. The man seemed witless and didn't react at all to Smith's request to come with him, but by standing a step back from him and thrusting his arms in the direction of Inspector Raymond -- as if he were rolling a barrel -- Smith was managing to impel the man in Raymond's direction. The herding didn't seem to bother the man, and it didn't interrupt his excited, nonstop muttering. And the muttering was why Smith was bringing the man to Inspector Raymond: because he was muttering about a man who'd just been running through the platform, quite possibly the man the police were looking for.

Hugh, one of the Constables standing next to the Inspector, saw the two of them coming and approached. Smith only had time to shout, "Don't touch -- " before Hugh did, in fact, touch the poor man's arm, at which he stood still and bellowed just as before. Hugh immediately let the man's arm go again. The muttering began again. Hugh and Smith exchanged a glance and shrugged at each other. Then Hugh leaned in close to the man's face and asked, "Would you come with us, please?" The man stopped muttering just for the instant it took him to nod, and he did, indeed, docilely follow Hugh. Young Hugh, Smith thought: a sharp lad, that one. Most likely make Chief Inspector long before I retire a Constable. Got him to follow, just like that. I couldn't even get him to stop muttering and listen to me.

Inspector Raymond raised his chin in a gesture for Smith to speak. "This young man here, Sir, he may've seen the one we're looking for. He -- "

Hugh interrupted Smith, abruptly, but he managed to pull it off without seeming rude: he leaned in close to the man's face again and asked slowly: "What is your name?" The man's stream of muttering paused long enough for him to answer: "Charles Evans," and then the muttering resumed; "...was just a bit off, a minute or two fast but then for an 1883 it's not so much but of course I have no way of knowing how often he re-sets it and of course the maintenance the maintenance is a complete unknown but it's just so strange with that chain to have it together with that chain is really very unusual and it was about to come out the pocket it was about to come out it was about to come out it was like he didn't know he had it it was about to come out and there was a scratch near the stem but of course that's hardly unusual the chain with it though that chain with that's very unusual..."

"He's been like that almost non-stop for two minutes, Sir, and who knows how much longer before I noticed him. I think he's talking about a man who was running through the platform a little while ago, running so that his watch almost flew out of his pocket, and there was something unusual about the chain -- " Evans paused in mid-babble and said a bit louder than his usual mutter:

"Yes, the chain, the chain, it was very unusual with an 1883, with an 1883, of course there are millions of them and their chains are never like that, never," dropping back down to the mutter, "I've never seen one like that, and the thing is that I don't if know he was careless or if it needed to be repaired, and, oh," and he stopped muttering suddenly and his eyes rolled and he fainted. Raymond and Smith each managed to grab one of his arms before he fell, and carried him toward a bench, Raymond shouting for the people on the bench to please let us have it, thank you, ladies and gentlemen, and at about that moment Evans regained consciousness and went very stiff and bellowed piteously. "He doesn't like being touched, Sir," Smith noted, but Evans still wasn't walking on his own, and the bellowing -- it was really heart-rending, you'd think Evans was being burned alive -- continued until they sat him down and let go. Then Evans was quiet, no more muttering. He just sat there rocking back and forth with his shoulders hunched very high. The Inspector leaned in close and said gently, "don't worry, we're not going to touch you any more." At that Evans dropped his shoulders a bit and seemed much more relaxed. He became less hunched, rocked slowly, rubbed his thighs with both hands, then took a deep breath and shuddered. "Johnson," the Inspector barked. "Get the man some water. Hornsby. See if there's a doctor about in this crowd. Church. You know Latham, at the Latham plant? The young one, Albert Latham. See if you can fetch him. Use the telephone, there. They have a telephone in the plant."