Conscience never sleeps

 

The walls in here are blindingly white.  There was no white in my old house.  A lot of grey.  Grey walls, grey ceiling, grey carpet, broken only by uncomfortable black leather couches.  My room was different.  I had drawn on my walls with bright crayons.  The more lurid the better.  I drew squares, squares of colour all over the wall so that there was no more grey. I wish I had some crayons here so I could break up the white.  It’s so bright that sometimes I am forced to close my eyes, I hate closing them because then I see everything..................Here he comes, another man in a suit, asking me the same questions as the last one.   

“Thankyou nurse.  Miriam, hi.  How are you feeling?”

-No response

“Hello, I’m taking over from Mr Walsh who was here yesterday.”

-Again no response. Poss. has some hearing impediment.

“Mr – Walsh – Do – You - Remember – Him?”

I can speak English.  This one’s nervous.  Probably new. He doesn’t have a tape recorder.  Instead he jots down everything in his spiral notebook.  Unfortunately for him, every time he flips his page I can see what he’s written.  Definitely an amateur.

“ The nurse says you haven’t been eating.  Is this true?”

-on closer inspection she looks malnourished.  Dark circles under eyes, discolouration of the skin.

Obsessed with food.  Food and vitamins. They all live by the philosophy that if you’re physically healthy then everything else falls into place.  Perhaps if I ate they’d leave me alone.  Smiling too.   It feels unnatural.  I’ll smile more often and they’ll think I’m improving. Anything that feels wrong is what they want from me.  Eating, speaking, smiling.

“Have any of your school friends come to visit?”

-She smiles. Lips only. No movement of the eyes. Still stares straight ahead.  Straight through me.

“Are you going to say anything?”

-She lip smiles again.

“I almost forgot.  Your class gave this to me. We all want to see you well again Miriam.

I can see you’re not in the mood for talking, so I’ll come back tomorrow. Same time. Take care.”

What did he say?  I can’t hear him. His mouth is moving and he looks earnestly at me.  His mouth moves again and he stands to leave and waves. Then he closes the door behind him.  Suddenly I can hear again. The clock, my ears ringing with every tick.  Until once again I am in tune with the ticking.  I cannot ignore it so I have to embrace the rhythm of it. I listen so closely that the ticking becomes uneven and I can sing along to it.  I can manipulate the time just by listening to it.  At first I hated the clock.  I wanted to ask them to remove it.  But now it is my only company.

*  *  *

Four rings. A phlegmy cough and a muffled –

“Hello?”

“I woke you, I’m sorry.”

“It’s 6am on a Sunday.  Why are you ringing me now?”

“Yesterday I had my first meeting with her, and I’m meant to go back at 10. I need your advice.  I’m just not getting through to her.  I’m not even getting a negative reaction from her.  I thought the card from her friends might spark something, but she hardly glanced at it.  She smiles at the wrong time, as though she doesn’t hear me at all.”

“- you say she smiles?”

“Yes, but-“

“She never smiled with me, or any of the others for that matter.”

“Well, I’d hardly call it a smile, more a moving of the lips.  In fact it looks a bit strange. It’s as though she can’t really remember how to do it.”

“You didn’t mention her father did you?”

“No. You told me not to.”

“Good.  Not until you get something out of her.  She needs to trust you first. Brian made the mistake of bringing it up on the first meeting and she went crazy.  Started throwing herself against the wall, had to have injections and everything.  Very messy.”

“Well, I know these things take time, can’t rush emotional stuff, and all that, but we need information from her.  We still have no idea where her father and mother are, and god knows what could be happening while we’re stuck talking to their mute daughter.”

“She’s not a mute, you just have to connect with her.  You know what you’re doing, I wouldn’t have given you this case if I thought you weren’t up to it.”

“I’m not trained as a psychologist.  I look at facts and piece them together.  I don’t try to psycho-analyse my evidence.”

“She’s a person.  Not evidence.  You have kids, imagine it’s one of your own.  Be gentle with her, she’s been through a lot more than you or I could even imagine.”

“I know.  Poor thing.  Thanks.”

Two phones simultaneously rest in their sockets.  Ten miles apart.  Separated by the city.  Twenty miles south, the girl stares at her white ceiling.

“Today Miriam, is a day for family.  Families speak to each other....  Are you a part of this family or not?   If you refuse to speak to me, how can we be a family?  Huh?  You tell me Miriam.  LOOK AT ME MIRIAM!  Stay here then. I don’t care.”

He smells of alcohol.  Again. Not the merry, merry, joy to the world Christmas the carols brag about.   Stare at the ceiling a bit longer Miriam.  You have to sleep before you remember.  Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick Once in Royal David’s City- “You sing the harmony Miriam.  The one we practiced.” –stood a lowly cattle shed.

“Haha! Close enough!”   “

“That was you mum! I’m singing perfectly!”

“It was not me!  I know what I’m singing!”

Where a mother lay her baby, in a cradle for his bed. 

Mary was –

“Dad!” 

“DAD!!”

“Miriam!  You were dreaming!  What did your dad do?  What did he do?”

The nurse is here.  White dress on a white background.  It hurts my eyes. How much did she hear?  Did I sing again?

“Mr Dickson is here to see you again.  Do you remember him?  From yesterday?”

The man in the pinstripe suit with the spiral notebook.  I’ll smile again for him.  I need to practise.

*  *  *

“Nurse Catherine tells me you were having nightmares again last night. Is this true?”

- Shaking slightly. Poss. fatigue.

“Do you enjoy my visits?”

I don’t enjoy anything.  I don’t hate his visits.  It takes me away from one white room and takes me into another white room.  Via a long, white corridor where white shoes squeak on the shiny white floors.  I can look at his suit.  Dull brown.  I can rest my eyes without closing them.

- stares at my torso, unblinking.

“If you want me to stop pestering you then you’re going to have to talk to me.”

Talking.  I still do it in my sleep; often I wake myself with it.  I think there is another person in my room but it’s only me.  Only ever me.

“Miriam, I know this isn’t easy for you, but I need you to co-operate with me.”

I don’t know his name.  Mr – What was it?  

“Mr pinstripe suit?”

-She speaks, whispers-  ‘Mr Pinstripe Suit.’

“You can call me Peter- Pete if you like.”

“Can you bring me some crayons?”

-Requests crayons.

“And paper?”

“Just crayons.”

*  *  *

Six rings, -

“Hello?”

“Breakthrough.  She spoke to me.”

“Fantastic!  What did she say?”

“She called me Mr Pinstripe, I said she could call me Pete, then she asked me for crayons.”

“Did you ask why?”

“I asked her if she wanted paper too, but she said she just wanted crayons.”

“Interesting.  Is there anything in her file about this sort of thing?”

“I haven’t checked but the nurse told me Miriam has been having nightmares again and she woke herself up this morning by screaming –Dad!”

“Right.  Go back tomorrow, with crayons, and try to ease her into talking about her father.  Don’t push it if she starts to get upset though- we’ve made a breakthrough and we don’t want to blow it.”

“We’ve made a breakthrough?”

“Alright- you’ve made a breakthrough.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

The two phones sleep.

*  *  *

I can’t quite tell who it is.  They’re both roughly the same height, ah, it’s definitely dad.  I can smell the alcohol.  Mum would smell of her favourite patchouli perfume. 

“G’night Miriam..........I said good night!”

“Night dad.”

It’s Christmas day tomorrow. No, today.  Fluorescent green numbers tell me it’s already Christmas day. 1:25am. Too early. Muffled arguing- nothing new.  Reaches a crescendo. Mum screams. 2:19am. I hear a thud.  He’s hit her again. She leaves this time. I can hear her shoes on the path outside.  She leaves me with him.  All alone in this grey house.  I open my eyes, but there’s no grey.  Only white.

*  *  *   

Day three with Mr Pinstripe.  Pete. He’s brought me crayons.  My talking worked.

“How are you Miriam?”

-Tilts her head to one side.  Reaches out for crayons.

“Here you go.  Do you like the colours?  I wasn’t sure which ones to buy.  There were brighter ones but I thought these were nicer.”

“I would like to go back to my room now.”

“Well, I don’t think we’re quite finished yet Miriam.”

-Becoming restless. 

“When you were at school did you study art?”

“Yes.”

“I used to paint landscapes.  Watercolours mostly.  I wasn’t very good, people used to think I was an abstract artist because no one could recognise that my trees were trees and my rocks were rocks.  What about you?  Did you have a favourite style?”

“No.”

“Did you paint?”

“No.”

“Sculpt?”

“No.”

“What did you do then?”

“I drew squares.”

“Oh! That’s terrific! Like,..What’s his name?  You know, the guy who drew squares.”

“I think you mean Georges Braque.”

-Idolises George Brak.

“That’s the one!  Well. Good for you!

-Clearly a very disturbed child.

“I can endure patronisation if it means I can go back to my room.”

“Oh...uh, I didn’t mean to be patronising Miriam.”

“Do you regard Georges Braque as disturbed also?”

“I’m sorry?”

“By the way.  You spelt it wrong.  It’s B- R- A- Q- U- E   and there’s an S on the end of Georges.”

“I think we’re done for the day.”

*  *  *

“She’s been reading my notes.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s been reading all the notes I’ve been making in my notebook.”

“Well, it’s not hard especially when you use a felt tip pen.  You can read the page that you’ve just flipped over.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well... I mean.... It’s pretty obvious.”

“Maybe someone else should take over.”

“No. Absolutely not.  She’s talking to you. She trusts you.  Even if she thinks you’re an idiot.”

“Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“I’m serious.  Besides we’re running out of time here.  Tomorrow, go for the throat. Ask about her father.”

 *  *   *

I can feel the curve of familiar streets.  I can’t take my eyes off the road but the recurring texture of the tar tells me I’ve been driving in circles.  The only sounds are that of the muffled engine, and the grinding of gears as I amateurishly changed them from third to second, back to third again, as I have seen Dad do on numerous occasions.  I remember, after we fought the first time.  The first cold war, we drove in this car and each time he changed gears, his face would contort with suppressed rage. 

Two streets down and one to the left.  Boronia Crescent.  Dad has  been indulging in his affair with vodka.

He is meant to take me to band practice, more extra-curricular activities at this time of year.  The ‘festive’ season. He knows I cannot miss this rehearsal, we’re meant to be going over my solo.  You are determined to ruin it for me.  This is where we crash, first into the streetlight, then spinning, straight into number 46’s fussy hedge.  His immediate concern is for the car.  He is shocked into a fleeting state of sobriety.  He forgets I am in the car, my face lacerated from the smashed windscreen.  Shards of glass are in my left eye, and I cannot see anything but the outline of my father, stumbling out of the car to assess the damage – the critical damage. I lick my lips and taste blood.  I don’t know the source.  I close my eyes and try to blink tears into them.

People come to the car window.  I cannot understand them; they are moving their lips but  there is no sound.  Everything is like a surreal silent movie. The strange flashing lights of a siren, but again no sound.  I am pulled from the car.  A mask covering my mouth and nose, my eyes refusing to open. The pain, numbing my thoughts, I only know for certain that I am still clutching my clarinet.  

I awake the next morning to tubes, beeping and blinding white. 

*  *  *

But now that I am driving,  you are the passenger Dad.

*  * *

“I like it!  A definite improvement.”

-she has covered walls in coloured squares.  Assess current medication.

“I particularly like the way you’ve left that half of the wall white as a....uh, feature wall if you will, to ah contrast the vividness of the others.  Very ...chic.”

“My crayons were confiscated before I could get to it.”

“Oh...well never mind.....so you want to have our chat in here instead?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. fine.  Miriam, I want to ask you about your mother.”

-she turns to her wall and traces her finger around one of the squares.

“Miriam, I need your co-operation now.  Can you tell me the whereabouts of your mother?”

-shakes her head.

“She left me with him.”

“She left you with your father?  Tell me Miriam, why did she leave?”

“I will never leave you alone with him.”

“Your mother?  Did your mother say this?”

“I promise.  I will never leave you alone with him. - You lied to me mum.”

-she is whispering now.  against the wall.  she speaks directly to her mother.

“Miriam?”

-she turns sharply as if surprised to see me here.

“I would like you to leave now.”

“Fine.  I’ll be back same time tomorrow.”

*  *  *

“Believe me, there’s no point making so much noise,  I know you’re in there, I put you there.  Yes, this is the CD you hate so much.  Can you hear the damage I’m doing to the car, every time I change gears?  That’s right.  Oh, this must be very irritating, but I’m afraid there’s not really anything you can do about it.  Remember that time you locked mum and me in the bathroom and wouldn’t let us out?  It wasn’t a very nice thing to do, you know Dad.  You were always a little paranoid when you were drunk.   

Do you remember my twelfth birthday party?  You probably don’t actually.  Well, before you passed out, you vomited on my birthday cake.  All my friends and their parents were appalled.  I haven’t had a party since.

What’s that?  Did you say you want me to drive faster?  I really would hate to cause an accident Dad, but if you insist we go faster, who am I to say no? I could never really understand why mum married you, to tell you the truth.  She probably felt sorry for you.  Well, she’ll thank me for this. She’ll be able to come back home.  We can cook together again and sing Christmas carols like we used to. 

Faster? Why not?  We’re just about there anyway Dad.  Do you remember the Christmas concert last year?  Surely even you remember this one.  I know everyone else does. You could have waited till the end of the piece before yelling at the top of your lungs, the explicit  things you were going to do to our conductor.  I don’t think she, or mum will be forgetting that one too soon. To your credit Dad, you’ve been a constant source of entertainment but I’m growing rather tired of it to tell you the truth.  Time for a normal life I think.

Getting closer now, I just want to tell you the reasons for my doing this. Perhaps you aren’t quite sure the effect you’ve had on me over the years.  You remember the time I went on camp?  Well I actually didn’t, I hid in the neighbour’s garage for four days.  I had to go to these extremes to get away from you. 

Why are you banging?  You won’t be needing air, we’re practically there.  Matheson River 2km. A twist in the road, ah. There, I can see it now.  It’s beautiful at this time of night.  Cold though, and dark.  But, you told me only cowards are afraid of the dark, didn’t you?  When I had those nightmares, you told me I was a freak. 

Well Daddy, this is it.  Yes, that’s right the engine’s stopped.  There’s really no point in banging, no-one’s going to hear you out here, you should conserve your energy for heat, because it’s going to be terribly cold in there.  The engine’s started again, this time you’re on your own.  A brick on the accelerator will take my place.  There you go Daddy, I hope you’re not claustrophobic like me.

*   *   *

 

“Miriam, how would you describe your father?”

-no response

“Did your parents get along well?”

-no response

“Your parents are missing; I need to know if they’re safe.”

“They are both safe.”

“How do you know?”

“My mother is the safest she has ever been.”

“The nurse says you have been talking in your sleep and apparently you mentioned a river?  Would you like to fill me in Miriam?  Is this where your mother is?”

-looks perplexed

“It was just a dream.  I don’t remember.”

 “I’m sure you want us to find the whereabouts of your parents.”

“Can you put your jacket back on?  Your shirt’s too bright.”

“Oh, of course.  Actually this shirt used to be quite dull until I washed it with a new bleach detergent and now it’s quite dazzling isn’t it?”

-stares, nonplussed.

“You don’t like the white walls in here do you?”

“They hurt my eyes.”

“Do you have complete vision?”

“He stole some from my left eye, but my right is fine.”

“He? God?”

“My father.”

“Ah, was that the accident?”

“It wasn’t an accident, he knew what he was doing.”

-scratches deep into her palm with her fingernail

“Do you want to talk about it?”

-stares icily.

“Perhaps now isn’t the right time.  I’ll be back tomorrow.”

*  *  *

“Pick, up, Pick up.”

“Hello?”

“It’s Pete.  Matheson River.  Where is it?”

“What?”

“The Matheson River.  Where is it?”

“Um, I think it’s not far from here.  It ends up being a dam I think. Look, why do you want to know?”

“Miriam mentioned it in her sleep last night.  The nurse on night patrol told me.”

“It’s probably just some memory from her childhood or something.”

“Probably, but I haven’t got any other leads as to where her parents are.”

“Why would they be in the Matheson River?”

“The Dad was pretty dodgy, he may have had enemies.”

“Yeah but what you’re suggesting... I mean, he was dodgy but he wasn’t a player.”

“We can’t rule it out.”

“You think some mafia guy has topped him and dumped the body in the river, and that Miriam was a witness to this and it sent her a bit loopy?  I think you’re really clutching at straws here.  This is all based on a snippet from this girl’s dream.”

“I just think we should check it out.  She is hiding something.  She knows a lot more than she’s prepared to admit.  She’s so bitter when it comes to her father, I don’t think we should rule her out either.”

“What? As a suspect?”

“Yeah, I know she’s pretty good at coming across as the victim, but I’m not sure she’s as innocent as she wants us to believe.”

“Look, just for you, I’ll send a team to the Matheson River and have them check it out.”

“Thanks.”

*   *   *

“Red?.. Uh huh... XYT 945.... Thanks, I’ll have it checked...- I’m sorry? A What?!...Christ! How long do you think?.............Jesus.. Thanks.”

*   *   *

-Five rings.

“Hello?”

“They’ve found a car in the river.”

“Serious?”

“There was a body in the boot.”

“Oh my....That’s incredible. Who’s it registered to?”

“A Mister Patrick Walker- Miriam’s dad.”

“No way.. I .. Is it him?”

“It’s male, the right age, the body’s not in a good condition but...seems pretty likely.”

“Do you think” –

“Miriam.”

“Jesus!”

“Tell me about it.”

“I’m going to go and see her, I’ll see if she confesses in the face of evidence.”

*  *  *

“What do you mean she isn’t here?”

“She requested a walk, she’s not a prisoner.”

“Unaccompanied?”

“Well, she’s not dangerous, and she can’t go outside the grounds.  There is a fence surrounding the entire garden.”

“Right. Well I have to find her.”

“When she goes walking, you will usually find her at the pond.  She spends a lot of time there, she likes the water.”

*  *  *

It had to come to this, but I feel better knowing I’m taking him with me. I cannot be a prisoner any more, He bound me here on earth, but he cannot touch me below.

“Miriam!  What are you doing? Come away from the pond, its deep!”

“I am going to have some freedom now Mr Pinstripe.”

>

“We understand why you felt the need to kill him”

“He killed me first.  He didn’t want mum and I to live.”

“Miriam, come away from there.”

“Thankyou for the crayons.”

“Where is your mother?”

“He drove her away.  She’ll be with people she knows.  Tell her I did it for her.  Tell her I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to do this! You won’t be in trouble, I promise!  Just come away from the edge it’s slippery!  I know why you did it and we all understand, please Miriam!”

I can’t stand the light.  It’s so cool, and dark down there, I won’t miss this place.

I jump into the black water and let the mud suck me in like quicksand. Again there is no sound.  I see the poor man frozen by the edge.  He knows he can’t help me.

The water is cool, the rock I carry, which pulls me down is also bringing me beautiful freedom.  The face of my father, so scorning and full of hatred is already fading, the blinding white light no longer tortures my scarred eyes, and I embrace the darkness around me.