The Colour Nearly Forgotten

The indigo door opened into the banqueting hall of an old castle.

A fire burned beneath a carved stone chimney. Faded banners hung from the walls. At the far end, an elderly man slept in a high-backed chair with a cold pipe between his fingers.

“Ponco Indigo,” Ronnie said gently.

The old man opened one eye.

“Who?”

“You.”

“Ah. Yes. I remember him.”

Paul liked Ponco Indigo immediately.

His robe had once been magnificent, but its colour had faded. Dust covered the models and tools on a nearby workbench.

“Why have you stopped inventing?” Paul asked.

“No one wants indigo now. Children forget it when they name the rainbow. People call it dark blue or purple. A Ponco without a colour is a teapot without tea.”

“Still useful for keeping biscuits in,” Paul said.

Ponco Indigo gave a small laugh.

Paul examined the workbench. Beneath the dust lay drawings of enormous domes covering towns, devices for collecting sunlight and a machine designed to make roofs grow gardens.

(opens a larger, uncropped view)

“These are brilliant.”

“They are unfinished.”

“So are most good ideas. That means they can still become something.”

Ponco Indigo looked at him more closely.

Paul told him about the future city: the coloured buildings, the rooftop trees and the clean streets.

“There was indigo everywhere,” he added.

This was not precisely true. But it could have been.

The old Ponco rose and crossed to the bench. He brushed dust from a drawing.

“This dome would collect warmth in winter and provide shade in summer. I never solved the ventilation.”

“Ponco Blue would enjoy making that problem extremely complicated.”

“And Ponco Green could grow the rooftop gardens,” Ronnie suggested.

Ponco Indigo’s back straightened.

“Yellow could provide sunlight. Violet knows about transparent materials. Red could make warning lights. Orange could…”

He hesitated.

“Invent a game for the people inside,” Paul said.

For the first time, Ponco Indigo smiled broadly.

“Perhaps the future does have room for an old colour.”

The indigo banners brightened. A deep spark rose from the fireplace, circled Paul and passed into the rainbow above the door.

“Faith, hope and dreams,” Ponco Indigo said. “An inventor requires all three.”

“And help,” Paul added.

The old man nodded. “Especially help.”