Wednesday, April 8, 2009

One flash of light but no smoking pistol

Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Bull Island, Friday, April 10, 2009. A light drizzle falls on a sombrely dressed group who stand listening as a tall, middle-aged woman performs yet another oratory for her recently deceased sister. Some of the group shift uncomfortably, some listen intently, others, not being English speakers, concentrate on looking Mediterraneanly sad. There are wet eyes among each contingent. The speaker holds a large silver urn.

The drone of helicopter is heard, faint at first, but quickly becoming louder, nearer. Its whirr is answered by the violent screech of tyres. Instantly it seems, the helicopter is overhead, drowning out the persistent eulogy. A voice is megaphoned from the chopper as four police cars fly over the sand dunes and skid to a stop twenty feet from the mourners.

'Put down the urn! Put down the urn and step away!'

My oldest aunt stands paralysed, the most senior now of the Zealot sisters. The police captain speaks into his walkie talkie from a crouched position behind a car. 'Let her have the warning.' A shot rings out. A puff of sand an inch from my mother's sister's foot. She drops the urn, the lid falls and the ashes spill out onto the nature preserve.

'That's it,' intones the captain with a hint of regret. 'That's a scattering. Open fire.'

A rain of bullets cuts through the breezy spring morning. Screams. Moans. Death all around. Hans Brinker, shot through the shoulder, shrieks 'I told you so! I told you filthy Catholic hippies so!'

Remember when my step father Hans wouldn't drive us to Riker's communion, because of the law? He is currently concerned that the scattering of ashes is just as illegal as having four in the back of a car. Oh, how concerned he is.

14 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Conan Drumm said...

There is the way, and there is the Irish way. Hans needs to get with the programme, and honour the departed in accordance with their wishes.

That'll be a long Good Friday, get some drink in and have a proper wake after.

Sniffle&Cry said...

You’re exaggerating here, aren’t you? I mean a light drizzle in April, jeez.
Brilliant Gimme, and I hadn’t read your earlier one either.
Already I’m liking Hans Brinker but afraid to ask why you’ve christened him so.
Hope the ceremony goes well.

Ellie said...

Oh dear. I think I know where that assumption came from.

gimme a minute said...

I'm driving. Everyday this car thing becomes more unassailable in its position as the biggest fucking mistake of my life.

Thank you, sir. And I won't tell you so.

I knew, but didn't want to say. Good thing you got out of getting gunned down.

Manuel said...

"Mediterraneanly sad" you didn't win a thousand awards still escapes me.....

Meadow said...

They are ashes. Even if it was illegal, there will be no signs of evidence. Except the ones that matter most. Wishes.

Medbh said...

Hans Brinker is my favourite blogosphere alias.

sassysundry said...

Hans sounds like a real twerp. Scatter the ashes in peace.

And I'm with Manuel on the "Mediterraneanly sad."

Ellie said...

In my defence, I only said it to Mother!! I know better than to make such throwaway remarks in the presence of Hans.

gimme a minute said...

I reckon I got it coming to me posthumously. Which is good because I love hummous, in the post or otherwise.

I think Hans might have grassed us up already. They'll be waiting.

And we're both honoured by the fact.

Cheers. Nobody does sad like a black clad Sicilian crone.

Ease back on the exclamation marks there, would you.

Red Leeroy said...

What about a huge viking longboat doused in lighter fluid? that'll shake things up.

savannah said...

send him to the wrong area.


the Law said...

Brinker rocks, I want his babies.

gimme a minute said...

Red Leeroy:
Oooh, I like that. Or just a pyre. I've always wanted to be involved in a pyre.

Can I send him to the pyre?

The Law:
Look, I fought you, we both know how it turned out, and I thought that was it for us.

While Hans does a lot of things, it would be unrealistic to count rocking among them. But you do have a clear path as far as the baby bit goes.

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