“Oh, dear-o dear-o,” said the old woman, “what is happening? I want tae see this happening but I don’t believe it!”
But the old man was busy watching the clock and she was wondering why he was always watching the time passing by. After he had his meal they sat and talked about many things. He’d asked her about her hens and asked her about everything, asked her about her life, how she spent the life on the beach, how she enjoyed the last year and was the last year good to her.
He said, “Did last year treat you kindly?”
“Oh,” she said, “well, I’ve had a wonderful year. My hens were laying and there nothing was wrong wi’ me and I wasna feeling ill. But it only makes me older when another year comes!” And she was looking forward to next year coming and what would happen. They talked for many hours. Then the old woman could see that there was something strange about this person that sat before her.
So she turned round, said, “Stranger, would you tell me the truth?”
He said, “What is it you want tae know?”
“Well,” she said, look, you’ve been in my home now for over eight hours and we’ve talked many things. And I’ve seen a wonderful change come over you.”
And the young-old man smiled. He said, “Old woman, it’s the same thing happening all over the world at this present moment. Because everyone is welcoming the change going to happen with the next quarter-hour tae come. So, I don’t know why you should be worried about it.”
She says, “I’m really worried because I can see the change… When ye came in to me you had a beard and now yer beard is gone. You had the appearance of an old man and now you don’t look an old man tae me – you look like a young man! Did the wine I give ye made ye drop these years, or maybe the egg I gave ye made ye drop these years?”
And he stood up – as straight as straight could be. He looked at the clock and he said, “No, it’s not you; it’s not you, my old woman. I thank ye for yer kindness but I must be on my way. It is time that has caught up with me!”
She said, “Time? But there’s plenty time.”
He said, “There might be plenty time for you, but there’s not much time for me.” And he stood up and his beard was gone. His cheeks were as red and rosy as the face of a child. And his eyes were blue as the blue of a newborn baby. As he stood that straight, his feet in the sandals were like the feet of a newborn boy. He stood there before her and he held out his hand and his fingernails were like the fingernails of a child.
He said, “Look, old woman, I have come tae visit you because I respect your life and I respect the things that ye have done. But unknown to you… ye don’t even know what time it is, do you?”
She said, “No, I don’t know what time it is!” And she looked at the clock; it was quarter to twelve. He had been with her for eight hours talking and blethering.
He said, “I must be on my way.”
“But,” she says, “before ye go, please tell me something because I am so upset – tae see an old man coming into my house and a young man walking away!”
He said, “In fifteen minutes it’ll be twelve o’clock, and then my time really begins. I have a long way tae go and a long, long year to spend and many, many places tae travel.”
She says, “Who are you, Stranger?”
He says, “I am Father Time. And you be privileged, because it’s not many people I be visited!” And he turned round. He says to the old woman, “Do you know what time it is?”
She said, “It’s five minutes tae twelve.”
“But do you know what day it is?”
She said, “No, I don’t.”
He said, “It’s almost twelve o’clock – and it’s the beginning of a New Year.”
She says, “New Year! I thought it was weeks away. I prepared for it but I never knew it would come so soon. Would ye do me one favour?”
He says, “What could I do for you before I go?”
“Would you drink one glass of wine from me?”
He said, “I’m sorry… because the clock’ll soon be striking twelve,” and like that the young man was gone!
And that is the end o’ my story.
Death in a Nut
Jack lived with his mother in a little cottage by the shoreside, and his mother kept some ducks and some hens. Jack could barely remember his father who had died long before he was born. And they had a small kind o’ croft. Jack cut a little hay for his mother’s goats. When there was no hay to collect, he spent most of his time along the shoreside as a beachcomber, collecting everything that came in by the tide, whatever it would be – any old drums, any old cans, pieces of driftwood, something that was flung off a boat. Jack collected all these things and brought them in, put them beside his mother’s cottage and said, “Some day they might come in useful.” But the thing that Jack collected most for his mother was firewood.
And Jack was very happy. He was just a young man, his early teens, and he dearly loved his mother. He used to some days take duck eggs to the village (his mother was famed for her duck eggs) and hen eggs forbyes; they helped them survive. And his mother would take in a little sewing for the local people in the village. Jack and his mother lived quite happy. Till one particular day; it was around about the wintertime, about the month o’ January, this time o’ the year now.
Jack used to get up early in the morning and make a cup o’ tea; he always gave his mother a cup o’ tea in bed, every morning. And one particular morning he rose early because he wanted to catch the incoming tide to see what it would bring in for him. He brought a cup o’ tea in to his mother in her own little bed in a little room. It was only a two-room little cottage they had.
He says, “Mother, I’ve brought you a cup o’ tea.”
She says, “Son, I don’t want any tea.”
“Mother,” he says, “why? What’s wrong, are you not feeling…”
She says, “Son, I’m not feeling very well this morning. I don’t think I could even drink a cup o’ tea if you gave it to me.”
“Oh, Mother,” he says, “try and take a wee sip,” and he leaned over the bed, held the cup to his mother’s mouth and tried to get her…
She took two-three sips. “That’s enough, laddie,” she says, “I don’t feel very well.”
He says, “What’s wrong with you, Mother? Are you in pain or something?”
“Well, so and no so, Jack. I dinnae ken what’s wrong with me,” she says. “I’m an ill woman, Jack, and ye’re a young man and I cannae go on for ever.”
“But, Mother,” he says, “you can’t die and leave me by myself! What am I going to do? I’ve no friends, nobody in this world but you, Mother! You can’t die and leave me.”
“Well,” she says, “Jack, I think I’m no long for this world. In fact, I think he’ll be coming for me some o’ these days… soon.”
“Who, Mother, are you talking about – coming for me?”
She says, “Jack, ye ken who he is, Jack. Between me and you, we don’t share any secrets. I’m an old woman and I’m going to die – Death’s going to come for me, Jack, and I can see it in my mind.”
“Oh, Mother, no, Mother,” he said, and held her hand.
“But,” she says, “never mind, laddie. Ye’ll manage to take care o’ yourself. Yer mother has saved a few shillings for you and I’m sure some day you’ll meet a nice wee wife when I’m gone. Ye’ll probably get on in the world.”
“No, Mother,” he says, “I couldn’t get on without you.”
She says, “Laddie, leave me and I’ll try and get a wee sleep.”
By this time it was daylight as the sun began to get up, and Jack walked along the shoreway in the grey-dark of the morning, just getting clear. It must have been about half past eight – nine o’clock (in the wintertime it took a long while to get clear in the mornings) when the tide was coming in. Jack walked along and, lo and behold, the first thing he saw coming a-walking the shoreway was an old man with a long grey beard, skinny legs, a ragged coat and a scythe on his
back. His two eyes were sunk into his head, sunk back into his skull, and he was the ugliest looking creature that Jack ever saw in his life. But he had on his back a brand new scythe and it was shining in the light from the morning.
Now, his mother had always told Jack what Death looked like, and Jack says to his ownself, “That’s Death come for my old mother! He’s come to take the only thing that I love away from me, but,” he said, “he’s no getting away with it!”
So, Jack steps out off the shoreside and up he comes and meets this old man – bare feet, long ragged coat, long ragged beard, high cheek bones and his eyes sunk back in his head, two front teeth sticking out like that – and a shining scythe on his back. The morning sun was glittering on the blade – ready to cut the people’s throats and take them away to the Land o’ Death.
Jack steps up, says, “Good morning, old man.”
“Oh,” he said, “good morning, young man! Tell me, is it far to the next cottage?”
Jack said, “My mother lives in the next cottage just along the shoreway a little bit.”
“Oh,” he says, “that’s her I want to visit.”
“Not this morning,” says Jack. “Ye’re not going to visit her! I know who you are – you’re Death – and you’ve come to take my old mother, kill her and take her away and leave me myself.”
“Well,” Death says, “it’s natural. Your mother, ye know, she’s an old woman and she’s reached a certain age. I’ll no be doing her any harm. I’ll be just doing her a good turn – she’s suffering in pain.”
“You’re no taking my old mother!” says Jack. And he ran forward, he snapped the scythe off the old man’s back, and he walked to a big stone. He smashed the scythe against a stone.
And the old man got angrier and angrier and angrier and more ugly looking. “My young man,” he says, “you’ve done that – but that’s not the end!”
“Well,” Jack says, “it’s the end for you!” And Jack dived on top o’ him. Jack got a hold o’ him and Jack picked a bit stick up the shoreside; he beat him and he welted him and he welted him, he beat him and he welted him. He fought with Death and Death was as strong as Jack was, but finally Jack conquered him! And Jack beat him with a bit stick. And lo and behold, a funny thing happened: the more Jack beat him, the wee-er Death got. And Jack beat him and Jack beat him – no blood came from him or anything – Jack beat him with the stick till he got barely the size o’ that.
And Jack caught him in his hand. “Now,” he said, “I got ye! Ye’ll no get my old mother!”
Now Jack thought to his ownself, “What in the world am I going to do with him? I have him here; I can’t let him go. I beat him, I broke his scythe and I conquered him. But what in the world am I going to do with him? I can’t hide him below a stone because he’ll creep out and he’ll come back to his normal size again.”
Jack walked along the shore and he looked – coming in by the tide was a big hazelnut, that size! But the funny thing about this hazelnut: a squirrel had dug a hole in the nut because squirrels always dig holes in nuts – they have sharp teeth – and he eats the kernel out inside and leaves the empty case. And Jack picked up the hazelnut. He looks, says, “The very thing!”
And Jack crushed Death in through the wee hole, into the nut. Squeezed him in head first, and his wee feet, put him in there, shoved him in. Then he walked about; he got a wee plug o’ stick and he plugged the hole from the outside.
“Now,” he says, “Death, you’ll never get my mother.” And he caught him in his hand – he threw him out into the tide! And the heavy waves were whoosh-an-whoosh-an-whoosh-an, whoosh-an-whoosh-an in and back and forward. And Jack watched the wee nut; it went a-sailing floating and back and forward away with the tide.
“That’s it!” says Jack. “That’s the end o’ Death. He’ll never bother my mother again, or anybody else forbyes.”
Jack got two-three sticks under his arm and he walked back. When he landed back he saw the reek was coming from the chimney.
He says, “My mother must be up. She must be feeling a wee bit better.” Lo and behold, he walks in the house. There’s his old mother up, her sleeves rolled up, her face full o’ flour, her apron on and she’s busy making scones.
He said, “How ye feeling, Mother?”
She says, “Jack, I’m feeling great. I never felt better in my life! Laddie, I dinna ken what happened to me, but I was lying there in pain and torture, and all in a minute I felt like someone had come and rumbled all the pains and took everything out o’ my body and made me… I feel like a lassie again, Jack. I made some scones for your breakfast.”
Jack never mentioned to his mother about Death, never said a word. His mother fasselt roon the table. She put up her hair… Jack never saw his mother in better health in her life! He sat down by the fire. His mother made some scones.
He had a wee bit scone. He says, “Mother, is that all you’ve got to eat?”
“Well,” she says, “Jack, there’s no much, just a wee puckle flour and I thought I’d mak ye a wee scone for your breakfast. Go on out to the hen house and get a couple eggs. I’ll mak ye a couple eggs along with your scone and that’ll fill ye up, laddie.”
Jack walks out to the hen house as usual, wee shed beside his mother’s house. Oh, every nest is full o’ eggs – hens’ eggs, duck eggs, the nests are all full. Jack picks up four o’ the big beautiful brown eggs out o’ the nest, goes back in and, “Here, Mother, there’s four,” he says, “two to you, two to me.”
The old woman says, “I’ll no be a minute, Jack.” It was an open fire they had. The woman pulled the sway out, put the frying pan on, put a wee bit fat in the pan. She waited and she waited and watched, but the wee bit fat wouldn’t melt. She poked the fire with the poker but the wee bit fat wouldn’t melt.
“Jack,” she says, “fire’s no kindling very good, laddie; it’ll no even melt that wee bit fat.”
“Well, put some more sticks on, Mother,” he said, “put some more wee bits o’ sticks on.” Jack put the best o’ sticks on, but na! The wee bit o’ fat sat in the middle o’ the pan, but it wouldn’t melt.
He says, “Mother, never mind, put the egg in and give it a rummle roon. It’ll do me the way it is. Just put it in the pan.”
Old mother tried – crack – na! She hit the egg again – na! And suppose she could have taken a fifty-pound hammer and hit the egg; that egg would not break! She says, “Jack, I can’t break these eggs.”
“Mother,” he said, “I thought ye said ye were feeling well and feeling good – and you can’t break an egg? Give me the egg, I’ll break it!” Jack took the egg, went in his big hand, ye ken. Jack, big young laddie, caught the egg with one hand – clank – on the side o’ the pan – na! Ye’re as well to hit a stone on the side o’ the pan; the egg would not break in no way in this world.
“Ah, Mother,” he says, “I dinna ken what’s wrong. I dinna ken what’s wrong, Mother, with these eggs. Probably they’re no right eggs. I better go and get another two.”
He walked out to the shed again. He brought in two duck eggs. But he tried the same – na, they wouldn’t break. The eggs just would not break in any way in the world.
“Mother,” he says, “put them in a taste o’ water and bring them a-boil.”
She says, “That’s right, Jack, I never thought about that.” The old woman got a wee pan and the fire was going well by this time of bonnie shore sticks. She put the pan on and within seconds the water was boiling. She popped the two eggs in. And it bubbled and bubbled and bubbled and bubbled. She said, “They’re ready now, Jack.” She took them out – crack – na! Suppose they had tried for months, they couldn’t crack those two eggs!
“Ah, Mother,” he says, “there’s something wrong. Mother, something’s wrong; there’s enchantment upon us – those eggs’ll no cook. We’re going to die with hunger.”
“Never mind, Jack,” she says, “eat your wee bit scone. I’ll mak ye a wee drop soup, a wee pot o’ soup. Go out to the garden,
Jack, and get me a wee taste o’ vegetables, leeks and a few carrots.”
Now Jack has a good garden. He passes all his time making a good garden to his mother. Out he goes; he pulls two carrots, a leek, bit parsley and a neep, and he brings it to his mother. The old woman washes the pot, puts some water in, puts it on the fire. She goes to the table with the knife. But na – every time she touches the carrot, the knife just skates off it. She touches the leek – it skates off it and all. The old woman tries her best and Jack tries his best – there’s no way in the world…
Jack said, “That knife’s blunt, Mother. And Jack had a wee bit o’ sharpening stone he’d found in the shoreside. He took the stone and he sharpened the knife, but no way in the world would it ever look at the carrots or the neep or the wee bit parsley to make a wee pot o’ soup.
She says, “Jack, there’s something wrong with my vegetables; they must be frozen solid.”
“But,” he said, “Mother, there’s been no frost to freeze them! How in the world can this happen?”
“Well,” she says, “Jack, look, ye ken I’ve an awful cockerels this year; and we’ll no need them all, Jack. Would ye go out to the shed and pull a cockerel’s neck and I’ll put it in the pot, boil it for our supper?”
“Aye,” says Jack.
Now, the old woman kept a lot of hens. Jack went out and in the shed there were dozens of them sitting in a row, cockerels o’ all description. Jack looked till he seen a big fat one sitting on a perch. He put his hand up, caught it and he felt it – it was fat. “Oh,” he says, “Mother’ll be pleased with this yin.” Jack pulled the neck – na! Pulled again – no way. He pulled it, he shook it, he swung it round his head three-five times. He took a stick and he battered it in the head. There’s no way – he couldn’t touch the cockerel in any way! He put it below his oxter and he walked in to his mother.
She said, “Ye got a cockerel, Jack?”
“Oh, Mother,” he said, “I got a cockerel all right. I got one. But, Mother, you may care!”
The Flight of the Golden Bird Page 12