the clock square

The arcade opens onto a square paved in broad pale stones still slick from rain. Arcades continue around three sides beneath upper stories with shuttered windows and narrow balconies. In the center stands a fountain carved as a shallow octagonal basin. Water slips continuously from four bronze mouths and makes a sound much smaller than the space around it. The clock tower rises from the far side. Up close, its face is stranger than distance suggested: twelve marks around the dial, but no numerals, and two dark hands pointing to positions that would be ordinary if a third, thinner hand were not moving slowly backward. Cafes line one edge of the square under folded awnings. Tables and chairs remain outside, rain-beaded and empty. On another side, a narrow covered passage leads toward a district of taller houses painted faded rose, ochre, and blue. Between two of them, a flight of broad steps rises toward a terrace where the skyline opens. Every few minutes, somewhere in the city, a bell sounds once. It does not seem to come from the clock tower.

From city records