Missing Pieces

Missing Pieces

  Raymond Daley

  Copyright 23/9/2013 by Raymond Daley

  The empty sheet of paper sitting on the table in front of him felt as blank as his memories of the past. Arnold Danvers had been trying to remember. He really had. He'd thought so hard it'd given him all kinds of headaches, he'd even had the blackouts again and the occasional nosebleed too.

  “Ma, have those documents come yet?” Arnold called out to his mother.

  “No son, nothing's come yet. Any day now though, the man from the Ministry promised me that.” his mother said.

  “I just wish I could remember Ma. A date, a name, anything, any kind of fragment just to get me started. Are you sure you don't remember the day I left?” he looked at his mother, desperate for any information she might be able to recall.

  “Not the exact date, no. Son, all as I remember is your first phone call home. Late April of '90, all heated up you was. 'Ma, I joined up! I really did it! I'm in Basic right now!' That was you, it'd been several weeks by that point according to you. I didn't even notice you'd gone until then. You know what you used to be like, going away to places without ever telling me. Often the time was I didn't even know you'd gone until the day you came back telling me you'd just got back from one place or another.”

  His mother wasn't really angry at Arnold, just upset at being left out of his life. She'd watched him grow from a baby and each time he went off somewhere new without telling her she felt that she lost him just a little more, because one day he might never come back.

  Like now.

  The Military had trained him and moulded him into a fighting machine, part of their war effort. Only thing was, when he'd completed his engagement, they'd sent him back incomplete. He'd returned physically intact; luckier than many other veterans, it was his mind that was missing.

  Mostly.

  The war wasn't talked about much any more, it got little coverage on the TV or radio. The Government didn't like people to know its business so very few journalists were allowed to cover the war. Those who were allowed to cover it were allegedly censored by the Government before being allowed to make any reports.

  Arnold had been gone for almost six years, his mother estimated. Maybe a little more, possibly a little less. The Military were very secretive, even about things like how long someone could sign up for. All most people knew was you joined, you trained, you fought the enemy and you left.

  Eventually.

  Even that little snippet of information had been given out very grudgingly by the Government.

  It didn't really matter any more who the people actually voted for or who they said was running the country. The Government did all the real work, they gave the orders, they made the decisions. They controlled your life. Names on ballot-papers were meaningless.

  ***

  As the days of his new civilian life gradually passed by, Arnold still struggled to find any memories of his service. The piece of paper he'd found out to write things down stayed empty. The pen remained capped and unused.

  And the same question to his mother each morning, just after the mail delivery.

  “Ma, have those documents come yet?” Arnold was getting restless with the not knowing.

  “No son, nothing but bills today. Perhaps you could go out and look for work today?” She was anxious for him to return to some kind of routine now he was home, hoping it would take his mind off the missing memories.

  “Did you call the Ministry again, were there any updates?” Arnold was grasping at straws now.

  “You know the Ministry don't work today, it's a Saturday!” his mother was growing tired of the constant cycle of questions that went nowhere.

  The days were pretty much the same, the wait for the mail-man, the bitterness at the lack of any post from the Ministry. Each day that passed enraged Arnold that little bit more. He could only stand for so much.

  ***

  It was a Thursday, much like most other Thursdays. A slightly overcast day, the radio on low; tuned to a Muzak station just to break up the increasingly terrible silences in the house. The letterbox rattled, the thud of mail on the floor. The race between Arnold and his mother to reach the days post first. Another victory for her. Something small but she was grateful for it.

  “What've we got Ma, anything for me? Anything from the Ministry?” Arnold asked her eagerly.

  She leafed through the envelopes, bills, circulars, a note to be ready for an official broadcast later that day. “Nothing today Arnold, sorry.”

  Arnold stood there, balling his hands into clenched fists. “That's it! They're just taking far too long! I'm going to call them myself! I'll demand answers! That's what I'll do!” He glanced at his mother, then at the locked telephone. Times were hard so she'd purchased a lock, only she could call out.

  “I need the key Ma, I gotta make the call. Gotta do it today, gotta do it now!” Arnold was frantic.

  His mother felt a little frightened, seeing him this agitated. “Arnold Fitzhugh Danvers! You will take a breath! You will calm yourself down! I'll have no son of mine screaming at strangers over the telephone! You go and take a time-out! I'll make the call myself.”

  Arnold stomped off upstairs, but she did not hear his door slam shut. He was waiting to see if she made the call. She reached for the chain around her neck, feeling her way down to the small key. She unlocked the phone and dialled the number. She knew he was listening up there on the landing, checking she had pressed enough digits.

  “It's ringing.” she said aloud, more for Arnold’s benefit.

  On the landing he could just hear her below him in the hall. “Is that the Ministry Of Information? Yes, I'll hold.”

  A few more moments of waiting which dragged like hours for Arnold.

  “Ah, yes. Mister Parsons, we've spoken before. It's Mrs. Danvers, that's right, Arnold’s mother. Yes, I understand. I see. Yes sir, a slight delay. I'll explain that to him. Thank you for your time.” Arnold heard his mother replace the receiver and relock the phone.

  Now he just had to wait for her to decide that he'd calmed down enough. He went into his room and sat on the bed, watching the shadows grow longer on the wall as the sun got lower in the sky.

  ***

  It was starting to get dark when she finally came upstairs.

  “Can we talk like reasonable human beings now?” she asked him.

  “Yes mother, I'm sorry I shouted. It's just been so long without any news.” said Arnold.

  “The man from the Ministry said there was going to be a slight delay, some kind of exchange is taking place there at the moment but once it's been completed they will be sending all completed information requests out the very next day. Is that okay?” She looked at him with concern.

  Arnold nodded. “I'm going to turn in early, night Ma.”

  As he slept in the room above her head she tuned in for the broadcast, it was already part way through as she found the right wavelength. “Once again, the handover will be completed tomorrow. Our gracious Overlords have deemed our lives to be of importance, we shall be allowed to work for their advancement. We finally have peace. Life will return to normal.”

  Mrs Danvers hoped they would offer proper treatment for Arnold now. The last few months of the war had been almost intolerable for her.

  ***

  The day she had heard the knock on the front door, opening it to find a Government van driving off quickly down the street leaving behind Arnold, just standing there, totally catatonic. Tightly holding in his hand the single sheet of paper, bearing the official release message which now sat hidden at the bottom of a drawer in her room.

  Released, one adult male civilian.

  Soldier, partially trained. Deemed unfit for full service.

  Train
ing erasure partially successful.

  No longer required by Military Branch.

  Surplus to requirements.

  She had kept this from him, making phoney calls, holding the button down, talking to nothing but a dial tone. He had only been gone a day, they had compressed six years worth of information into his mind.

  Or rather they had tried to.

  Arnold’s mind had been unable to take it. So they had returned him, abandoned him. The records he hoped for did not exist. Because the years of service had never happened. They were nothing but a failed memory implant.

  The next morning was bright, the birds were singing for the first time in a long time.

  Arnold didn't rise early, it was almost noon before he finally came downstairs.

  His mother wasn't alone. “Arnold, this man is going to take you to see your records! They were so sorry about all the delays and the mix-ups that they sent someone over specially! Isn't that wonderful?” she said.

  The man wore a grey suit, he looked official. He even showed Arnold his identification. “If you'd like to come with me Mister Danvers and I'll take you to see your records.”

  The man had explained it all quite thoroughly to Arnold’s mother, they would try to remove the memory blocks placed there by Government incompetency. If they were unable to do this, they would create new memories for him.

  Either way, Arnold would get his life back. Completely.

  “Come on then Mister Danvers, shall we make tracks?”

  Arnold’s mother waved them off, watching the van drive what was left of her son away down the street.

  “Good luck son, for you the war really is over now.”

  THE END.

  Authors Notes:- In part, Arnold is based on me. I sent off for my own military records this year (2013) hoping to get some kind of closure on a couple of questions I'd had preying on my mind for quite a long time.

  I did get some closure on one thing, but not the other which I wanted to know more about. I know I never will and I've had to come to terms with that fact. Like Arnold, I left pieces of myself behind when I left the RAF.

  I'll probably never be complete again either.