Clouds on the Rainbow
A Quest in His Death
A Quest in His Death
It had seemed like any other day, the early rise, the mundane tasks.
The hostel lay silent wrapped in the lingering darkness of the northern December
morning; the quietness broken only by the sporadic shuffling of feet and clipping
of doors as residences moved from room to bathroom to stairs.
And she?
Pie had been there only a few months, hoping perhaps with more drive than
belief that the replay of her youth would produce the elusive certificate, with its
economic securities – so desired by her mother for Pie's future.
A knock at the door made her jerk with surprise. She was accustomed to few
visitors and the hour was yet early. The Wardens face appeared round the door.
'Police want you Pie' she announced.
'Police?' 'Where?'
'Downstairs,' came the unadorned reply.
'Do you want me to be present?' continued the Warden.
'Er.... Yes, yes thanks,' Pie responded.
Her mind raced. Police why did they want her ?
A red traffic light ? Driving too fast ?
Not to her recall but ….
The Warden's office where she so often popped in for a chat now seemed dark
and strangely official.
Two officers were in attendence.
'Your father?' demanded the male officer, with scant attention to preliminaries or courtesies
'Where is your father?'
'With my brother, at my brother's house,' came the immediate response.
'No he's not,' retorted the polìce officer.
'Reported missing 2am.'
But Pie realised, her thoughts suddenly exploding, it had been so cold the previous night the coldest of the winter so far.
Her mind went immediately, unexplainably to her five year old nephew. Whatever had
happened he must be protected. He was so fond of his Grandad.
'Have they sent the child to school? she asked.
'They must send him.'
Her thoughts raced in seeming absurdities, taking refuge in culture, upbringing, duty, - her bonds perhaps, yet in a strange way her strength.
'I must speak to my family.' Pie said. 'Find out what's happening.'
'Use my phone.' volunteered the Warden.
Her Mother's voice affirmed the message,
'Yes missing, your Dad is missing.' 'Not returned here, gone all night.'
The stark affirmation dispelled any fantasy, any shadow of unreality.
Pie left the office and ran to her room, grabbed a blanket and some winter
warmers as though anticipating a siege. Perhaps they would be needed.
Perhaps he needed them. Who knew?
She returned to the Wardens office, cluching her provisions.
Concern showed on the policeman's face.
'Are you all right?' he asked. 'Maybe you should have some tea?'
'No, no, I must go, I must go and find him.' she half shouted back.
Urgency propelled as the wind drives a turbine.
'With my brother, at my brother's house,' came the immediate response.
'No he's not,' retorted the polìce officer.
'Reported missing 2am.'
But Pie realised, her thoughts suddenly exploding, it had been so cold the previous night the coldest of the winter so far.
Her mind went immediately, unexplainably to her five year old nephew. Whatever had
happened he must be protected. He was so fond of his Grandad.
'Have they sent the child to school? she asked.
'They must send him.'
Her thoughts raced in seeming absurdities, taking refuge in culture, upbringing, duty, - her bonds perhaps, yet in a strange way her strength.
'I must speak to my family.' Pie said. 'Find out what's happening.'
'Use my phone.' volunteered the Warden.
Her Mother's voice affirmed the message,
'Yes missing, your Dad is missing.' 'Not returned here, gone all night.'
The stark affirmation dispelled any fantasy, any shadow of unreality.
Pie left the office and ran to her room, grabbed a blanket and some winter
warmers as though anticipating a siege. Perhaps they would be needed.
Perhaps he needed them. Who knew?
She returned to the Wardens office, cluching her provisions.
Concern showed on the policeman's face.
'Are you all right?' he asked. 'Maybe you should have some tea?'
'No, no, I must go, I must go and find him.' she half shouted back.
Urgency propelled as the wind drives a turbine.
Pie tumbled into her car no time to waste, she must go --- and go quickly.
All that morning Pie searched, driving round and round, street after street, previous dwellings, old haunts.
Had her father lost his memory?
Possibilities merged one with another.
The cold light of the winter day crept reluctantly to its zenith.
'Should I return to my brother's house ?' she asked herself. 'Perhaps they have found him.'
What of her Mother? Where was her brother, what was he doing ?
Reason outweighted the continuation of the frenetic search, the capitation of emotion.
All that morning Pie searched, driving round and round, street after street, previous dwellings, old haunts.
Had her father lost his memory?
Possibilities merged one with another.
The cold light of the winter day crept reluctantly to its zenith.
'Should I return to my brother's house ?' she asked herself. 'Perhaps they have found him.'
What of her Mother? Where was her brother, what was he doing ?
Reason outweighted the continuation of the frenetic search, the capitation of emotion.
Her Mother sat with a young policeman, goodwilled and friendly. She warmed to him instantly.
'Dad?' Pie inquired apprenhensively, the inquiry masking her minds negation of
a response - the awful pit of dread.
'They've found a body,' said her Mother in a dead flat tone.
'Where?' she asked.
'In the park,' injoined the officer.
'Which park?'
'The one by the river'.
'Is it him ?' Pie demanded.
'We don't know.'
'But how... ? '
'We don't know?' repeated the officer. 'The CID are checking it out.'
'Foul play ?' she enquired.
'We don't think so, responded the officier. 'But... we don't know.'
'Who found him?' she continued.
'The gardener.'
Pie sat down, with the feeling of having moved nearer to eternity in the space of
minutes, as though time had shifted - strangely condensed.
To reassert the 'ordinaries' of life would be her defence.
'Can I get you anything officer? she asked. 'Perhaps a cup of tea ?
'No thank you,' he replied quickly.
The detectives came to the house a little later that day.
'Yes,' they confirmed 'A man matching her father's description had been found dead in his car, in the carpark by the river.
The detectives indicated to Pie to move into the kitchen out of her mother's hearing.
'Did he drink?' queried one detective
'No' she replied firmly. 'Whatever else it was - it was not drink
'Dad?' Pie inquired apprenhensively, the inquiry masking her minds negation of
a response - the awful pit of dread.
'They've found a body,' said her Mother in a dead flat tone.
'Where?' she asked.
'In the park,' injoined the officer.
'Which park?'
'The one by the river'.
'Is it him ?' Pie demanded.
'We don't know.'
'But how... ? '
'We don't know?' repeated the officer. 'The CID are checking it out.'
'Foul play ?' she enquired.
'We don't think so, responded the officier. 'But... we don't know.'
'Who found him?' she continued.
'The gardener.'
Pie sat down, with the feeling of having moved nearer to eternity in the space of
minutes, as though time had shifted - strangely condensed.
To reassert the 'ordinaries' of life would be her defence.
'Can I get you anything officer? she asked. 'Perhaps a cup of tea ?
'No thank you,' he replied quickly.
The detectives came to the house a little later that day.
'Yes,' they confirmed 'A man matching her father's description had been found dead in his car, in the carpark by the river.
The detectives indicated to Pie to move into the kitchen out of her mother's hearing.
'Did he drink?' queried one detective
'No' she replied firmly. 'Whatever else it was - it was not drink
It was afternoon when they went to identify the body
The necessity, she became aware, drew a mixture of sentiments. A
conglomeration of rnany feelings sorrow, fear, dread - yet desire for confirmation.
The need for truth.
'Your brother will do,' insisted the detective as they prepared to leave the house
for the police mortuary.
'No need for more than one.'
Rebellion welled as each were compelled to their private confrontation.
'No.' replied her Mother firmly, echoing and giving voice to their thoughts.
'No.' We all go'.
Her father lay on a slab behind a glass screen - a disagreeable visualisation of the ontological state of difference.
All was frigid, official, detached.
'Can I touch him?' her Mother had asked.
'NO' 'No touching,' someone responded curtly.
The curtain slid back as silently as it had opened.
The swollen face and turned-out lips haunted her.
Her Mother's shaking sobs.
The violence the suddenness of the death all too visible - almost tangible.
Had he died of natural causes?
Had he been murdered?
'Alone in the night - expensive car....
'Post Mortem in the morning an anonimous voice called out
The necessity, she became aware, drew a mixture of sentiments. A
conglomeration of rnany feelings sorrow, fear, dread - yet desire for confirmation.
The need for truth.
'Your brother will do,' insisted the detective as they prepared to leave the house
for the police mortuary.
'No need for more than one.'
Rebellion welled as each were compelled to their private confrontation.
'No.' replied her Mother firmly, echoing and giving voice to their thoughts.
'No.' We all go'.
Her father lay on a slab behind a glass screen - a disagreeable visualisation of the ontological state of difference.
All was frigid, official, detached.
'Can I touch him?' her Mother had asked.
'NO' 'No touching,' someone responded curtly.
The curtain slid back as silently as it had opened.
The swollen face and turned-out lips haunted her.
Her Mother's shaking sobs.
The violence the suddenness of the death all too visible - almost tangible.
Had he died of natural causes?
Had he been murdered?
'Alone in the night - expensive car....
'Post Mortem in the morning an anonimous voice called out
As they emerged out of the cold subterranean room where her father lay, Pie
knew that things would never be the same again.
Her father dead. They didn't know why - when had he died ? Why was he in the park alone in the dark.... ?
Questions, so many questions, thoughts that invaded that tormented – interrogations with no response, no answers … secrets locked in the cold night of the grave
Never to be known.
Perhaps they would be ?
No - she thought not.
Her brother took the keys of her father's Granada, handed to him with a plain soft bag - the possessions of the deceased.
The light was fadeing as they stepped outside into the afternoon sunset.
Its time of reign so brief, its flight so swift in their northern clime.
The moon hung pale, impassive. Its tenacity in the winter sky always made her wonder.
Her brother unlocked the car door, the seats still white with finger print powder.
He started the engine – marking....yes yes - so plainly - one day in their lives -
a momentous day
- the end of an era
knew that things would never be the same again.
Her father dead. They didn't know why - when had he died ? Why was he in the park alone in the dark.... ?
Questions, so many questions, thoughts that invaded that tormented – interrogations with no response, no answers … secrets locked in the cold night of the grave
Never to be known.
Perhaps they would be ?
No - she thought not.
Her brother took the keys of her father's Granada, handed to him with a plain soft bag - the possessions of the deceased.
The light was fadeing as they stepped outside into the afternoon sunset.
Its time of reign so brief, its flight so swift in their northern clime.
The moon hung pale, impassive. Its tenacity in the winter sky always made her wonder.
Her brother unlocked the car door, the seats still white with finger print powder.
He started the engine – marking....yes yes - so plainly - one day in their lives -
a momentous day
- the end of an era
Diana May Cockburn
December 1989
10 September 2016
December 1989
10 September 2016
