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2005 Mr TimeBy Marc Rugani
Mr Time
It’s unbelievable!
It’s gone! Disappeared! Vanished into thin air!
I can look as much as I want and as close as I want with my magnifying glass, there’s no getting round it. It’s no longer there! It’s vanished without a trace, as if it had never existed.
There’s no physical trace either: if I run my finger over where it used to be, all I can feel is a perfectly smooth, even surface, like a lake without a ripple!
Yet I’d had my doubts about that morning’s adventure, to a point where I was no longer sure it had actually happened; well, it seems it did!
It all started at around 11 o’clock.
As I often do on a Sunday, I’d gone for a stroll in the park, down by the river. The sun was shining brightly in a clear, blue sky, but it wasn’t too hot, making this a most pleasant Spring morning. Two anglers – regulars, no doubt – sat patiently, waiting for the fish to bite, while some yards away a football game was in progress.
I never get tired of this familiar scene.
Wandering along in a pleasant daydream, I got to the small bridge just further down the river.
It’s not a wide bridge, but for those who know it, there’s plenty of room for two abreast.
As sometimes happens, I’d no sooner started to cross than another walker appeared at the other side.
Out of politeness, I moved to the right to enable him to pass, but he – presumably with the same idea – went to the same side; so I moved back and stepped to the left, whereupon he did exactly the same! So I moved back to the right, but he made the same move!
We did this four times, right to left, left to right, like mirror reflections!
Then just as strangely, we both stopped at the same time.
I looked at him...he looked at me...our eyes met and we both burst out laughing, me rather more loudly.
Until this moment, rather caught up in my Sunday daydream and then in this little dance on the bridge, I hadn’t really taken much notice of the walker who was blocking my way.
I was dumbfounded!
The young man opposite me – aged around twenty-five, I would guess – had quite extraordinary looks: he was of an exceptional beauty, with the purity of an angel in a painting; a beauty such as you rarely come across. And then beyond mere beauty, I was struck by the sweet gentleness that shone from him, a kind of inner peace and serenity of such intensity that it was almost palpable.
I was rooted to the spot as if under a spell.
And I remained stock-still on the bridge, gawping at him dumbly, for what seemed like an age. Strangely, he didn’t move either, calmly regarding me with a smile; he seemed in no way embarrassed by either the situation or my behavior.
I gradually came out of my daze, as if emerging from a dream, and I started to speak to him, spluttering slightly:
-“Excuse me….”
-“There’s no problem….”
-“Yes, really, it’s foolish…”
-“It happens all the time, you know.”
-“Yes, I know, but even so….”
I found this young man irresistibly attractive: it wasn’t just his beauty, but more importantly that sense of peace that emanated from him. It was strange, yet I had no desire to continue on my way, but wanted to linger in his company, talk to him…We’d only just met, but I sensed that leaving him would be an irreparable loss.
Something pushed me to question him:
-“Do you often go walking here?”
-“No, it’s the first time.”
-“I come here often. It’s one of my favorite spots. Are you from around here?”
-“No, I’m just passing through.”
There we were, facing each other on the bridge; me with my eyes wide, he with his gentle smile. I could sense no tension within him, just calm contentment, a profound inner peace. I felt his serenity spread over me.
I wished he had said: “Yes, I live nearby and I come here often.” His negative reply saddened me more than I can express.
I’m not sure why, but I introduced myself to him and he did the same.
-“My name is Mr Time”
-“Mr Time, as is in “what time is it?”
-“Yes”
I ventured to ask his first name.
-“I don’t have a first name.”
-“Oh, really?”
-“I’m just called quite simply Mr Time.”
-“That’s so odd! Don’t you mind not having a first name?”
-“No.”
-“But how do you manage for official papers. Your passport or your driving license. You must have to give your first name!”
-“That’s true, but I don’t have those documents you refer to.”
He answered me with the same calm smile.
-“Hah! So you’re not a registered person?” I said jovially in my most official voice.
-“No.”
I peered at him. This uncommonly handsome and gentle young man, encountered on a bridge in the park, was certainly a strange individual: no papers, no first name! But he didn’t look like some sort of illegal alien.
For a good minute I just continued to stare at him without saying a thing. He didn’t seem to mind and waited patiently. I felt so comfortable standing there with him in silence that I could have happily spent longer and I am sure he would have continued to wait.
I told him what I did for a living and asked him what he did.
-“I am Mr Time.”
-“Yes, you’ve already told me that. I was asking what you do for a living, what your job is.”
-“I’ve just told you – I am Mr Time.”
I remained silent for a moment, trying to understand what he was saying.
-“So, you’re some sort of clock maker, you repair watches and such like…is that it?”
-“Not really. I am Mr Time and I manage the passage of time.”
I had no idea what he was on about.
-“You manage the passage of time?”
-“Well, time…that’s me.”
Seeing that I was puzzled, he continued: “For example, the space between two moments, between two minutes, that’s me; the space between two hours, two years, two centuries, that’s me; or more precisely, that’s my work, my job if you like!”
For a brief moment I assumed that he was pulling my leg and just making fun of me with this nonsense about time. Or otherwise, perhaps he was slightly mad! Yet immediately followed the absolute, inexplicable certainty that he was neither mad nor had any thought of mockery.
I would have liked him to say more, to explain himself, but unfortunately he said not a word, as if what it was all perfectly clear and obvious.
We were still together on the bridge. Other walkers passed by from time to time, but no one glanced at us. Why should they – what’s more normal than two people chatting on a bridge?
What on earth did he mean by “the space between two moments, that’s me”?
-“Mr Time, it’s rather awkward calling you “mister”, so would you mind if I give you a first name? How about John, is that alright?”
-“If you like.”
-“John, you’ll have to explain, because I’m completely lost!”
-“It’s very straightforward. I am the source of time and its span; I am responsible for time passing.”
-“But how can you say that: “I’m responsible for time passing”? How can you be? That’s not possible! No man can be! John, you’re making fun of me!”
-“No, I’m not making fun of you. I am Mr Time, it’s quite simple. It’s thanks to me that everything moves, changes, evolves. A child growing up, a young girl becoming a woman, a flower that blossoms: it’s all my work! The phases of the moon, the changing seasons, that’s all my work too!”
-“And the old man who dies, John, is that your work too?”
-“No, death is for Mrs Death.”
-“Mrs Death?”
-“I don’t like Mrs Death, we’re not friends. I’m the duration of time while she’s the end.”
-“And does Mrs Death wander around like you, in parks and public gardens? Dressed in a black robe and carrying a scythe, like in the pictures?”
He didn’t reply, but I thought I could discern in his eyes an acknowledgement that it was just so.
John could have explained until the cows came home, but I was never going to understand! How can anyone comprehend the incomprehensible? How could anyone grasp what he was saying, this John – or Mr Time as he called himself, with no first name and no identity papers – who claimed to be in charge of time, responsible for duration, creating seconds and minutes one after the other?
-“So John, you say you’re in charge of time. But can you turn it back, return to the past, like turning the hands on a watch? Can you erase the effects of time passing?”
-“I’m not allowed to.”
-“Not allowed to? So you have the power?”
-“Yes, I can do it, but I’m not allowed to.”
-“Who is stopping you?”
He didn’t reply.
We looked at each other again without speaking.
Then after a moment, he spoke in the same gentle voice and said that he must be going.
I had gone with him as far as he wanted: I would have circumnavigated the globe with my new friend John, Mr Time, if he’d have let me! But at a certain point he just made it clear to me that he must continue alone.
As he left, he gently stroked my forehead in a sign of farewell, or perhaps a sign of friendship – who knows.
I left him, bereft.
There was no point continuing my walk so I headed straight home.
It was when I glanced in a mirror that I noticed the change.
For many years I have had a deep wrinkle across my forehead. Well, it had gone. Completely vanished. Just where John or Mr Time, my friend, had brushed his finger when leaving me. |