“So, what happened here Miss?” Officer Boucher eyed a broken window, an overturned desk, scattered computer parts and a nervous looking receptionist who had introduced herself only as Amy.

“Um, it was Mr. Pepperfield. He kind of… went… nuts.”


“Oh. Clive. Clive Pepperfield. He’s our Auditor.”

“Okay. What exactly did he do…?”


“He kissed me.” An older lady declared, approaching the policeman from the tea room.

“And you are?”

“Jessica Powell. Accountant.”

“Right. You say he kissed you.” Boucher made notes. “Erm, so you want to file some kind of complaint or charge?”

“What? No! No, of course not. We just want you to find him.” Jessica smiled slightly. “No. He just flipped you see. One minute he was here, typing up his report. Then all of a sudden he jumped up, yelled ‘Fuck all this for a joke!’, grabbed me, threw me backward and planted a big kiss on my lips!”

The austerely dressed accountant seemed more amused than alarmed at her ordeal.

“I see.” The officer scribbled madly.

“Then he stood me up, grabbed a fork from his desk – he always ate at his desk you see – handed it to me and said ‘Here Jess. I’ve always wanted to give you a nice long fork…’”.

“A nice, long, fork?”

“I do believe it was a euphemism, officer…”

“Ah.” He made a note. “Anything else?”

“Well yes. He ripped off his shirt, threw his chair through the window and followed it out!”

“What? From up here?”

“Indeed officer. From up here. He leapt straight out to that light pole, slid down and was off. Who’d have thought he’d be that agile at his age…?”

“How old is Mr. Pepperfield?”

“Fifty-three.” Jessica answered promptly. “Some of us ran downstairs to find him, but he was gone by the time we got outside. We called you.”

Great. Another nutter. Thought career policeman Steve Boucher. “Well, don’t worry.” He said aloud “We’ll find him just as quickly as we can. He can’t be too far away. C’mon Ollie.”

“Yessir.” Junior Constable Oliver Bridges replied, and followed him down the stairwell.

“Just when you think you’ve seen every fuckin’ nutter in the world.” Steve muttered as soon as they were out of eashot.

“Yeah Sarge. How do we find ‘im?”

“Hah! Just follow the chaos, son. You’ll see.”

The two officers emerged onto the busy street and almost immediately spied a mobile auto-repair truck next to a car parked at a crazy angle a hundred yards up the road.

“So what happened here?” asked Steve as the two policemen approached.
“Mate! Some half-naked freakin’ idiot jumped on the bonnet of my car! He broke the friggin’ windscreen!”.

Sergeant Boucher glanced knowingly at J.C. Bridges. “Which way did he go?” he called.

“That way! About 30 minutes ago.”

The policemen headed in the direction of the pointed finger.

“Some bloke stole a bunch of flowers from my stand!”

“Yes, he gave them to me. He was sweet. Bloody crazy but.”

“He waltzed my girlfriend!”

“This nutjob challenged me to a duel, then ran off yelling ‘Woohoo! Woohoo! Woohoo!’”

“Yes, he said to me ‘You look ravishing, my dear!’ And gave me a rose…”

They followed the chaos, until eventually a man ran out of a nearby park. “Hey! There’s a half naked old man sitting on top of the swings in there yelling ‘Ahoy!’ at everyone. He’s scaring my kids!”

“Bingo…” Steve observed cynically, and followed the man into the gardens.

“Ahoy there my good fellows!” Clive Pepperfield greeted the approaching policemen with enthusiasm and an affected English accent.

“Mr. Pepperfield!” Steve called. “Can you please come down from there?”

“Oh no! I’m afraid that is quite impossible!” came the cheerful reply.

Steve weighed him up. Wayward, graying hair topped a face that, while madly cheerful, looked older than fifty three. Much older. Somewhere along the line his trousers had gone missing as well. All he was wearing was an old pair of underpants. He was slight of build, with a paunch and scatterings of hair around shoulders, chest and belly. He was crouching on the swings’ crossbar like a balding chimp.

His eyes though. Mad as a bloody Hatter.

“Please Mr. Pepperfield. We need to get you down…. Yes? What?” Steve answered a tug at his sleeve. It was the receptionist.

“Sorry. I followed you. Jessie didn’t tell you, sir. Mr. Pepperfield has been under a lot of stress…” She stole a glance at her former boss, amused, shocked and worried all at the same time. Clive saw her and called “Hello my dear Amy! You are looking beautiful I must say!”

“What sort of stress?” the sergeant pulled her attention back to him.

“His wife died two weeks ago. She had been very sick…”

“Okay, I see… Mr. Pepperfield!” he called again.

“Alright! Alright!” Clive called. “Coming!”

He leapt…

Straight up, grabbing a branch of the overhanging tree and scrambling nimbly into the leaves. “Yarooo, suckers!!” he called, and began to sing…

“I’m alive! And the world shines for meeee today!”

“ELO.” Constable Bridges answered Sergeant Boucher’s unspoken question.

Clive was on the move. He scampered through the branches of his new refuge before leaping again…

“Oh, fucking shit…” Steve observed.

Clive seemed to soar in the air for an instant before reaching…

And grabbing a branch on the next tree before changing songs. “I don’t feel safe in this world no more! I don’t want to die in a nuclear war! I wanna sail away to a distant shore, and make like an Apeman…”

“The Kinks.” It was Steve’s turn to educate Oliver. They both moved to the next tree. There was, by now, quite a crowd – all with heads upturned in bemused wonder.

The two policemen took a little time to summon help. Firemen and an ambulance were requested. They were going to need them. Above, the singing continued…

“I’ll be your Tarzan, you’ll be my Jane.
“I’ll keep you warm and you’ll keep me sane.
“We’ll sit in the trees and eat bananas all day,
“Just like an Apeman…”

A few braver souls in the crowd joined in the chorus “Nana nana nanananaaaa! Just like an Apeman…”

“Clive!” Steve shouted again.

“I say, what!?”

“I’m sorry about your wife, Clive. I’m sorry. Please. Come down and we can talk, okay? We need to get you safe.”

“Gina? My Gina? Yes. Do you know what happened to my Gina?” Clive had dropped the English accent. Even from this distance, Steve could tell his eyes were suddenly lucid. Shit. He thought. If I’m not careful, this will end badly…

“She was very ill.” Accent again. “She got the very best of medical care. Oh yes, the best money could buy. They were very good. But do you know what happened? Do you know officer?”

“Come down and tell me Clive. Just come down.”

“She DIED officer!” Accent gone. Lucid. Lucid and angry. “She fucking DIED!! Oh but she was SAFE! She died in hermetically sealed, temperature controlled, air conditioned, isolated FUCKING SAFETY! Thank CHRIST she was SAFE, eh officer!?”

The tree shook momentarily with the madman’s rage, then he slumped wearily and stared into the distance.

“The sun still shone. The wind blew the trees outside. People were walking past. Cars drove by. Nothing stopped. Nothing noticed. Only me…”

The comforting madness returned, and Clive grinned crazily. “In man’s evolution he has invented the city and the motor traffic rumble. But given half a chance I’ll be taking off my clothes and living in the jungle…”

“He really likes that song, doesn’t he sir?” Oliver commented. The crowd was silent.

Clive had cheered up. Then he heard sirens. The Fireys were coming. Thank fucking Christ! Thought Steve.

“Woooooooooooooowoooooooo!” Clive began mimicking the sirens, and moved again. Climbing rapidly through the branches he suddenly leapt again. There was a collective intake of breath from the crowd as their Apeman clasped the limb of another tree.

There was a snap.

Clive Pepperfield dropped thirty feet to the ground with astonishing speed.

There was another snap. A wet, muffled sound.

Clive lay on the grass, his head tilted at a sickening angle, and stared through the trees to the sky above. Steve and Oliver rushed to him and while Oliver kept back the crowd, the crusty old sergeant bent to assess the damage.

Bugger me! He thought The old bastard is still alive!

“Don’t worry sir.” He said out loud. “Help will be here soon. You’ll be okay.” He lied, seeing the struggle for breath and the futility of it already.

Clive’s lips moved. Steve leaned in, barely able to hear.

“Grass. Lovely. Soft…"

“Just hang in there for me Clive…”

“I’ll keep you warm and you’ll keep me sane…”

Clive Pepperfield’s eyes went dark. His body deflated, and was still.

There was silence. From somewhere in the crowd Amy began to cry.

Beyond the ring of onlookers, a breeze blew the grass and rustled through leaves in the trees.
Cars drove by.
People sat in offices and typed up reports.

The sun shone.



Mount Duneed, Australia

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

The Kinks “Apeman” is one of my very favourite songs – but often leaves me feeling a touch melancholy for some reason.

Artwork Comments

  • bellmusker
  • friartuck
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