Short story: Silence

I woke up to the sound of my blaring phone, wondering about the nuisance of modern communication. I lifted the receiver, cursing under my breath as I saw the digital clock on my bedside table flash 3 a.m. "Hello?" I groaned, struggling to recover from the momentary dizziness.

"Hello there, Rohan" I heard the chirpy voice of detective Silva from the other end. Sounds of commotion could be heard in the background. Judging by the noise of hooting car horns, I knew he was calling from somewhere outside the office.

"Sorry to wake you up at this unreal hour" he chimed in. "Spit it out!" I muttered, unable to hold back my bursting temper. "As you wish" he said somewhat seriously. "News flash! A woman was found dead in the Duplication road. She was stabbed with a kitchen knife.

I think you should get here now and make it double quick!" That was all I needed to know. It was yet another murder. I slammed the receiver down, throwing the covers off and made my way towards the bathroom. I rubbed my eyes idly as my slippers made protesting slaps on the tiled floor.

Bachelor

This was one of many occasions where I found myself relishing the luxury of being a bachelor. After all there was no one to trouble me with the routine questions. "Darling, where are you going? Oh no! At this hour?" Well, no woman no questions! That was my motto-at least for the moment. I stood staring at the mirror image of myself. The lines around my eyes have deepened with age.

After all I was thirty four and looked fit and well built despite the age factor. All the same, I found myself staring in to the eyes of a detective who had matured through the melancholy of day to day routine life. Ten minutes later, I was driving my car along the deserted roads of Colombo.

Except for some youngsters who enjoyed few superfluous hours of mischief, the streets were completely deserted. I stepped on the accelerator for I was sure that no one in the whole area would care enough to bother about my speed meter.

"Life of a detective!". May be I should write a book about it in years to come. May be not. When I finally arrived at the scene, the place was buzzing with action. Half a dozen police cars were parked around the scene. A few snoopy neighbours had gathered in a huddle to witness the incident.

They stood shivering in the slight breeze, tightening their dressing gowns as they ran their curious gaze from one policeman to the other. I stepped out to the chilling night air and was greeted by detective Silva who went through a string of possible incidents which he assumed had happened.

I finally reached the place where the victim lay flat on her back, her body twisted in a silent struggle to save herself. Her face was covered in a veil of black hair and the front of her floral printed shirt was soaked with blood. I sat down beside the body and reached my gloved hand to her face. I gently brushed her hair aside to unveil her face.

Froze

My hands froze as my gaze rested on her familiar features. Every cell of my body felt numb with shock as my vision blurred with images. "Nirasha" the very name which had asserted a remarkable effect on me, eight years before. My mind drifted back to the supposedly forgotten past, whirl winding through the painful chapters.

It had been a bright Saturday evening when I had first seen her, laughing with her friends and hugging her books close to heart as she walked past me. Her long lustrous hair waved from side to side as she glided along the street.

Her brown eyes twinkled with joy when sunlight drew patterns on her radiant features. I knew that I had never seen her before. Later on, I found out that she had moved in to the neighbourhood, with her parents, a week earlier.

Encounters

From then on, our encounters became abundant. I cannot recall when or how it happened but it didn't take long for me to realize that my thoughts were about her most of the day. She aroused my attention and her gestures touched my sentiments.

But most of all her innocent eyes reflected her naivety. I was certain that she was unaware of my feelings. I showed no sign whatsoever for I was scared of the outcome. So I nurtured my feelings in silence as the days went by.

My mind raced back to the day that changed my life. I had rushed home on that vital day as rain poured down heavily, soaking me from head to toe. As I headed towards the stairs my brother's voice stormed out of the kitchen door. "Why can't you understand?" Though eavesdropping had never been a hobby of mine, I edged nearer, unable to suppress my curiosity.

My brother Mohan stood leaning against the pantry cupboards, staring defiantly at our father, his hands folded before his chest. His expression spoke of his arrogance as he held his chin high in the air, his light brown eyes gleaming with fury and his wavy hair fell in mischievous strands across his forehead.

He had always been a carefree boy, who had no exact plans for his future. He carried on his radical life while I did mine along the slow path. I was three years his elder but he never looked up to me as a role model for

I was sure he thought of me as an extremely boring character compared to his rebellious nature. Even a great retired general, our father, could never hold reins on his wild stallion of a son. I could clearly see my father as he stood, puffing majestic clouds of smoke through his pipe, quite unmoved by the sudden outburst.

He stood towering over six feet in his powerful build, with graying hair and a moustache that almost concealed his thin lips. He kept a steady gaze out of the window, his hands tucked inside his trouser pockets. The third person in the room was my mother who sat slumped in a chair, diverting her gaze from her husband to son. Silence prevailed upon the three. Thunder rolled on as heavy rain pounded on the windowpane.

Approve

After a long pause, my father broke the silence. "I will never approve of this as long as I live". He glared at my brother. Mohan clenched his fists and thumped the table with a thud. "But I love her", he bellowed. So he found a girl, I had thought. It would be a miracle if someone could tame him.

"Don't speak like a madman," my father said with a scorn. "How can you expect me to consent to a marriage between my son and the daughter of a sergeant?". The question hung in the air as flashes of lightning ignited the gloomy room.

"So that's your last decision?" my brother asked, his eyes blazing. "I don't care, what you think, I'm going to marry Nirasha, and that's final".Earth suddenly slipped under my feet as I heard his words. I felt as if someone had crashed my head in to a brick wall. I ran towards my room, my mind swirling in frustration.

The very next day Mohan left home and later we found out that they had eloped. My days were miserable as I caved inside my room, nursing my wounds. That was when I realised the power of rejection as it took its revenge against a person.

Suffered

I was not the only one who suffered under our roof. There were times when I saw my father gazing at the framed photo of Mohan, blinking back tears when he thought no one was watching.

That was the father I knew so well. I could still remember the day I won a race at the sports meet when I was a ten year old. Holding the trophy high in the air, I had run straight to my father, my little heart yearning for praise.

However, unlike other proud fathers who hugged their sons my father had just shook hands with me as he did a fellow officer. That night I had tossed and turned on my bed thinking about the day's events when I had heard soft footsteps outside my door.

My father entered the room and as I looked on, he had gently lifted my trophy from where it stood. His eyes glistened with pride as he examined it and then he had stroked my head, not guessing for a moment that I was observing him through half closed eyes. Such was the nature of my father who treated his sons as he did his medal case.

Reconcile

His pride took him two long years to reconcile with his younger son. By then I had moved away from home. My career as a detective, offered me ample excuses to avoid family parties for I never wanted to bump in to them. But I was not always lucky.

I moved on with life but my painful feelings were safely locked away in a deep dark corner of my heart. I never really explored them. Instead, I deliberately ignored them, hoping in vain that they would dissolve with time.

For two days after her death, I kept myself busy but she haunted my thoughts every minute. But one thing was certain; I had to find the killer dead or alive. Though emotionally exhausted I called her friend who had worked with her. After introducing myself, I asked her a few routine questions.

"What did you normally speak about? Was she troubled about something lately?" "You know about the divorce, she always wanted to speak...."I interrupted her, "wait a second. The divorce?" "Well, she wanted to get a divorce. Mohan gambled a lot, you know. She said she was fed up with all that" "Did Mohan know about this?" I asked her. "Yes he did, but he never wanted to give her the divorce. She told me once that he threatened to kill her if she did it".

Realistic

That was all I needed to know, the whole story seemed realistic enough. But for some unknown reason I couldn't picture my brother as the killer. The funeral was due on the next day. I left the matters at rest until the funeral procession was over. Then I would confront him.

A solemn group of people attended the funeral, looking silent and depressed as they grieved in their memories of her. I looked on as my brother cried like a baby as he hugged our mother. I didn't let myself moan over her for I didn't want to think like a person who had loved her but as the man who had the responsibility of finding her killer. I walked through the damp evening mist as I made my way towards our parents' home that evening.

When I went inside, I found my father sitting on his favourite armchair near the window, staring at the mist covered landscape. My mother sat on the sofa, her small eyes puffed as she went through the old albums.

"She was a fine young girl, wasn't she?" She asked as I sat down next to her. I nodded my head in approval, a lump forming in my throat. She stopped to study every photo as tears poured on. "So did you know about the divorce?" I asked after a long pause.

"Yes we did," said my mother." She came here to speak about it, the other day". I could see her recalling the memories of her last encounter with her late daughter-in-law. "We talked for a long time. I tried to talk her out of it.

She said that she had never loved him in the first place. Mohan's the one who had gone to her and told her that he had left every thing for her and intended to marry her. She had found it hard to say no to him". My mother paused for a moment as she brushed her tears away. "In fact, she had been in love with someone else at that time".

Emotions

I didn't know quite how to absorb the latest news until my father spoke up. He leaned forward in his armchair and clasped both his hands. His eyes looked into mine. I failed to read the emotions written on his face. Suddenly it seemed as if he had aged by ten years since the last time I saw him.

"She had loved you, my son", he paused as he breathed deeply. His voice came in a whisper. "I couldn't let her steal both my sons. Could I?" he asked, his hands outstretched as he gazed at his palms. "After all, she was the daughter of a sergeant".

Looking up at the far away mountains, I saw them emerging proudly as the mist faded away.

Chathurani Ranathunge, Kandy.