“The past was / The present is.” Simple words on a simple stone marked the grave of the man who wanted to be forgotten. At his own request the marker left neither name nor date. More than half of the guests at the Mourning Time did not even know the name of the dead, for he had out-lived his family, his children, his wife, and most of his friends. His few mortal belongings were long gone, the murmured prayers long faded, and even the overcast sky was parting to show the setting suns.

One of the dead man’s friends stepped atop the small speaker’s stone and cleared his throat.

“Many of you gathered here know this world as your home, its customs as your own. You grew up in is shaded woods and misty moors. You live by its customs and culture. We of an elder, passing generation remember the place and customs of our birth, even as they fade away into the stars as we pass on. We do not regret this, for all things must in time pass.

“But on this day, we intend to do one last thing for our departed friend. He wanted his passing to go unremarked; to make the quiet exit and leave naught but good memories in his wake. So we will eat, drink, and sing on this day. And once the suns have set and the moons ride high in the sky; we shall pick up our things, go from this place with light hearts, and leave our sorrows behind.”

He stepped from the speakers stone and drifted into the crowd, leaving ripples of questions in his passing. By tradition, The Mourning Time was a time and place to weep and wail, to let out all the things that could not be brought back to the places of the living. To eat and sing at such a time was almost unthinkable. But a few portable tables had sprung up during the speech, topped with drinks and food. Already, a steady stream of elder humans were making their way past the table, taking up food and glass bottles, chatting and laughing in the fading light.

Soon enough others followed suit and the small burying ground was filled with the sounds of subdued merrymaking. Tensions eased, lubricated by alcohol and shooed away by wagging tongues. The rattle of the local language mixed freely with the lyrical tones of the older human dialect. The suns passed below the horizon in a fading blaze of glory and the moons began their nightly climb into the heavens. The traditional Mourning Time was long over, gone with the suns, and the gathered people began to drift apart with the fading light. Six old humans gathered about the grave marker. A few hums were exchanged, heads nodded, glass bottles raised and drained.

A song drifted into the night sky, and people stopped to listen. They knew it was human, and they could feel it was old, dating back to before mankind had reached for the sky of their homeworld and the stars beyond.

“Of all the money, e’er I had / I spent it in good company / And all the harm that e’er I’ve done / Alas it was to none but me...”

Other voices joined in from the scattering of people. Humans at first, followed by other people as they found the harmony of the song.

“... And all I've done for want of wit / To memory now I can't recall / So fill to me the parting glass / Goodnight and joy be with you all...”

The six by the gravestone split from a simple melody into a spread of harmony, leading the others into the song.

“... So fill to me the parting glass / And drink a health whate'er befalls / Then gently rise and softly call / Goodnight and joy be to you all…”

A wordless melodical humming filled the night sky, rising up about the lyrics and wrapping them in sound.

“...Of all the comrades that e'er I had / They're sorry for my going away / And all the sweethearts that e'er I had / They'd wish me one more day to stay…”

The song swept across the clearing, enveloping all who stood their in its melancholy warmth.

“...But since it fell into my lot / That I should rise and you should not / I'll gently rise and softly call / Goodnight and joy be to you all…”

Some of the singers in the crowd began to fall silent, sensing the song was coming onto its end. The tables and the trash had been vanished, and people began to drift from the burying place.

“...Fill to me the parting glass / And drink a health whate'er befalls / Then gently rise and softly call / Goodnight and joy be to you all…”

The crowd had silently drifted away, leaving only the six old humans about the grave stone to sing. Their six-part harmony did not echo among the gravestones or the trees beyond, swallowed by the silence of the night.

“...Fill to me the parting glass / And drink a health whate'er befalls /Then gently rise and softly call / Goodnight and joy be to you all.”

The song ended, tapering off as the six walked away in the moonlight. The man who wanted to be forgotten had received his last wish and tribute. Though few who had been at his Mourning Time knew his name, and only the eldest among them had known him well, the song he had brought with him so far from his place of birth had found a new home.