Tinkra the Inventor

Tinkera lived deep in the forest far from the village. He wasn't a recluse or a hermit - simply a deep thinker who preferred not to be disturbed, so he had moved from the village and into the forest.

Once or twice a year, he journeyed into the village to visit friends and acquaintances, but after a day or two he was ready to return home.

Occasioinally, Tinkra would visit the astronomer who lived in the stone tower at the top of the mountain and they would take turns looking through the telescope at all of the celestial wonders. Compared to Tinkra, the astronomer was even more reclusive. He never left his tower and if it wasn’t for his dutiful daughter, he would have probably starved to death a long time ago.

All in all, Tinkra lived a simple, but happy life. He came and went as he pleased. He woke early every morning before dawn (on the days he didn’t work straight through the night), and sipped mint tea as he watched the sun rise.

And just at this moment, Tinkra decided he needed another cup of tea, but he couldn’t remember where he had last put his cup down. Tinkra wasn’t absent minded, but he tended to less adept at the simple, everyday things – like remembering where he last left his tea cup.

Tinkra’s workshop was overflowing with countless drawings and prototype models in various stages of completion, and stacks and stacks of notebooks. As he rummaged through the models on one of his work tables, pushing this one and that one aside, he muttered to himself: “This one was a waste of time…” and “I should have spent more time on that one…” and “If I ever find the time …”

And then abruptly he stopped: “That’s it – Time – I need to invent something to organize my time.” And so, this is how Tinkra lived his life. He was blessed with a brain that induced frequent moments of inspiration, excitement and pure genius, although Tinkra would not use the last word to describe himself. He was too modest.

As the initial surge of inspiration and euphoria subsided, the analytical part of Tinkra’s brain took control. “This idea of yours”, it said to him, “sounds complicated.” But Tinkra had already started a list of preliminary thoughts on the problem:

Time is consistent and not something intermittent, like the wind, which blows one moment and is then still in the next.

It is not something solid that casts a shadow. It is invisible.

It is more like water perpetually flowing…or like water dripping…one drop at a time.

Tinkra closed his eyes and imagined the sound of water dripping in his mind…drip drip drip drip
Yes, that was what Time sounded like, or would sound like if it made a sound.

And that thought became the catalyst for the creativity that sprung forth and propelled Tinkra for the next week as he filled notebook after notebook with sketches and descriptions of his invention to create a mechanical device to organize time.

At one point, Tinkra looked up and said, “Time is circular”, meaning every day was pretty much like the previous one and the next one. The sun rose and set and in between there was a period of something called Time.

How many drops of water did it take to go from the moment the sun rose in the morning to the time it set in the evening and then from the night to the next morning?

The only way Tinkra would know was to count them. And when he finished this tedious task he slept for two straight days. But while he slept his mind kept working, and when he woke he felt refreshed and even remembered where he had left his tea cup.

As the water boiled for his tea, he watched the curls of steam rise up from the tea kettle. And then he had the answer, water evaporated – it couldn’t keep track of Time – but a drip is like a click, a mechanical click – and it was easy to make mechanical clicks.

Tinkra grabbed his notebook. This time he wrote and sketched slowly and methodically. He knew the answer. It was just a matter of filling in the details.

Tinkra was as skilled a craftsman as he was an inventor and over the course of the next several weeks, he worked on the prototype until he was satisfied with the result.

Excitedly, Tinkra turned the crank and wound the spring tightly and when he let go, the gears rotated and the ratchets vacillated and most importantly he heard the rhythmic sound of Time: click, click, click, click…

Tinkra adjusted one of the gears and the sound of the clock changed to click, clack, click, clack, click, clack…. much better he said.

“Now I will always know the time. My days will be organized.” And for a while, they were.

The clock told him when it was time to get up and when to go to sleep. It told him when it was time to eat and when it was time for tea. It told him when he was working late. In fact, it regulated every aspect of his day.

Slowly, the daily activities that Tinkra had once approached enthusiastically and spontaneously, he now completed mindlessly and mechanically.

“What have I done,” he asked himself.

You’re probably saying to yourself,” Why doesn’t he just stop winding the Time mechanism and let it run down.” Well, Tinkra tried doing just that, but found he had become addicted to the rhythmic click, clack, click, clack sound of the mechanism that he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The best he could do was cover it with a cloth to muffle the sound.

Tinkra climbed into his bed that evening, anticipating another restless night. Just as he started to fall asleep, someone knocked at the cottage door. Tinkra got out of bed and opened the door to see who it was.

“Dreadfully sorry for disturbing you, sir,” said one of the strangers, “But we’ve come a long way and there doesn’t seem to be an inn at hand. Could you put us up for the night?”

Tinkra looked at the man and his two companions. The made who had made the request was tall and thin and seemed to be the spokesperson. The other two men were shorter and both about the same height.

Reluctantly, because it was his nature to be kind, he said that they could, but that they were not to touch anything.

“Oh, we won’t touch your valuables,” one of the other men said.

Tinkra let the three men in and showed them to the back of the workshop.

“You can sleep here tonight. But you must leave first thing in the morning. I have a very busy day scheduled and I don't like people looking over my shoulder while I work.”

“What’s that noise?” interrupted one of the men. “It sounds like it’s coming from under that cloth.”

“Nothing,” replied Tinkra, “Not wanting to have to explain and describe the Time mechanism.”

“Is it valuable?” All three men asked at once and then snickered in a funny sort of way like a muffled cough.

“These men are robbers,” Tinkra thought to himself, "but I have nothing of value they would be interested in."

Suddenly, Tinkra had a brilliant idea. Suppose he let on that whatever the lay under the cloth was extremely valuable and that was why he kept it covered. Perhaps the men would steal it and he would be rid of it forever.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Trinkra, “I don’t usually show it anyone because it is valuable and irreplaceable. But you seem to be honest men, so I’ll make an exception.”

And with that said, Tinkra whisked the cloth off the Time mechanism the way a magician does on stage. The three men stared at the Time mechanism – hypnotized by the rotating gears and the vacillating ratchet.

“It must be worth a small fortune,” one of the men said in the low voice.

Tinkra nodded, barely about to hold back a smile as he thought to himself,” Very small.”

One of the other men was about to ask,"What is it?", but was elbowed in the side by the tall man before he could say anythhing.

“That’s why I keep it covered,” Tinkra said, as he carefully placed the cloth back over the the Time mechanism.

“Well, it’s best we take our rest now,” said tall spokes person.

“Yes, it’s late. We’d best take our rest.” Echoed the other two men

As the men bedded down for the night, Tinkra went back to his bed and pretended to fall asleep.
A short while later he heard whispering in the darkness.

“Be quiet, you fool, or you’ll wake him.”

“You be quiet, yourself,” one of the men quipped back.

“Do you have it?”

“Yeah, I put it in the sack.”

“Be careful, don’t break it or we’ll lose a small fortune.”

“Where’s the door?”

“Over here.”

The door opened and a slice of moonlight cut across the workshop.

The three men exited, closing the door behind them. The workshop plunged back into darkness.
A few minutes later, Tinkra fell asleep and when he woke in the morning, the first thing he noticed was that the sound was gone! “

“Ah, how peaceful this is.” he thought, as he jumped out of bed: “I think it’s time for tea, then again, maybe it’s not time for tea...maybe it's not time for anything!”

Well, in a matter of no time, Tinkra returned to his leisurely ways. He rose each morning, moments before sunrise, made a pot of his favorite mint tea and enjoyed the peacefulness of the approaching day.

And what became of the robbers? They sold Tinkra’s invention for a small fortune and soon there were clocks everywhere, regulating everyone’s activities. Sometimes, if you look closely you can even see people walking in synchronization to the clocks of the world. Look, but don't listen to long.