Jasper Jones

by Craig Silvey;

  The bubble breaks when I notice Eliza humming. I open my eyes, back to the gray glade. We’re barely moving now, just shifting our weight in time, lightly stamping the grass beneath our feet.

  “Do you ever think of leaving here? Leaving Corrigan?” I murmur.

  She nods her head slowly and sighs.

  “All the time. I don’t want to be here anymore. I hate this town.”

  “Well, maybe we could leave together. With Jasper, when he goes. Which might be soon. I mean, maybe we could go as well. The three of us.”

  Eliza stops moving. She stands very still, but she doesn’t pull away.

  “Do you mean that? You would do it? You would leave Corrigan?”

  “Maybe,” I say. “If you wanted to. I would leave with you.”

  She pulls back and holds my shoulders. Her eyes are searching mine.

  “Do you really mean that?” she demands of me.

  “I do. I mean it. I really do.”

  “If I wanted to leave, you would promise to come with me?”

  I nod, and give a short smile.

  She holds my eye a little longer and then lays her face back into my chest and clutches me tightly to her, tugging the front of my shirt. She holds me like that for a long time. I’m unsure where to put my hands. So I run them through her hair. I kiss the barrette in her hair. And I think she begins to cry. She’s shaking softly. Not for the first time, I’m lost for words. But maybe they’re not necessary. I seem destined never to have the right words in me. But maybe I don’t need to. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s better I stay quiet. Maybe just gently rubbing her shoulder blades is infinitely more useful than saying something right and trite, or reciting some stupid poem. Maybe I’m finally doing the right thing.

  We stand like this for a long time. Eliza begins to breathe evenly again. I listen to the clicks and shifts of the bush, like small detonations in the stillness, and I don’t fret. Everything is dislodged, everything is free of its mooring. But I don’t want to think of anything other than how pleasant Eliza Wishart’s hair smells, how warm her body is. I don’t want to let anything else in. Which seems easy enough to accomplish in this little patch of earth. It’s so private and sovereign here, so timeless and hushed and sheltered, it’s easy to forget the cold inclemency you’ve stumbled in from.

  It’s leaving that seems the hard part. Heading back into it. Which Laura couldn’t do. She couldn’t ever go back, so she made sure she stayed.

  Eliza breaks away. She takes my hand and she leads me toward the tree. She ducks and kneels at the hollow. Curiously, I’ve never seen inside it until now. Jasper has made it his own. He’s carved shelves into its walls, where he keeps all manner of items. Tins, tinder, cooking utensils, enamel mugs and plates, cards, pencils, tobacco, tea and sugar. There’s even a little Spanish guitar hanging from a railway nail high above me.

  She crawls inside, still holding my hand. I follow, feeling as though I’m encroaching. Like I’m stealing a space that isn’t mine.

  Eliza lies down. I do the same. We huddle together. I’m anxious and stiff, but Eliza wriggles her way into a comfortable position. She puts a hand on my chest and leans her head on my shoulder, and she whispers:

  “Let’s don’t say another word. Go to sleep.”

  I frown. Sleeping is the last thing I’m capable of. And, in a way, I don’t want to slow the whirring in my mind, lest I have to really consider all that’s come and all that’s coming. I don’t want to think about what we do now. Laura’s letter, Eliza’s account. Surely that clears Jasper Jones. But if we come forward with all this, what will happen to me? What will happen to Eliza? Will Jasper keep his word and keep me safe? Will Eliza even talk? And what might it visit upon her father if she did?

  And what if we stayed silent? What if this place kept its horrible secret at the bottom of its deep well? And if we walked away with it, kept it locked up? If we never breathed a word, would anything change? The mystery would evolve into a pile of lies that are bound to become truth anyway. And nobody would ever be burdened by the knowing.

  What would my father have done? Or Mark Twain? Or Atticus Finch? It’s likely they wouldn’t be in this mess. But I’m not them. I’m an idiot. And a child. And I’ve done this all so very, very wrong.

  I must have slipped away for a time, because I jolt awake upon hearing footsteps. Eliza is heavy on my arm. She doesn’t stir. But I freeze as a shadow is cast over us.

  “Jasper?” I whisper.

  “Charlie? What is she doing here? What have you done? What have you said?”

  Eliza starts. She grips my arm and shunts back, kicking her feet. Something drops from the shelf and clatters. A fishing lantern. Jasper shows a palm and tells her to calm down. I feel like I’ve been caught out. Jasper looks hostile.

  I emerge from the hollow.

  “You broke your promise,” Jasper says plainly, standing over me.

  I’m about to respond when Eliza steps out and interjects.

  “No he didn’t. I brought him here.”

  “You? Bullshit. How?”

  “Jasper, she knows some things,” I say.

  “Things? What things? What have you tole her, Charlie?” His lower jaw juts out.

  “Not from me,” I say, my hand on my heart. “She knows, Jasper. What happened. She knows.”

  “What, and you dint tell her nuthin?” He regards Eliza edgily.

  “Well, no. I didn’t have to.”

  Jasper takes a step back, still looking at Eliza, more uncertain now. “What d’you mean? What does this mean? Why is she here, Charlie? You shouldn’t’ve brought her here.”

  “You’re not listening,” Eliza says. “He didn’t bring me here. I know the way. I’ve been here before. I followed you.”

  “Follered me? When?” Jasper looks suspicious; he glances from her to me. My heart has kick-started and it’s revving hard. It’s all about to come out again. I’m afraid of what Jasper might do. Eliza reaches into her shallow pocket. She extends her hand. Blankly, she tells Jasper that she’s sorry. She took something that wasn’t hers. It was meant for his eyes.

  Jasper shifts his weight from side to side, like a boxer. He looks at the square of paper, but he does not take it.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a letter. From Laura.”

  He kicks his chin up and folds his arms.

  “What does it say? I can’t read it. It’s too dark.”

  I stay quiet. I glance at Eliza. She looks the strongest here by far. She holds his eye. She takes a breath. She keeps the paper closed. And she tells Jasper Jones all that she told me. It’s worse knowing what’s coming, knowing how it ends.

  And Eliza doesn’t curb her bitterness. She doesn’t conceal a thing. It’s clear she’s still angry at Jasper Jones, despite what I said to exonerate him. But she spills it all, down to Laura’s feelings of hurt and betrayal. Jasper stands and receives it, still and quiet.

  He doesn’t react, not a flicker or a twitch, until Eliza recounts that horrible moment when Laura swayed back and fell. Then he moves. He shuffles, he slopes back. And his shoulders, broad for so long, they dip and round, and he cups his mouth and his nose, like he’s caught a sneeze, and he just slowly backs away, clearing his throat and groaning, staring at Eliza Wishart. I watch him the way you would a cornered animal. I can’t help but crouch slightly. And then he bursts. Snaps like a trap. He breaks out and I flinch as he runs past us both and dives straight into the waterhole with a sharp crash and he disappears, leaving nothing but ripples.

  Eliza and I are motionless. We watch the surface grow smooth. He hasn’t come back up. What is he doing? How deep is he digging? He’s not coming up, he’s not coming up. For a moment, I think of him tying his own leg to that rope and I panic. What has he done? I look at Eliza. Then back to the water. Frantic, I tear out of my shirt and I shuck off my shoes and I drop my glasses. The ground is cool as I cross it, and I dive into the darkness, I follow Jasper Jones. I kick and I flail, car
ving my arms into the murky water, but I’m getting nowhere. I can’t see. My air is spent. Just as I wriggle to ascend, I am clubbed in the jaw by something unseen. I thrash at it, afraid. But it grips me by the arms and drags me up with it. And when we get to the surface, Jasper Jones gags and gasps for air and he holds me to him, hard. We clutch each other, kicking under the surface, churning at the water. I cough hard, hoarse and ratchety. Jasper tugs hard at the hair at the back of my head, grabs it in his fist and pulls my head toward him so forcefully I think he’s trying to drown me. And he bites down on my shoulder and I dig my nails into his slick back. And I know him. I know him, and it’s the saddest thing of all. As the lost boy who has lost everything. And as much as I was always aware that he was Randall McMurphy and I was every bleating, frightened barnacle that clung to him for their share of counterfeit boldness, I know now that he needed me in this too. Not because I’m smart or reliable or loyal or good, but because he needed someone, anyone, so he didn’t have to be alone with it. He sought me out, he came to my window that night, because he was shit-scared and he didn’t have a clue what to do. That’s all. I think he saw my lamplight and he was drawn to it like an insect to a bulb. He had to share it, to spill some of it over with someone he felt he could trust. He couldn’t hold it alone, he couldn’t go through it alone. He couldn’t drown Laura alone, couldn’t face Jack Lionel alone.

  And if Jasper Jones is just as scared as the rest of us, I wonder if I’ll ever be without fear. But then I think of Jeffrey Lu, and our discussion about Batman, and the light that Mark Twain had shone upon it. Maybe it’s not about being without it. Maybe it’s about how well you walk with the weight. It makes sense to me now. That’s what courage is. Bruce Wayne is still afraid, but he gets it done, because he’s bloody Batman. But for the rest of us, it’s working out an honest way, that’s the trick.

  But how? How to balance it all out, between the blues and the Mean Reds? See, it seems to me there’s a familiar fork: you can either learn about things and be sad and restless, or you can put your head in the sand and be afraid. But maybe that’s where Eliza Wishart comes in, to level it all out with love. And look. She’s here, now, standing on the edge of the dam.

  My legs are tired as we kick toward the tree. I feel like I’ve swallowed my own weight in water. Wordlessly, Jasper hoists himself out, then reaches for me. I take his hand, and we stand dripping and heaving. My body made of sticks and stilts, his carved out of wood. I bow and squint for my glasses. And when I rise, we all line the edge of the dam and look down at it.

  “She’s down there forever,” says Eliza.

  ***

  Later, we lie on our backs and stare at the stars. Jasper props his head up on a raised root and sucks a cigarette. He found some matches in the hollow. His chest rises and falls like clockwork. Eliza rests her head on my stomach.

  It’s strange, the three of us being together like this. There’s a lot to say, but it somehow seems the wrong time to say it. I want to ask Jasper how he went talking with his father, if Lionel’s story was true, what really happened with his mother. But it seems wrong to do so in front of Eliza Wishart. Likewise, I want to strum my thumb gently down Eliza’s cheek, and maybe swipe the hair that has escaped from her clip away from her eyes, but it seems too private a gesture.

  Still, if we’re to leave this town behind, it’ll be the three of us bound tightly together. We’d have to make it work somehow. I turn to Jasper.

  “Listen, Jasper. When you leave Corrigan, I think we’re going to come with you. I think we’re going to leave too.”

  Jasper at first appears not to hear, but he sits up just as I’m about to repeat it. He speaks levelly. He sounds tired.

  “You’re gonna what?”

  “We’re going to leave here as well. Me and Eliza. With you. I don’t know. To the city, maybe. Or wherever. We’ll work something out. We could do it. I know we could.”

  “You two? Shit, Charlie, you’re both out of your minds. There’s no way that could happen. I don’t even know where to start. You’re not thinkin.”

  “Why not? Why couldn’t we leave too?” Piqued, I prop myself on my elbow, disturbing Eliza. Jasper grinds his cigarette into the dirt and pockets it. He lights another, taking his time.

  “Mate, consider it. If the two of you left suddenly, without tellin anybody, what d’you reckon would happen? You saw what happened with Laura: the police, the patrols, the news, all that. You don’t reckon the circus will be back in town? And it’ll be even worse if it’s the both of you. They’ll drag your arses back here before you’re even out of the shire. And if you’re with me? Shit. They’ll probably do me with kidnappin.”

  “Okay, but …”

  Jasper holds up a finger.

  “And that’s assuming you doan tell anyone you’re leavin, of course. Because if you do, I’ll wager neither of you have a chance in hell of being let out by your folks. Specially you.” He nods at Eliza.

  “Well, what about you, then?” I ask him.

  “Me? What about me?” Jasper scoffs.

  “If you just up and left? What do you think would happen?”

  Jasper smiles and takes a long draft of his smoke.

  “Charlie, you’ll see what happens when I go. Just wait and see. Trust me.”

  “What? What will happen?”

  “Just trust me. You’ll know what I mean. Charlie, you need to unnerstand, this is something that I got to do. Not you. And it’s nuthin personal. It’s just not the right idea, mate. You should stay. Both of you should stay here. I’m sorry.”

  And like that, I’ve been dismissed. I feel faintly foolish and humiliated, maybe even a little betrayed. I thought we were friends. Partners.

  Eliza touches my arm.

  “Charlie, he’s right.”

  I glance at her and frown.

  “We can’t leave here, you and I.”

  “But I thought you wanted to,” I say.

  She sighs. “I just wanted to know that you would go with me. That’s all. That’s enough. But we can’t do it. Not yet, anyway.”

  I nod, slowly, and look away. Silence falls again. I hadn’t realized how much I had riding on getting out of Corrigan. It seemed to screw a lid on so many problems, and the thought of staying makes me suddenly very anxious. I feel as though this is all in my lap, and it shouldn’t be. Jasper shouldn’t be allowed to leave this bag of bricks with me.

  “So what do we do now? Now that we know everything? What happens?”

  Jasper tugs at his ear.

  “I dunno, Charlie. I really don’t. Leave it with me. I’m thinkin on it. I’ll come up with somethin.”

  Eliza sits up and picks at the grass.

  “I’m going to tell them,” she says.

  Jasper sits up.

  “Tell who?”

  “Everyone,” she says. “The police. The town. Everyone. It’s the right thing. People are still out looking for her, and they’re getting colder and colder. Because she’s here, she’s at the bottom of this water hole. We know the truth.”

  “And what are you going to say?” Jasper’s voice is unsteady.

  “The truth! I’m going to tell them all the truth!”

  Jasper closes his eyes. He looks resigned.

  “You can’t do that,” I say.

  “I have to! Why not?”

  “Because it’ll all have been for nothing. Because you can’t do what he’s done. What we have done. You can’t throw bodies in the water. They’ll lock him up. They’ll put him away, that’s why.”

  “So?” Eliza says, defiant. I stare at her.

  “What are you saying?” I ask.

  “I’m saying I have to do the right thing, Charlie.”

  “But how is that right? This isn’t his fault, and you want him to get punished for it. And me too. You understand that, don’t you? If you tell them everything, it means I’m in serious trouble. I was here. I did the same thing as Jasper. And you. You’ll be right in it as well.”

>   “I won’t tell them about you,” Eliza says quietly. I sigh.

  “Then that’s not the truth, is it? And if you can do that for me, if you can leave me out, then you can do the same for Jasper.”

  Of course, I’m asking her to lie. I’m asking her to pull a blanket over parts of this story. To comb it over, to change its color and complexion. Just so I can stay clean. So Jasper Jones can be given a reprieve. I’m asking her to keep her sister hidden. And I feel terrible. But what’s right and just and true here, anyway?

  I don’t know.

  But I also have a suspicion that Eliza might be less concerned with what’s right, less concerned about uncovering the truth, than she is about ensuring that she and Jasper Jones, and maybe her father too, are meted out the penance that she feels they each deserve. I think she wants to do something with all this blame and hurt. I think she just wants to tie rocks to all their feet.

  Eliza doesn’t respond. She continues to uproot blades of grass and tear at them.

  “You blame Jasper, don’t you?” I say quietly.

  She shrugs. I shake my head.

  “It’s not his fault. Or yours. How could it be? Listen, you don’t know him like I do. Like Laura did. And I’ve told you where he was for that fortnight he went missing. You know what happened that night. You saw it. And all he ever tried to do was the right thing. I think you want to get him into trouble, you want to burden him and make him hurt like Laura wanted. And I think you want the same thing for yourself. But the difference is, you know better.”