He Fa on Russell

Two loops of pocket-watch chain hang across the waistcoat, neatly framed by the suit, tie and pocket square. I stand here in Russell's borrowed three-piece suit as though ready to announce the exact time. But a clearly visible watch chain does not tell me where someone else is hurrying from, or how far each of us has traveled for the same meeting.

The chain first makes abstract time into a portable object, then places that object on a close-fitting garment. It easily makes punctuality look like personal discipline: remember to check the watch, and you apparently will not be delayed. This judgment is useful in some circumstances; an agreed time should indeed be taken seriously. But it skips over differences in transport, caring responsibilities and waiting for someone else to finish the preceding task.

He Fa's face makes the outfit seem a little less like a precision machine. Bodies tire, collars tighten, and people may estimate their schedules incorrectly. Admitting this does not strip time of meaning; it makes clearer communication all the more necessary. Those running late can give notice, and those waiting can choose to leave. Neither need use a long vigil to prove sufficient commitment to the relationship.

Of course, understanding circumstances cannot require one person to be endlessly accommodating. Repeated lateness fragments someone else's afternoon; however complete the explanation, the loss does not automatically become zero. A fairer arrangement should allow rescheduling, changing the place, or even no longer meeting. Attending to differences must take the form of options both sides can use, rather than merely consuming one person's patience.

I leave the watch chain on the waistcoat to remind me that time is carried by particular bodies. Before announcing the time at our next meeting, I should say how long I can wait and ask whether the other person can get there. Two curving lengths of chain come closer to the actual shape of a meeting than a straight scale does.