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    One Small Step in Time: A Collection of Short Stories
    One Small Step in Time: A Collection of Short Stories
    One Small Step in Time: A Collection of Short Stories
    Ebook120 pages1 hour

    One Small Step in Time: A Collection of Short Stories

    By Mario V. Farina

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    About this ebook

    A collection of short stories written in fiction and non-fiction. Spans the life of a nonagenarian and include short pieces he's written during his life.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMario V. Farina
    Release dateOct 16, 2014
    ISBN9781311170262
    One Small Step in Time: A Collection of Short Stories
    Author

    Mario V. Farina

    Mario V Farina has worked all his life, from age 18 to 90. He worked for the American Locomotive Company, served in the U. S. Army during WWII, was employed at General Electric. He taught computers at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. After leaving his position with RPI, he became employed with the State Labor Department of New York. He’s a car buff, a pun creator, and a computer enthusiast. He wrote textbooks for the programming languages COBOL and FORTRAN and wrote a book of puns and short stories called, “A Little Light Reading,” as well as over 20 other books. Several of his books were translated into other languages. This is his first foray into the world of digital publishing, with the help of his computer tutor (william.rl.dickie@gmail.com).

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      Book preview

      One Small Step in Time - Mario V. Farina

      The Singular Clock

      When Gracie and I were married twenty-five years ago, we received a wedding present with no card. We never found out who gave it to us, but this did not keep us from enjoying it. It was a wind-up mantel clock that pealed out the time on the hour. There was a label that stated the clock had been made in Korea.

      The beautiful clock worked flawlessly for ten years, then began behaving strangely. It started tolling twelve times for all the hours. It didn't matter whether the time was one o'clock or twelve o'clock, the number of tones was always twelve. This bothered Gracie and me for a while. I tried to uncover the reason for the problem but was unsuccessful. We got used to the defect and lived with it. The clock was located in the living room and its sounds did not carry to our other rooms. If we heard the clock chiming, it had to be when Gracie and/or I was doing something in the living room There, all we had to do to ascertain the time was to glance at the clock's face.

      About a year later, the clock began pealing the time even more badly. For certain counts, it would not give clear tones but would produce hollow raps as if a hammer were striking a piece of wood. If the time was six o'clock, the clock might strike the fourth tone badly, or the seventh tone, or the tenth. The malfunctions varied randomly. One day, it might chime the sixth tone badly; another day, it might be the third. And, it wouldn't be the same for both Gracie and me. If Gracie heard the clock strike, it might be the second tone that was bad; if I heard it, it might be the fifth.

      Friends could offer no hints as to what might be wrong and the Internet did not help. We decided to have the clock repaired. We discovered that a Mr. Lee in South Troy claimed he was an expert watch repairer. Mr. Lee was the owner of a business named Clock Wise. We brought the misbehaving clock to his shop, introduced ourselves, then described the problem. Mr. Lee was about sixty, short of stature and stocky. He was wearing a tan suit with a red striped tie. He had an oriental appearance and made a striking impression (no pun intended). He told us he was from Seoul Korea. I was delighted since the clock had been made in Korea and I was sure he knew what might be causing the displeasing sounds.

      Mr. Lee listened to our story with great interest, then said, The clock knows you! Wait, I'll give you something. He scurried into the next room and come out with a sheet of paper, gray with age. This explains what you need to know, Mr. Clark, he said. There are twelve numbers on this sheet, one for every hour. It tells why a certain numbered tone might be sounding badly. Look here, when the clock strikes poorly on the third tone, the sheet tells you that you unintentionally made an ill-considered remark. If the clock strikes badly on the sixth tone, the sheet tells that you did not keep a promise you had made. And so it goes. The same for you, Mrs. Clark. When the clock sounds hollow on the second tone, this sheet tells you that you did not attempt to commiserate with your husband when he mentioned a disappointment. Take the sheet. Heed what it tells you and learn from it. There is no charge.

      At first, we didn't believe what Mr. Lee had told us. But we found that what he had said was accurate. For Gracie and me, our behaviors toward each other improved and, after a time, the clock began chiming well again. On our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary, we decided to visit Mr. Lee and thank him for what he had done for us. We didn't see him in the shop but asked a clerk for him. The young woman, looked down and her demeanor saddened. I'm sorry folks, she said, Mr. Lee has been dead for over a year.

      I'm very sorry to hear that, I said. Mr. Lee was an expert in clocks. We wanted to thank him for something he did for us many years ago. The clerk appeared puzzled. Mr. Lee was expert in watch repair, but he knew nothing about clocks. He knew a lot about people, though. What he did for you must have been in response to something he saw in the two of you!

      Thou Art a Witch!

      We live in a world of witches. This is more of a problem in other lands than it is in the United States because we don't use archaic language here any more. But we should know more about witches anyway. Here are the facts:

      There are many witches in our country. They look like ordinary people, both men and women. There are bad witches and good witches. The bad witches can cast spells; good witches cannot do this but they can remove them where they exist.

      If you say to a person, Thou art a witch! there may be a reaction. If he or she is not a witch, the individual may be offended but nothing worse is likely to happen. However, if the person is a bad witch, they may cast a spell upon you. The spell will be such that it may be removed only by a good witch.

      In my youth I was at a diner one time after I had been reading about witches. There was a young woman serving me and I thought I'd try a new line. I said, Thou art a witch! The plan was that if she complained, I'd say I had yearned to be placed under her spell. As it turned out, the woman was a bad witch. She became very angry and, indeed, placed me under her spell. She turned me into a coffee cup! The picture shows what I looked like at the time.

      I had not expected this outcome and spent several days in this condition. But I was optimistic. Every time I'd be placed on a table and someone sat there to eat, I'd say, Thou art a witch! My hope was that a good witch would hear this and remove the spell. Most of the time the result was, simply, shock. After all, who had ever heard of a talking coffee cup?

      After a week of this unpleasant existence, a pretty woman came to have breakfast. She was alone. I said, Thou art a witch! Yes, she responded. I am a good witch. I was overjoyed and begged, Would you please make me human again? She was willing but in no hurry. She wanted to know more about me. We had a pleasant chat, which was interrupted only when the server came to take the woman's order.

      After the food arrived and the good witch had eaten, she changed me back to a human. At that time, I found myself sitting opposite her. We continued to chat. At the end, we exchanged telephone numbers and got ready to leave. The server came back and stared at me. I didn't see you come in, she said.

      That's right, I responded. I said something I shouldn't have and got changed to a coffee cup!

      What on earth did you say? the server asked.

      Thou art a witch! I replied

      The server's countenance took on a severe appearance That was nasty! she growled as she turned me back to a coffee cup.

      The Magic Vase

      The year was 1946. I was a private in the U. S. Signal Corps serving in India. My home away from home was Camp Kanchrapara. World War II had ended and I was waiting for a troop ship to take me back to the United States.

      There was a young boy named Abdul, aged ten, who had a job with the troops. He would do chores like removing trash and keeping the tents clean. He and I had formed a friendship where we would spend much of the time joking back and forth. He'd often say to me, You rajah, me coolie. I'd respond, "No, Abdul, you

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