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The Irish Tales

The Year We Ran Out of Fridays.(11)

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April finally fell asleep about 3am, smashing a valuable 16th century balloon glass as he did so.
I made him comfortable and covered him with a shroud stolen from Gethsemane, an act which caused my lips to twitch with barely suppressed humour.

Tuesday swept up the shards with a broom, just like any good wife would do and I was about to make just such an observation when the full import of my thinking struck me dumb.

What the hell was I doing ?

Me, December, the Eldest Month, The Coldest Month, mooning over a woman like a love-sick teenager.

I slumped down into my favourite chair and sucked on the brandy decanter, watching Tuesday as she did what all women throughout Time have done - clear up after men.

And yet, she was no ordinary woman. She was a Chrono, a Regulator, a Perennial who had powers no mortal could conceive.

Then she ruined the illusion by kicking me hard on the leg.
"Lift your feet. I need to get those shards of glass from under them." So I did what all men throughout Time have done - meekly obey a woman.

When I was finally allowed to put my feet down, I glanced across at April, who was snoring for England under his shroud.

Could he do it, when at dawn tomorrow, he stood naked above the Pond ?
Should he do it, or was it a pointless exercise in futility ?

Was I wrong to ask him to do it ? Should I have first invoked a higher power, such as the Decadent or the Centurion ?

And so I brooded, until I became aware that Tuesday was standing before me, with her coat on.

"I'm going back to my apartment to sleep. I'll be here at dawn. Goodnight."
And with that she turned away.
I thought about saying something, then realised it would be useless.

Feeling suddenly angry I stood up, paced around the room for a while, then gave April a hefty kick on the leg which dangled down from the couch. He grunted, grinned inanely, then started snoring again.

I stumbled into the bedroom, muttering to myself the way old/young men do when they are thwarted.

The room was as I left it; bed un-made, glasses everywhere, ashtrays full and the air thick with - what ?
Smoke, sweat, alcohol and bodily fluids; yes.
But there was something else, something which at first I struggled to recognise.

And then it hit me.
It was the scent of a woman. Intoxicating, mesmerising, overwhelming.

I sat down abruptly on the bed, suddenly feeling a little weak at the knees.

Damn her.
Damn her through all Time.


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  1. Archangel's Avatar
    To be continued, very soon.