I Am the Messenger

by Markus Zusak

  In a way, I feel sad and empty, but I also feel that I've done what was intended. Just once, an ice cream for Angie Carusso.

  I'll always remember the color of it on her lips.

  Now I have to deal with the Roses, and like I've said, I don't think they've been tested in the world. It seems they've never been asked how they would react if someone from outside came in and interrupted their fighting with foreign fists.

  I have their address.

  I have their phone number, and I'm ready.

  Early next week I get a lot of day shifts, and I go over there every night I have free. Each time, they only argue. There's no actual fight, so I go home, disappointed. On the way back, I look for the closest phone booth to their house and find one a few streets away.

  The next two nights I have to work, which I decide is a good thing. They had a big fight only recently, and they might need a few more days to build up properly to another one. All I need is Gavin to leave the house again. My job isn't a pleasant one.

  On Sunday night, it happens.

  I'm there for nearly two hours when the house shakes and Gavin storms out again.

  He goes back to the same place and sits again in the gutter.

  And again, I go down there.

  My shadow only edges onto him when he says, "You again," but he doesn't even get a glimpse of me.

  My hands reach down and grab him by the collar.

  I feel like I'm outside myself.

  I watch myself drag Gavin Rose into the bush and beat him down to the grass, the dirt, and the fallen tree branches.

  My fists clutter on his face and I put a hole in his stomach.

  The boy cries and begs. His voice twitches.

  "Don't kill me, don't kill me...."

  I see his eyes and make sure not to meet them, and I put my fist onto his nose to eliminate any vision he might have had. He's hurt, but I keep going. I need to make sure he can't move by the time I'm done with him.

  I can smell how scared he is.

  It pours out of him.

  It reaches up and stuffs itself into my nose.

  I realize this could all backfire terribly, but it feels like my only option.

  It's time to explain that before I had to sort out Edgar Street, I'd never even laid a finger on a person in this way. It doesn't feel good, especially when it's a young kid who doesn't have a chance. However, I can't let that stop me. I'm possessed as I continue beating Gavin Rose on his body and face. It's dark, and a gathering wind stalks through the bush.

  No one can help him.

  Except me.

  And how do I do it?

  I give him one last kick and make sure he won't be able to move for at least another five or ten minutes.

  I get off him, breathing heavily.

  Gavin Rose isn't going anywhere.

  There's blood on my hands as I walk quickly from the bush and up the street. I can hear the television in the Rose house as I hurry past.

  When I turn the corner and see the phone booth, I discover a big problem--there's someone in it.

  "Well, I don't care what she says," a very large teenage girl with a navel ring booms inside the box. "It has nothing to do with me...."

  I can't help it.

  I think, Get out of there, you silly bitch.

  But she only gets more articulate.

  One minute, I decide. I'll give her one minute and then I'm going in.

  She sees me but clearly couldn't care less. She turns around and continues talking.

  Right. I'm going in, and I knock on the glass.

  She responds by turning around and asking, "What?" The word is spoken like gunshot.

  I try manners. "Sorry to bother you, but I really need to make an urgent call."

  "Piss off, mate!" She's not happy, to say the least.

  "Look!" I hold up my hands and show her the blood on my palms. "A friend of mine just had an accident and I have to call an ambulance...."

  She talks into the phone again. "Kel? Yeah, I'm back. Listen, I'll call you back in a minute." She stares at me obscenely when she says that. "Okay?"

  When she hangs up, she saunters out and I can smell a mixture of her sweat and deodorant inside the booth. It isn't too charming, but it isn't a smell of Doorman proportions, either.

  I shut the door and dial.

  Three rings and Daniel Rose picks up the phone.

  "Yeah, hello."

  I whisper, nice and hard. "Now you listen to me--if you go down to the bush at the end of your street, you'll find your brother in a pretty bad way. I strongly suggest you get down there."

  "Who is this?"

  I hang up.

  "Thank you," I say to the girl on my way out.

  "There better not be any blood on the phone."

  Nice girl.

  Back on the Roses' street, I make it just in time to see.

  Daniel Rose is helping his brother walk back to their house. I'm far away, but I can see him supporting him, with his arm around his shoulder. For the first time, they look like brothers.

  I even let myself imagine some words for them.

  Come on, Gav, you can make it. We'll get you home and fix you up.

  There is blood on my hands and blood at the bottom of the street. I hope for a moment that they both understand what they're doing and what they're proving.

  I want to tell them, but I realize that all I do is deliver the message. I don't decipher it or make sense of it for them. They need to do that themselves.

  I can only hope they're capable as I make my way home to some running water and the Doorman.

  Well, I must say, I'm very pleased with myself. There were three names carved into that great rock at the stones of home, and I'm quite sure I've fulfilled everything I had to do.

  I walk down to the river with the Doorman and head upstream to where the names are in the rock. It gets a little rough for the Doorman on the way up, and I look at him, disappointed. "You had to come, didn't you? I told you it was going to be a hard one for you, but did you listen?"

  I'll just wait here, he replies.

  I give him a pat as he lies down and I keep going up the river.

  As I climb the large stones, I feel a pride swelling in me. It's a great feeling to be going there again in victory after the uncertainty of my first visit.

  It's late afternoon but not hot, so I'm barely sweating when my eyes hit the names.

  Immediately, I notice there's something different. They're the same names, but next to them, there's also a tick scratched in, obviously for each time I completed what I had to do.

  I'm very happy to see the first name.

  Thomas O'Reilly. Big tick.

  Then Angie Carusso. Another one.

  Then...

  What?

  I look at the stone in disbelief, as the name Gavin Rose is still naked and alone in the tick department.

  I stand there with my arm bent around my body, scratching my spine.

  "What do I still need to do?" I ask. "Gavin Rose was as complete as they come."

  The answer can't be far away.

  A few days pass, and the end of November is near. It's getting close to the Annual Sledge Game. Marv's been calling me up, still agitated about my apparent lack of interest.

  December hits, and two nights before the game, I'm still nervous about Gavin Rose and that invisible tick on the stone. I've been back there and there's still nothing. I hoped whoever was doing that part was just running late, but there's no way three or four days could pass. Whoever's running this would never allow that to happen.

  I'm having trouble sleeping.

  I'm irritable with the Doorman.

  When I haven't slept again after Thursday, I go to the all-night chemist at the top of Main Street to get something, anything, to help me sleep. I should have saved some of the sleeping pills I slipped the man from Edgar Street.

  As I walk out, I notice a group of boys hanging around across the road.

  Nearing ho
me, it becomes obvious that they're following me, and when we're all standing at an intersection, waiting for the legs to go green, I notice the voice of Daniel Rose.

  "This him, Gav?"

  I try to fight them off, but there are too many. At least six. They drag me into an alley and handle me in much the same way I took care of Gavin. They club me with their hands and hold me down and all take turns. I can feel blood crawling across my face and bruises showing up along my ribs, my legs, and my stomach.

  They enjoy themselves.

  "Teach you to mess with my brother." This is Daniel Rose making conversation. He kicks me hard in the ribs. The loyalty hurts. "Come on, Gav--take the last shot."

  Gav does as he's told.

  He reefs a boot to my stomach and forces his fist into my face.

  They run off into the night.

  As for me, I try to get up but fall.

  I drag myself home and feel like I've come full circle from when I had the Ace of Clubs first delivered.

  When I stagger through the front door, the Doorman looks shocked. Almost concerned. All I can do is shake my head and assure him I'm okay with a small, painful smile. I imagine that while all this is going on, a large tick is being scratched into the stone next to the name of Gavin Rose. It's over.

  Later that night I look in the bathroom mirror.

  Two black eyes.

  Swollen jaw.

  A blood stream flowing to my throat.

  I look at myself and try my hardest to attempt a smile.

  Well done, Ed, I tell myself, and I stare for a final few seconds at my broken and bloodied face.

  I stare strangely into the face of clubs.

  part three: Trying Times for Ed Kennedy

  A mosquito sings in my ear, and I almost feel grateful for the company. I'm even tempted to sing along.

  It's dark, there's blood on my face, and the mosquito could easily sit and drink without injecting. It could kneel down and sip the blood from my right cheek and my lips.

  When I get out of bed and stand up, the floor is cool and my feet enjoy the relief. My sheets felt woven together with sweat, and now I lean on the wall in the hallway. Some sweat reaches my ankle and rolls under the arch of my foot.

  I don't feel bad.

  Laughter escapes my mouth as I check the clock, go to the bathroom, and have a cold shower. The icy water sets fire to my cuts and bruises, but everything feels good. It's close to four in the morning now, and I'm no longer afraid. After putting on a pair of old jeans and nothing else, I walk back to bed in search of the two aces. I open the drawer and lift the cards in my fingers. The yellow light of the room stands next to me as I happily look down at the stories of those cards. I'm gripped by feeling when I think of Milla and Edgar Street, and I hope for a brilliant life for Sophie. I laugh about Father O'Reilly, Henry Street, and Meet a Priest Day. Then Angie Carusso, whom I wish I could have done more for. And those bastard Rose boys.

  What will the next card be? I wonder.

  I expect it to be hearts.

  I wait.

  For daylight and the next ace.

  This time I want it to be fast.

  I want the card right now. No obscurity. No riddles. Just give me the addresses. Give me the names and send me there. That's what I want.

  My only worry is that every time I've wanted something to go a certain way in all of this, it's gone the other, designed perfectly to challenge me with the unknown. I want Keith and Daryl to come walking through the door again. I want them to deliver the next card and criticize the Doorman for his smell and for having fleas. I've even left the door unlocked so they can enter my house in a civilized manner.

  But I know they're not coming.

  I find my book and head to the lounge room. I take the aces with me and hold them as I read.

  When I wake up again, I'm on the floor with the two cards next to my left hand. It's about ten already and it's hot, and someone's banging at the door.

  It's them, I think.

  "Keith?" I call out, getting to my knees. "Daryl? That you?"

  "Who the hell's Keith?"

  I look up and see Marv standing over me. I rub my eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask him.

  "Is that any way to speak to friends?" He sees my face properly now and the black and yellow rods that are my ribs. God, I see him think, but he doesn't say it. He answers my question with an answer to a different question. This is typically frustrating of Marv. Instead of saying what he's doing here, he tells me how he got in. "The door was unlocked, and the Doorman let me past for a change."

  "See? I told you he's okay."

  I walk through to the kitchen with Marv behind me. He asks about the state of me.

  "How'd you end up like that, Ed?"

  I switch the kettle on. "Coffee?"

  Yes, please.

  Of course, the Doorman's just walked in.

  "Thanks," Marv answers.

  As we drink, I tell Marv what happened. "Just some young fellas. They had a look at me and took me from behind."

  "You get any shots in of your own?"

  "No."

  "Why not?"

  "There were six of them, Marv."

  He shakes his head. "Christ, the world's going crazy." He decides to get back to something sane. "Do you think you'll be right to play this afternoon?"

  Of course.

  The Sledge Game.

  Today's the day.

  "Yes, Marv." I make the answer very clear. "I'm playing." I'm suddenly very in the mood for this year's game. Despite being a physical disaster, I feel stronger than ever, and I'm actually relishing the idea of being hurt some more. Don't ask me why. I don't understand it myself.

  "Come on." Marv stands up and begins for the door. "I'll buy you some breakfast."

  "Really?" This isn't like Marv at all.

  As we leave I ask him for the truth.

  "Would you be doing this if I pulled out of the game?"

  Marv opens his car and gets in. "No way."

  At least he's honest.

  His car doesn't start.

  "Not one word." He eyes me.

  We both snigger slightly.

  This is a good day. I can feel it.

  We walk to a crappy cafe at the bottom of Main Street. They serve eggs and salami and some sort of flat-looking bread. The waitress is a big woman with a wide mouth and a hankie in her hand. For some reason, to me, she looks like a Margaret.

  "Whata you two bores want?"

  We're shocked.

  "Bores?" asks Marv.

  She gives us an I-don't-have-time-for-this kind of look. She's bored shitless. "Of course. You both bores, ain't you?" It's then I realize she's saying boys.

  "Hey," I say to Marv. "Boys."

  "What?"

  "Boys."

  Marv peruses the menu.

  Margaret clears her throat.

  Not wanting to annoy her further, I order fast. "I'll have a banana milk shake if that's okay."

  She frowns. "We're out of milk."

  "Out of milk? How in the hell can a cafe run out of milk?"

  "Look, I don't buy the milk. I don't have anything to do with the milk. I only know we don't have any. Why don't you order something to eat?" She loves her job, this lady. I can sense it.

  "Have you got bread?" I ask.

  "Now don't get smart, bore."

  I scout the rest of the cafe, checking out what everyone else is eating. "I'll have what that bloke over there's having." All three of us look over.

  "You sure?" Marv warns. "That looks pretty borderline, Ed."

  "Well they've at least got it, haven't they?"

  And now Margaret's really unhappy. She says, "Now listen." She scratches her scalp with her pen. I'm almost waiting for her to clean her ears out with it. "If this place isn't good enough for you bores, you can bloody well piss off and find somewhere else to eat." She's very testy, to say the least.

  "All right." I hold my hand up, almost backing
away. "Give me what that guy's got and just a banana, okay?"

  "Good thinking," Marv approves. "Potassium for the game."

  Potassium?

  I don't think that's really going to help.

  "And you?" Margaret's transferred her attention now to Marv.

  He shifts in his seat. "How about that flat bread you've got with your finest selection of cheeses?" He had to do it. Marv can't resist being a smart arse to a person like this. It's in his nature.

  But Margaret's good. She puts up with complete shitheads like us all the time. "The only cheese around here is you," she responds, and I must say, we both laugh and give her some encouragement. She chooses not to notice. "Anything else for you bores?"

  "No, thanks."

  "Right. That's twenty-two fifty."

  "Twenty-two fifty?" We can't hide our exasperation.

  "Well, yeah--this is a classy joint, you know."

  "That's obvious--the service is incredible."

  And now we sit in the boiling-hot outdoor section of the cafe, sweating and waiting for this breakfast. Margaret takes great pleasure in passing us while she delivers other people's food. We're close to asking her a few times just where ours has vanished to, but we know that will only serve to make us wait longer. People are actually eating lunch before we eat our breakfast, and when it finally comes, Margaret slops it down on our table like she's serving us compost.

  "Cheers, love," Marv says. "You've outdone yourself."

  Margaret blows her nose and walks off. Savage indifference.

  "How's yours?" inquires Marv soon after. "Or more to the point, what is it?"

  "Eggs and cheese and something."

  "Do you even like eggs?"

  "No."

  "Then why'd you get it?"

  "Well, it didn't look like eggs when it was on that other guy's plate."

  "Fair enough. You want some of mine?"

  I take up the offer and eat some of his flat bread. Not bad, really, and I finally ask Marv exactly why he's chosen today of all days to take me out to breakfast. It's never happened before. I've never gone out for breakfast in my life. That, and Marv would never even consider paying for me. That simply wouldn't be on. Under normal circumstances, he'd rather die.

  "Marv," I say, looking straight at him, "why are we here?"

  He shakes his head. "I--"

  "You're making sure I turn up to the game this afternoon, aren't you? You're sweetening me up."

  Marv can't lie to me on this, and he knows it. "That would about cover it."