Everything Has Its Time

Erin sat in silence, she turned her head to the window, which looked out onto the hospital’s inner courtyard. Fragile rays of early spring sunshine continued to penetrate through the window into the wardroom. Thank God it was now mid-March, winter had passed! Nature, having grown tired of either the infrequent wintry snows, or the frequent showers of rain, had now begun its renewal. The surroundings had taken on an air of cheeriness, even joyfulness, and had begun to shine, as if in a new coat of bright paint. The sky was now blue, and the smell of spring was in the air. Even the birds had now returned, and the pleasant sensation of change had stirred them too. They were bustling and singing, overjoyed at the long-awaited warmth. The trees had cast away their grey coatings and were now basking in the sun’s heat. Soon the first little leaves would come, the grass would grow greener and there would come the long-awaited revival. Maybe all anxieties and disappointments would finally disappear along with the last of the quickly melting snow? Her disciplined imaginations were now being confronted by sobering reality, and, understanding that the result of this story was a foregone conclusion, she still, for the hundredth or even the thousandth time, hoped for an act of mercy from the gods, for a miracle, which had still got to happen, in the name of upholding a trampled justice. For it was only this miracle that could bring her dear father an unexpected escape from this horrible disease.

«When was the last time you saw Rachel?» the voice of her father distracted her from her dismal train of thought.

«I went to the hospital at the start of the week. But she didn’t want to see me. The doctors say her condition is slowly getting worse.»

«Again?» he asked anxiously.

«Yes. Delusional thoughts and hallucinations again. I was told she got alcohol from somewhere and was openly making advances on the doctor, and was trying obscene acts on people…»

«Stop it, please, Erin,» his face grimaced in pain, «I can’t hear any more of this about my own daughter… Can you adjust my cushions a bit, I’m too low down.» She carefully plumped up his cushions so that he could lie more comfortably, not forgetting to kiss him on the forehead while she did so. Then she straightened out the wrinkles in the woollen blankets, out from under which tubes of liquid led under the bed. «And, if you can, please give me something to drink, Erin.» Here she held to his lips a transparent container with a tube running from it.

«What is this?»

«Water, Dad, like you asked for», she answered helpfully.

«There’s not even enough here to christen a witch,» he joked, without success.

She raised his head slightly and he, hiding his strain, slurped a few sips of water from the tube. He then made a surprised face, but across which suddenly a smile appeared once more: «Yes, this actually is water…»

«What were you expecting?»

«I was so hoping that for his day, Saint Patrick would make a miracle and turn this water into whisky.»

Smiles appeared on both their faces again.

«And yourself, how do you feel?» he asked.

«I’m alright, Dad. I went to the doctor’s a few weeks ago. They said I am fine. They even permitted me to do sport.»

«You’re going to the horse-riding club again?»

«I really want to do it again! I really enjoy it, but I haven’t been there for a while. A world of horses… And I really miss my Beowolf!»

«Beowolf is the very same thoroughbred racer that you talk about so much?»

«Yes. And he’s missed me, I’m sure, and he will have missed the horseracing and jumping. He loves those things!»

«Thank God! And what about your personal life, daughter? Is there any news that I’ll be overjoyed to hear? You must have a bloke by now! Well go on, spit it out!»

«No. Things aren’t going as well there as at work. And I have no time for it at the moment.»

«It’s not about time. I know you. All the real, reliable men have simply disappeared. So… what, have they all died out? Like the mastodons? Their places have been taken over by self-indulgent adult-children. Don’t you think?»

«Dad, I promise that when my searching yields results, you’ll be the first to know.»

«So, you mean that you’ve decided to search for a mastodon?» he grunted unpleasantly, «If so then I fear you’ll not be having results soon.»

«To be honest, the men I meet are young, and pretend to be of impeccable upbringing and venerable background. But then I see they’re just haughty, blue eyed snobs with crooked teeth and, sorry, but bad breath. And some of them would be nothing if it wasn’t for their parents’ chequebooks. You know, the more I get to know the world, the less I think I can find a man I can love truly…»

«These youngsters spend twelve years at boarding school, where they are whipped for walking out of step, and so they lose their independence of thought. And as a result, they consider us Irish to be good for nothing except drunken dancing. You’re a very smart girl, Erin. You understand how people work. But you also must listen to your heart… Often it is only the heart, not cold calculation, that tells us what to do next…»

«Yes of course, Dad. I have decided that, when my heart starts to beat faster, this is a signal that the man of my dreams is in front of me, a real and whole souled man, like you, Dad… Someone who will not complain, won’t reproach anyone, or blame anyone for their failings.»

«I don’t doubt that you’ll find the right man in the end. Marriage is not a joke… It can change your life forever. But you will succeed. You deserve great happiness, Erin! Open your heart for the right person’s arrow. Just don’t forget, please, that whoever you choose, he must be…»

«Irish, Dad!» she stated firmly.

«Precisely! And what else?» Kevin quizzed her. His eyes stared straight into hers, reminding her that these criteria were of vital importance.

«And a Catholic!»

«Clever girl! These are the answers I was expecting. That you know them calms me,» he nodded with satisfaction. «Thank you, daughter!»

At that moment someone knocked timidly on the door, and came in without a hurry, his Kathryn.

2. Kathryn

«Happy birthday, dear! And happy St Patrick’s Day!» she kissed her husband first on one cheek, then on the other, and sat down quietly beside him, putting a stylish leather handbag on the floor, which was grey to match her dark blue dress. She reckoned the bag was big enough to accommodate all her essentials whilst being sufficiently elegant at the same time. It was noticeable, however, that in her choice of dress she was somewhat more conservative and preferred something more old-fashioned, colours towards the more modest end of the spectrum.

There are women of stunning beauty and charm, and then there are women who are simply adorable, the kind that one would not leave for anyone else. Despite the external coldness of her typically Nordic appearance, Kathryn was certainly one of the latter. Her air of aloofness, emphasised by her light skin tone, with hair to match, and her long face, made her look more like a being from Scandinavian folklore, be it a fairy, an elf, or a mermaid.

However, given her advanced age, one might even dare to call her a snow queen. She was of pure Irish blood, yet possessed none of the strong will, intransigence, or rigour which often characterise such women. Quite to the contrary, her character was sophisticated, gentle, and dignified.

«Why are we sitting in silence on such a marvellous day, eh?» she asked her daughter, turning to look at her. «Be a dear and put on some of Dad’s favourite music. You’d like that, wouldn’t you dear?» Erin looked at her father and suggested, «The Dance of the Elves to start with?» and she reached over to the tape recorder standing on the windowsill.

Here, however, in a neat little frame under a layer of glass, there was an old photograph, one of her parents’ most beloved pictures, from which they, still so young, beautiful, and perfectly happy, looked out at her… Her eyes fell on the picture, and her heart missed a beat…

Kevin announced his choice, «First I want Celtic Dreams, if it’s there. When I came to Birmingham, I couldn’t bring all of Ireland with me, so I just brought a longing for her…»

«I’ve brought you our trademark mutton rag? and Barmbrack cake shaped like a shamrock with emerald icing. Erin made cream to go with it. Tuck in! You’ll have some, won’t you dear…»

«Can I have a pint of Guinness?» he interrupted his wife impatiently, «I know you brought some…»

«Kevin, the doctors forbade you from having even a drop of alcohol, which includes beer. You’ll get worse beyond repair…»

«I can’t get any worse than this. If you don’t let me down a Patrick’s Chalice today, don’t even think about asking me to eat those culinary masterpieces of yours… I won’t even touch them…»

«Alright dear,» Kathryn caved in; she knew that arguing with him was pointless, especially today, «on second thoughts, you should be allowed a drop or two on this sacred day.» She began to place the items on the bedside table, and a minute later she had improvised a spread for the occasion.

«I have a little present for you dear,» she got out a small clay figure, it was a dumpy little man dressed all in green. He was mending his left shoe.

«Ah!» said Kevin and smiled, «A leprechaun! My favourite fairy-tale creature. Thank you, Kathryn!»

«May he make all your dreams come true!»

«When we drink, we get drunk…» quietly and weakly, Kevin started to sing, and then Kathryn and Erin joined in on their favourite song, one which had become a family tradition to sing when feasting, and then in unison they broke into a great chorus: «When we drink, we get drunk. When we get drunk, we fall asleep. When we fall asleep, we commit no sin. When we commit no sin, we go to Heaven. So, let’s all get drunk and go to Heaven.»

The singing and the consumption of beer served to ease the atmosphere, it became content and relaxed. Even Kevin perked up. The gathering was evidently in the highest of spirits.