The Time Keeper By Mitch Albom

The Time Keeper By Mitch Albom

Prologue: A man sits alone in a cave. His hair is long. His beard reaches his knees. He holds his chin in the cup of his hands. He closes his eyes. He is listening to something. Voices. Endless voices. They rise from a pool in the corner of the cave. They are the voices of people on Earth. They want one thing only. Time. Sarah Lemon is one of those voices. A teenager in our day, she sprawls on a bed and studies a photo on her cell phone: a good-looking boy with coffeecolored hair. Tonight she will see him. Tonight at eight-thirty. She recites it excitedly —Eight-thirty, eight-thirty!—and she wonders what to wear. The black jeans? The sleeveless top? No. She hates her arms. Not the sleeveless. “I need more time,” she says. Victor Delamonte is one of those voices. A wealthy man in his mid-eighties, he sits in a doctor’s office. His wife sits beside him. White paper covers an exam table. The doctor speaks softly. “There’s not much we can do,” he says. Months of treatment have not worked. The tumors. The kidneys. Victor’s wife tries to speak, but the words catch. As if sharing the same larynx, Victor clears his throat. “What Grace wants to ask is … how much time do I have left?” His words—and Sarah’s words— drift up to the faraway cave, and the lonesome, bearded man sitting inside it. This man is Father Time. You might think him a myth, a cartoon from a New Year’s card— ancient, haggard, clutching an hourglass, older than anyone on the planet. But Father Time is real. And, in truth, he cannot age. Beneath the unruly beard and cascading hair—signs of life, not death—his body is lean, his skin unwrinkled, immune to the very thing he lords over. Once, before he angered God, he was just another man, fated to die when his days were done. Now he has a different fate: Banished to this cave, he must listen to the world’s every plea—for more minutes, more hours, more years, more time. He has been here an eternity. He has given up hope. But a clock ticks for all of us, silently, somewhere. And one is ticking even for him. Soon Father Time will be free. To return to Earth. And finish what he started.

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