Time’s Curse

“I knew love once,” Time says to me, his stony clock face void of emotion. I have never laid eyes on him before, but when he first entered my shop, mere minutes ago, I knew him on sight. Now, his giant form sits hunched in the wicker chair across from me, looking as out of place as a bull in a china shop.

“What happened?” I ask conversationally, pouring him a cup of tea.

“What always happens,” he replies dryly as accepts the small tea, the cup dwarfed by his big hands. He bows his head in thanks, before taking a small sip.

I wait patiently, watching with blatant curiosity. There is an atmosphere about him that sends a shiver down my spine. Although he looks no older than me, his ancient eyes contradict his smooth skin. In his presence, I am nothing but a child.

Finally, he starts again. “It was eons ago, back when my kind still walked amongst yours. My travels took me all around the world, and due to my youth, I often indulged my curiosity, exploring empires as they rose and fell.
“On one such endeavor, I stumbled across a little teashop. I entered, hopping for rest and refreshment, but in the end, I found much more. Inside, I was welcomed by a mortal with hair like spun gold and eyes like pools of silver. Her smile glowed, more beautiful than Mother Nature, more complicated than Fate, and faster than, well, me.

My eyes widen, though I am unsure as to why. If Time exists, why not Mother Nature?

Oblivious to my shock, Time continues, “It wasn’t until that day,” Time extends his free hand, reaching for something I cannot see, “that I learned that souls can be thirsty too, and mine was dry as a desert.” Abruptly, his hand drops back to his side. “The Fates are known to play tricks, but I had never known them to be cruel until that day.”

“How can love be cruel?” I ask, leaning forward in my seat, as if a closer proximity will enable me to better soak the story in.

“You mortals think love is simple, but I know better. Eventually, all things end, even love. It makes you feel alive for a short while, and then the Fates pull the rug, and you are left alone. I learned as much when I met the mortal with the silver eyes. I should have turned around and fled. Instead, I asked for a coup of tea.

“Our interaction was brief, but she smiled at me, and I barely managed to say my goodbye. It is against my nature to stay in one place for long and I had my duty to get back to. I figured that I would forget about her,” Time stares down into his tea cup, staring into the past, “but sanity couldn’t remain long under love’s influence, just as health can’t remain long under sickness. Before I knew what I was doing, I had returned to the tea shop, as though my feet had moved on their own accord.

“I claimed each visit would be my last, but I was consistent enough that she came to expect me. I would even go so far as to say that at first, she looked forward to my visits. We formed a sort of routine. She would greet me at the door, sit me down with a cup of tea—whatever her favorite was that week—and then demand every detail from my travels.” As if against his will, his mouth slants upwards in one corner, the hint of a smile. “I lived for those visits.”

As I listen, I can’t help but find resemblance in the scene described and the one unfolding in front of me. Upon his arrival, I greeted Time at the door with a smile, as I do with all of my customers. I also offered him a chair and a cup of chamomile, which is in fact my favorite tea. I did not ‘demand’ details about his travels, but I would have, had he not offered them freely. While the parallels excite me, Time does not notice, so immersed in his tale that I am completely forgotten.

“My love had a cost,” Time goes on, “and as I visited, so did my power, and I watched as she grew into her beauty. Her golden hair grew long and shiny, her silver eyes depended, and her bright smile dazzled like starlight. Like moths to a flame, suitors lined up with gold, jewels, and serenades; they went to great lengths in their quests to woo her. Few succeeded, but every success was a stab to my heart. What had I to give? Nothing. Nothing but stories. Even those grew ineffective when, after years of the same routine, I saw the interest leave her silver eyes. She found my stories repetative—boring even. But what else had I to give? She already had my heart.

“On one of my visits, she told me all about her most recent caller, her voice teeming with the very thing I dreaded most: returned affection. It was written across her face like a poem.

“While I had no intention of hurting her, my heart could bear it no more. I needed a token to give her, something that would top every trinket and love letter. So, that day I left, and did not return.”

“You left her?” I can’t help but exclaim in disbelief. Anxious and needing something to do, I refill Time’s teacup. My own sits on the table, cold and forgotten.

The tinge of a smile has vanished from his stony face. “Believe me, it was agony, but my absence was a gift I had been too selfish to realize until then. Without me, my love would not be subject to age.”

He watches me, as if waiting for a reply. I cannot tell him that I find his solution cowardly, so I keep my lips shut, waiting.

He sighs, and starts up again. “With my thoughts forever on those silver eyes, I traveled the world, a vagabond, touching everywhere and everything. Nations rose and fell, people lived and died, but my love remained untouched. I could feel her presence, whenever I came too near, but I passed her by every time, no matter how difficult it became. And as a result, her youth was preserved.

“At first, I held strong because she loved my gift. She called out thanks and prayers, thinking that some nameless god had blessed her. No voice had ever sounded so sweet.

“But, as the ages passed, my love became annoyed with my gift. She grew bitter and ungrateful. I had not taken into account how those she cared for still felt my pull. As the sun circled the Earth, they died off like flies, and my love was forced to taste eternity. Eventually, she came to curse the very nameless god she had once praised—me.”

He calls that a gift? This time, I hold my tongue, thoroughly engaged in the tale.

“Nonetheless, I continued to pass her by. To lose her had become a horror more fearsome than the sour tang of her hatred. But she sought me out. She searched for me, following tales and myths of my presence. I evaded her for as long as I could, but it could not last forever.”

He shivers in remembrance, or maybe cold. I have a crocheted blanket sitting in my lap, but Time has nothing. I ought to offer one, but I can’t quite find the words.

“Eventually, my love ceased in her chase. I took her compliance for submission, assuming that she had grown content with my eternity. Pleased with myself, I grew relaxed and comfortable—sloppy. When I considered myself safest and was therefore most vulnerable, I returned to the tea shop, thirsty for a taste of familiarity. To my surprise, she greeted me at the door, as if she had never left.

“Staring into those silver eyes I so adored, I couldn’t help but relish the sight of her. My gift had left her golden hair shimmering and her smooth skin china. But she was not greeting me with a smile.

“While I never grew tired of those eyes, I knew what seeing them meant. I longed to wrap my arms around her, to comfort her, and end her sorrows with my touch, but I would not let her forsake my gift. I turned to flee, but to my surprise, she beat me to it.

“I had known her love, her indifference, and her rage, but fear was new. Startled and curious, I followed her across the shop and up a staircase. One spiral turned into another, and another. For centuries, I had been so caught up in our game of cat and mouse, that I hadn’t noticed civilization transforming from shacks to skyscrapers. Confused and perplexed, I chased her out onto the roof, and across the terrain, watching as her every step became more sure than the last. Only when she climbed up onto the ledge, the wind whipping through her hair, did I realize her intent. I called out for her to stop, but she ignored my plea, and forced me to spectate helplessly as she stepped off.”

Time’s teacup falls. China shatters and tea splatters across the tiles. In the same instant, his clock face cracks, the stony surface breaking away to reveal the countenance of a broken man. The look in those ancient eyes brings tears to my own, and I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.

“I will get the broom,” I say, starting to rise.

Time halts me with only a hand. His composure has returned to stone, but now, I can see through the mask. There is grief sown into the seams. “When my love took matters into her own hands, she forced mine. Age is my servant, but Death kneels before no man. When she stepped off the ledge, I was forced to follow.

“It was in the air, hurtling towards the ground, that at long last, I touched her. As we collided, the wind ceased, birds froze mid-flight, and the whole rest of the earth stood still, holding its breath. Suspended in air, I embraced centuries of longing. The thirst that had quenched my impoverished soul gulped her in. In one instant, centuries flew by. And by the time we reached the ground, all that remained of my love was a memory.”

I can’t bear to look into that stony clock face. Evading his gaze, I look at the shelf, where, amidst an array of art, trophies, and teacups, lies a portrait. I catch sight of the picture, and my grandmother’s silver eyes stare back at me. I never met her, but my father always claimed that she was older than Time himself. Ironic, how close he had been to the truth, yet terribly off course.

Slowly, I turn back towards Time, and his eyes meet mine—silver. Does he see her when he looks at me? “I am alone once more, and I love no more,” he says quietly, more as a reminder to himself than as an end to the tale.

I tear slides down my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I can feel my grandmother’s hopelessness, as though I’m climbing the stairs with her, but I can also feel her resolve, as if I’m the one stepping onto the ledge. More than anything, I can feel the air rushing through her golden hair, as she fell. Free at last.

When I open my eyes, Time is gone. I do not know where he has gone or when he will return, but I know he will return. It is his duty, his bane, his curse. He will never pass me by as he did my grandmother.

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