ENVOI: From Grief to Glory
Occasioned by the Death of Oliver Postgate, 8 December 2008
Occasioned by the Death of Oliver Postgate, 8 December 2008
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil
They had long been walking with Death on a bleak and lonely path. At first Death padded behind them, like the Tiger of her childhood nightmare: “Don’t be afraid, I shall not harm you. I am soft and I am warm.” He had spoken then as now in a voice gentle and light, but always the burning breath was on the back of her neck and the jagged edges of toothed shadows were all about them. The Tiger melted away and a tall young man, Death the Companion, saturnine and unsmiling appeared between them. He put their hands into his hands and drew them close together under the cloak he wore. “Come,” he said quietly, “there must be no more delay, the time is almost here. There is nothing left to fear.” But the young man’s voice was like the jangling of slivers of ice in the moonlit wind, and they were afraid. He because it was his longed for time that now was almost come, and she because she could not imagine any future without him.
He looked up and remembered the warmth of her love even in the most terrible times of his illness, and he smiled at her in the abiding pleasure of her company. She watched as he bent again over his stick, head hunched into his shoulders, as painfully he shuffled and stumbled along the stony path. She put out her hand and stroked the greying cheek red blotched with the marks of his sickness, and to her he was as beautiful as the day she had first met this once-upon-a-time giant of a man, vast in intellect, magnificent in spirit.
“How long now?” he whispered to her. “Not long now.” and she took his hand. “I love you.” he said. The young man led them to a flat place from where they could see the valley beyond and the steep banks of a river so vast, with water in such quantity that it might have been fed by all the rivers and the oceans of the world, mighty cataracts and great tidal waves, quiet pools and bubbling mountain streams. Everywhere the myriad droplets leapt and danced, wheeling and plunging across the surface of the eddying waters.
Death the Angel who separates the soul from the body, now stood beside them, above them and all around them. “Why have you brought us here?” she asked. Death shook out his silvered robe and spoke gently: “This is the eternal river which cradles the Universe. From it you both came, and to it this night he is to return.” The clouds suddenly cleared the moon and unrolled a wide glinting pale gold carpet across the waters, stretching far into the shadowy distance. “Follow me now,” invited Death, “and ride the waters into eternity.” Death led him to the edge of the shining path and together they walked towards the depths of the shimmering waves. She watched him go and marvelled as all his anguish and depression, his anger and confusion, all seemed to fall away from him. He dropped his stick; straight backed and laughing, he plunged into the river and she could see him no longer. A tiny droplet flashed white diamond bright high above the dancing waters, and she smiled.
“I told you sixty years ago,” said the Tiger standing beside her, “that I would not harm you.” She leaned silently against him and stroked his soft flank. And the Tiger, who was Death the Merciful, purred gently with a quiet pleasure.
He looked up and remembered the warmth of her love even in the most terrible times of his illness, and he smiled at her in the abiding pleasure of her company. She watched as he bent again over his stick, head hunched into his shoulders, as painfully he shuffled and stumbled along the stony path. She put out her hand and stroked the greying cheek red blotched with the marks of his sickness, and to her he was as beautiful as the day she had first met this once-upon-a-time giant of a man, vast in intellect, magnificent in spirit.
“How long now?” he whispered to her. “Not long now.” and she took his hand. “I love you.” he said. The young man led them to a flat place from where they could see the valley beyond and the steep banks of a river so vast, with water in such quantity that it might have been fed by all the rivers and the oceans of the world, mighty cataracts and great tidal waves, quiet pools and bubbling mountain streams. Everywhere the myriad droplets leapt and danced, wheeling and plunging across the surface of the eddying waters.
Death the Angel who separates the soul from the body, now stood beside them, above them and all around them. “Why have you brought us here?” she asked. Death shook out his silvered robe and spoke gently: “This is the eternal river which cradles the Universe. From it you both came, and to it this night he is to return.” The clouds suddenly cleared the moon and unrolled a wide glinting pale gold carpet across the waters, stretching far into the shadowy distance. “Follow me now,” invited Death, “and ride the waters into eternity.” Death led him to the edge of the shining path and together they walked towards the depths of the shimmering waves. She watched him go and marvelled as all his anguish and depression, his anger and confusion, all seemed to fall away from him. He dropped his stick; straight backed and laughing, he plunged into the river and she could see him no longer. A tiny droplet flashed white diamond bright high above the dancing waters, and she smiled.
“I told you sixty years ago,” said the Tiger standing beside her, “that I would not harm you.” She leaned silently against him and stroked his soft flank. And the Tiger, who was Death the Merciful, purred gently with a quiet pleasure.
Naomi
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