The Madness of Grief

by Panayotis Cacoyannis

‘I’ll be there as quickly as I can. Jane, are you okay?’

  ‘No. I mean yes, yes, I’m okay. But hurry!’

  ‘I’m on my way right now. And, Jane…’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I love you very much.’

  I put down the receiver, and this time I did run back upstairs to be with my father and Jack. What confronted me was raw: Jack sitting on the floor at the edge of the bath, his head to one side touching my father’s, two men finally at peace at a terrible price. Any uncertainty was gone. The rigid coldness of my father’s colour was blatantly the colour of death.

  Without moving his head Jack looked up at me. His eyes were dry but full of pain, just like mine, wet and then dry, dry and then wet, in a cycle that had now become random, as though alternating of its own accord.

  ‘Just having a minute,’ he said. I was expecting him to ask me to go back downstairs, but he either lacked the strength to or it wasn’t what he thought I should do, and when I went down on all fours and crawled to lie beside him, he put his arm behind me and drew me up so close that my head touched my father’s through his. And after we had both had a minute, very quietly and without the slightest movement Jack spoke again. ‘Earlier in the bedroom… There were letters. I expect the police would want to see them, if they knew they existed. For the moment they’re hidden.’

  ‘Are they addressed to the police?’

  ‘One’s addressed to Jane and the other to Jack.’

  ‘Then I think no one else needs to read them. Was there nothing for auntie Ada?’

  ‘Jane, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.’

  I made a fist of my hand and was punching very lightly at his chest, picking up the rhythm of his heart, which was either very slow or too faint. I was shaking my head, and then I started to sob, not knowing what to say, not knowing what to do or even what to think, except that my father was dead.

  ‘This is all my fault,’ Jack said again. ‘Try not to be angry with your dad.’

  I could hear him but I didn’t understand what he meant. I didn’t feel angry, and how was this his fault? I was crying more quietly now. I took the handkerchief out of my polka-dot pocket and clutched it near my face. And looking up at Jack, ‘Can I keep this?’

  ‘It belonged to your dad, so it’s yours now.’

  ‘If I hadn’t gone to Karl’s…’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Jack. He had turned around and moved both his knees up. ‘Listen to me, Jane. Going to Karl’s made no difference. I’m sure it was already too late.’

  ‘But when, when was it already too late? And why was it too late?’

  ‘I don’t know. And I don’t think the letters will make any difference.’

  There was the sound of the ambulance arriving, its siren going quiet when it stopped. Then the doorbell began ringing insistently. Jack helped me up and we both went downstairs. At the bathroom door, I had turned around to look at my father again.

  Jack had led the way upstairs, and the ambulance crew – two young men who had said very little coming in, communicating with each other almost entirely with nods - were with him in the bathroom when the doorbell rang again. I had stayed downstairs, and had stepped outside briefly while the two paramedics gathered their equipment. The flashing of the ambulance lights made the house switch on and off with the colours of the sign over Mr Magikoo’s Magik Shoppe, a scene more otherworldly than the crackle on the surface of the moon. It was hardly a surprise that auntie Ada hadn’t used her own keys to let herself in.

  ‘Jane Hareman?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Police. May we come in?’

  I hadn’t caught the two plainclothes policemen’s names, nor had I been able to read what was written on their badges. The one who had been standing in front of the other had flashed his in and out of my face as though deliberately twitching to the rhythm of the ambulance lights, and I hadn’t paid attention as the one who came in second followed suit. But vaguely I remembered that one was an Inspector, and that both of them had called themselves detectives.

  ‘They’re upstairs in the bathroom,’ I said.

  The two detectives looked at each other, and then one of them took out a notebook.

  ‘There’s nothing here about an ambulance, sir.’

  ‘It’s my father. Isn’t that why you’re here?’

  ‘Is your father unwell?’ asked the detective who had spoken at the door.

  I shook my head in short violent jerks, like a child refusing to own up to something naughty.

  ‘Maybe we should have a word with your mother,’ said the second detective impatiently.

  ‘My mother died when I was six,’ I snapped back at him, and turning to the first detective, ‘Are you an Inspector?’

  ‘Detective Inspector Cambridge,’ he smiled.

  I liked him. He was so impeccably dressed that I thought he looked more like an actor. And really he was very polite.

  ‘May I just call you Inspector?’

  ‘Only if I can call you Jane,’ the Inspector smiled again. ‘And maybe while we’re chatting DC Prior should take a look upstairs.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, sir,’ said DC Prior, and we watched him take the steps two at a time.

  ‘My father cut himself,’ I said to the Inspector. I was hearing the words as if they were written and someone was reading them coldly. ‘He died before the ambulance arrived. I think he was probably dead when we got back, but Jack tried to save him.’

  ‘You mean you think your father killed himself,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is Jack still upstairs with him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And he’s definitely dead?’

  ‘He’s definitely dead, sir,’ said DC Prior from the top of the stairs. Unlike the Inspector he was dumpy and badly dressed, his clothes at least one size too small.

  ‘I’m really very sorry for your loss,’ said Inspector Cambridge. ‘A young child when you lost your mother, and still a child now, with your father upstairs…’

  ‘You knew about mum’s accident?’

  ‘I did, yes.’

  ‘But why weren’t you told about the ambulance? Why else would you be here, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Well, I know you must be very upset about your dad, but there’s been a complaint of assault…’

  ‘Against Jack?’

  ‘Jack?’

  ‘Because it’s Jack who should’ve made the complaint.’

  ‘Was Jack involved in the assault?’

  ‘How did you know where to find us? Were we followed here by one of Mike’s friends?’

  ‘We were given the address by the lady who made the complaint.’

  ‘So this isn’t about Mike.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I know who Mike is,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘He’s nobody,’ I said.

  ‘I see. Well, as I was saying, the lady who made the complaint was also very upset, and that means I need to ask you some questions.’

  ‘But what kind of questions, questions about what?’

  ‘About an incident involving her son.’

  ‘You mean Karl? Karl’s accusing me of assault?’

  ‘Not Karl himself, but his mother is. I shouldn’t really… I was hoping that your father could be present, you see, but obviously that’s out of the question. Is there someone else, another close relative that we can contact? Or would you rather I came back another time? My inquiries aren’t really urgent, not in view of what’s happened and how upset you must be. Yes, I think another time would be better.’

  The doorbell was now ringing for the third time.

  ‘That’s probably my aunt,’ I said to the Inspector. ‘Auntie Ada, my father’s sister.’

  All my emotions were numbed. I could only feel a hollow gladness as I went to the door. And it was auntie Ada, but she wasn’t alone.

  Rattled by his presence in the house, which clearly they hadn’t anticipated, the two uniformed police officers, one of
them a constable and the other a sergeant, offered the Inspector sheepish excuses for arriving so late.

  ‘We were delayed unexpectedly, sir. Couldn’t have been helped, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’ll be the judge of that, sergeant, if you don’t mind,’ the Inspector chastised him.

  ‘We encountered an urgent incident, sir,’ the constable offered in support of his sergeant.

  ‘Did you indeed? And what was it exactly, this urgent incident that you encountered?’

  ‘It involved young Fairchild, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘The Chief Inspector’s son.’

  ‘Ah, the Chief Inspector’s son,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘That’s right, sir.’

  ‘Again.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir.’

  ‘Remind me of his first name?’

  ‘It’s Mike, sir.’

  ‘Mike, of course. And what incident was Mike involved in this time, may I ask?’

  ‘We found him in the street with a badly broken nose.’

  ‘Ah, a badly broken nose.’

  ‘All he’d say was that some queer guy and his tart had got their just deserts, sir.’

  ‘I see,’ said the Inspector, and as he took me into his gaze, ‘Well, young Mike won’t be our problem for much longer.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Promotion, sergeant.’ The Inspector had turned to face the sergeant again. ‘Our Chief Inspector Fairchild’s moving on to pastures new. Somewhere very far, I believe.’

  ‘I see, sir. That is good news. For the Chief Inspector, I mean.’

  Auntie Ada was silent. As soon as she had stepped through the door, she had pulled me towards her and held my face still while she smothered me with kisses. I had looked at her impassively, and even now I felt almost uncaring, only distantly embarrassed that I hadn’t been able to show more emotion when I told her that her brother was dead. On the day my father died, on the day I had lost Karl, on the day when I would probably also lose Jack, my sadness came and went, washing over me as though it had no substance. The cluttering of strangers made everything seem more confusing; nothing would seem real until they had gone and had taken my father away.

  ‘Hi, Ada,’ said Jack in his masculine voice.

  The two uniformed officers had joined the paramedics upstairs, and Jack must have been asked to leave. He was pale, and his wet T-shirt was patchy with stains whose earlier scarlet brightness was gone. They were crimson now, with a pale yellow halo around them, the stains of blood lost and then gone bad.

  Without letting go of me, auntie Ada heaved herself in Jack’s direction, and he let her take him into her embrace, without the need for words, or for wailing, or for any sounds at all, the three of us in a cluster that excluded the rest of the world. And then, like a wave that had broken only to quickly return, we fell back from each other but stayed close, holding hands in a circle of silent unspeakable grief.

  When the telephone rang, auntie Ada lifted my hand to her mouth and gave it a kiss before acknowledging the Inspector for the first time as she made her way around him to pick up the phone.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, after taking a big breath and then clearing her throat. ‘Sorry, who? One moment, please.’ With her hand over the speaker, ‘I think it’s Karl’s mother,’ she said, ‘but I’m not sure what she wants, she’s speaking too fast. Does Karl know about your dad?’

  ‘May I?’ the Inspector asked auntie Ada as he put his hand forward to claim the receiver.

  ‘She’s a Reichian therapist,’ muttered auntie Ada. ‘Her son’s a talented pianist, destined for greatness according to Jane.’

  ‘Is he indeed?’ the Inspector answered stiffly, while he and I exchanged an awkward glance.

  ‘And he’s Jane’s closest friend.’

  ‘I see. Thank you,’ said the Inspector, when finally auntie Ada had passed him the receiver.

  ‘Her closest friend, my arse,’ Jack said loudly, but the Inspector quickly gestured an order of silence.

  ‘Detective Inspector Cambridge speaking, is that Dr Schmidt? We spoke earlier, yes… Ah, a misunderstanding… Your son was confused, I see… And he realised this after you had made the complaint… Oh, he didn’t know you had made a complaint… So let me get this straight, Dr Schmidt, your son told you there had been an assault, then you made a complaint, and then your son owned up to why there had been an assault… No, I know that isn’t quite what you said… Jane? Yes, Jane is here. No, I’m afraid you can’t, I need to speak to her first… Yes, that’s right. Not yet, no… It may be necessary to ask him some questions myself, depending on what Jane has to say… Yes, you’ll hear from me shortly, just as soon as I’ve been able to establish the facts… Goodbye.’

  ‘Establish what facts?’ asked a perplexed auntie Ada. ‘A complaint of assault against who?’ And when the Inspector waved away her question, ‘Jane? Why is that woman calling you in the middle of the night? Are you and Karl not friends any more?’

  ‘Daddy’s dead, auntie Ada.’

  ‘Dead, my own brother…’

  ‘Oh, Ada,’ said Jack.

  ‘Sir?’ It was the sergeant, red-faced from the heat in the bathroom. ‘The paramedics are ready…’

  ‘Right you are, sergeant, tell them to give us a minute and then we’ll be out of their way.’

  ‘The kitchen,’ said auntie Ada.

  ‘We could all do with a cold glass of water,’ said the Inspector.

  ‘Yes, water,’ said auntie Ada.

  ‘There’s whisky, if anyone would like some,’ I said.

  ‘I wouldn’t say no,’ said Jack.

  ‘No, nor would I,’ said auntie Ada.

  ‘If you don’t mind, l should take a look around first,’ said the Inspector. ‘Then I’ll join you in the kitchen.’

  11

  Questions

  When eventually he joined us in the kitchen, Inspector Cambridge also joined auntie Ada and Jack in a small glass of whisky. But when already I was refilling theirs, he politely refused a second by placing his hand over his glass.

  ‘Let’s get it over with, Inspector,’ I said. ‘Auntie Ada is my closest relative, in case you still needed to ask me some questions.’

  ‘I think you may have gathered for yourself that the circumstances have now changed. It’s now more a matter of whether there’s something you’d like to tell me.’

  ‘You should,’ Jack egged me on.

  ‘There’s nothing to tell. Nothing happened.’

  ‘I would hardly call it that,’ said Jack.

  ‘I was there and it was nothing. Just a silliness that went too far.’

  ‘And would’ve gone further, if you hadn’t…’

  ‘Please, Jack. I know Karl, and I’m sure that he’s already learned his lesson.’

  ‘He’s learned it so well that he accused you of assault.’

  ‘It was his mother who accused me, not Karl.’

  ‘But what was it, this silliness that went too far and would’ve gone further – if you hadn’t done what?’ auntie Ada demanded.

  ‘I think we’re more or less clear about what Jane did,’ said the Inspector. ‘What we’re not so clear about is how far the silliness had gone before Jane had to do what she did.’

  ‘Far enough,’ said Jack.

  ‘Oh, dear God!’ said auntie Ada.

  ‘Not very far at all,’ I said. ‘I’ve already told you, Karl’s a little boy, he probably thought we were playing a game, and that was how we were supposed to play it. But all he really cares about is playing the piano, it was probably Mami who told him it was time he started playing with little girls.’

  ‘Mami?’

  ‘His mother, Inspector,’ I said.

  ‘The Reichian therapist,’ said auntie Ada.

  ‘Is that like a chiropractor?’ asked the Inspector.

  ‘A chiropractor for the soul,’ said Jack.

  ‘A charlatan,’ remembered auntie Ada.

  ‘Ah, like a Freudian,’ said the Inspector.
r />   ‘But different,’ I said. ‘Karl says his mother has no time for Freud.’

  Our muffled, semi-droll conversation was proving an inadequate distraction from the strained and jarring sounds that were coming from the stairs and the hallway. They would stop and then start again, as though pausing every now and again as a mark of respect. One minute the atmosphere was heavy and funereal, and in the next we would carry on jabbering nonsense. Then another noise would remind us that my father’s cold body, probably on a stretcher, probably encased in a black body bag, was making its way to an ambulance that wouldn’t need to turn its siren on as it drove him on his journey to the morgue. And my mind would run ahead and I’d try to imagine as faithfully as I could what kind of funeral Mr Magikoo might have asked for if the subject had ever come up.

  ‘Would anyone mind if I smoked?’ The Inspector had taken a packet of cigarettes out of one pocket and was hesitating before digging into another, probably to take out his matches.

  ‘Go ahead, Inspector,’ said auntie Ada. ‘If you don’t mind killing yourself, why should the rest of us mind, we don’t even know you.’

  ‘Auntie Ada!’

  ‘My wife’s just the same,’ said the Inspector. ‘“Go on, give yourself cancer, don’t mind about us,” that’s what I hear every day when I light up my first. “Don’t worry, love,” I said to her this morning. “In five years’ time cancer will be curable, no worse than having the flu. If they can send men to the moon, then I’m sure those tobacco companies will help them find a cure for cancer.”’

  ‘Just as long as the Russians are looking for one too,’ said Jack.

  ‘Hmm, I hadn’t thought of that,’ said the Inspector, ‘but then nor has the wife, so I think we’re all right.’ And to auntie Ada, ‘It’ll just be the one, I promise.’ He eased a cigarette out of the packet and lit up. ‘Mm, nothing like it,’ he said, after a long inhalation. ‘Now then, Jane, the ladies’ garments in your father’s room… Who should we say they belonged to? You see, they’re rather too modern to have been your mother’s.’

  ‘Is that really relevant?’ asked Jack.

  ‘Of course it isn’t relevant,’ said auntie Ada.

  ‘Not to my inquiries, no,’ said the Inspector as he paused for an even deeper puff. ‘But to the sergeant’s, well, if he takes the view that they’re part of the overall picture… I think you get my drift. I don’t know them well, the sergeant or his constable, but I’m sorry to say that it hasn’t been unknown for details of cases like this, particularly when more prudish minds than ours might consider them sufficiently salacious, to find their way into the hands of the least agreeable parts of our press. And Mr Magikoo, he wasn’t just any Joe Bloggs. I mean, he was famous, an illusionist extraordinaire and by all accounts our greatest magician. Certainly that was my own experience.’