The Irish Tales

In camera meeting : 6th March


Present : The Calendarist, December, Tuesday.


As I looked at what Cal had become, I found myself pondering the idea of mortality for possibly the first time in my long existence.

The events of the last week had reduced him to a mere shade of his former self ; weak, pale, shrunken.
The three of us had convened in my suite, there to discuss what must be done, but it became blindingly obvious that Cal would play little or no part in whatever happened next.

He sat there, gripping tightly to a glass of brandy which he never touched, a dreamy, far away look in his eyes.

"I remember Friday when he was just a child, a fledgling Day. His mother was a mortal, did you know that ? When her time ran out, somewhat prematurely, he was raised by Sarah Mumbless and played with Sarah's daughter, Martha.

"When he eventually realised who and what he was, he was very confused and angry. He wanted no part of it, of Time. He simply wanted to be mortal and to be with Martha."

Cal was weeping steadily now, his rheumy eyes gumming up as the memories of a long, long lifetime battered and bruised him.

"Those of us born to Time can have no real conception of what it is like to be part-mortal. It fell to me to explain that henceforth, he must have no contact with the mortal world, other than that which was strictly neccessary for his work. No ties, no friends, no relationships of any kind. I can't help but feel that this conflict is what led him to stop his own clock...."

An uncomfortable silence fell.
I stole a glance at Tuesday, who registered no emotion whatsoever, the callous bitch.

I sipped my brandy and waited.

Cal finally wiped his eyes and stood up, tall and straight.
"I'm tired now. I'm going to bed. Sleep well...."

He turned to go, but Tuesday coughed and caught his eye.
"Don't we have something to talk about, sir ?"

Cal paused and considered this for a moment.
"I'm sure you two do. Good luck."

And with that he walked out of the room, out of the residence and out of our lives.


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