[Milliways]: Who can speak for the dumb?
When he looks back on the moment, Posner realizes he should have known.
He'd been too happy for too long--even if "too long" was only a few days--for something not to come along and ruin it all. He doesn't believe in karma, but he does believe in balance, and he supposes there'd been too much happiness for them all not to have this to balance it out.
He's only been home from school a few hours, sat through his awkwardly formal family dinner--his mother broke out the fine china, served a bottle of wine she's been saving for something like this--and the phone rang again.
It was Scripps. "Dakin told me. He had it from Fiona. Pos it's..." His voice breaks, and Posner can't remember the last time he heard Scripps cry. "There's been an accident. Hector. That bloody motorbike."
It must be bad, Posner thinks, if Scripps can't make it sound poetic.
And he knows. Scripps hasn't said anything real yet, but he knows anyway. What else could it be.
"Blackbird," Posner says quietly.
"What?"
"We'll have to do Blackbird. At the memorial."
There's a long pause on the other end. "Yes, I suppose we will. I'll let the others know."
Posner's hand is steady as he sets the handset back into the cradle. He feels nothing. He has no words, no emotions, nothing to make this real.
He forgot to ask if Irwin was all right.
He'd been too happy for too long--even if "too long" was only a few days--for something not to come along and ruin it all. He doesn't believe in karma, but he does believe in balance, and he supposes there'd been too much happiness for them all not to have this to balance it out.
He's only been home from school a few hours, sat through his awkwardly formal family dinner--his mother broke out the fine china, served a bottle of wine she's been saving for something like this--and the phone rang again.
It was Scripps. "Dakin told me. He had it from Fiona. Pos it's..." His voice breaks, and Posner can't remember the last time he heard Scripps cry. "There's been an accident. Hector. That bloody motorbike."
It must be bad, Posner thinks, if Scripps can't make it sound poetic.
And he knows. Scripps hasn't said anything real yet, but he knows anyway. What else could it be.
"Blackbird," Posner says quietly.
"What?"
"We'll have to do Blackbird. At the memorial."
There's a long pause on the other end. "Yes, I suppose we will. I'll let the others know."
Posner's hand is steady as he sets the handset back into the cradle. He feels nothing. He has no words, no emotions, nothing to make this real.
He forgot to ask if Irwin was all right.