Black Chalk (37 page)

My foot came away from the pole, there was nothing beneath me but death. The whole world seemed to lurch in my chest as time began to stretch, constant becoming variable. Suddenly there were no thoughts in my mind – gravity was claiming me and my thoughts were all feelings. Panic, regret, life, fear, death. And then the weight of me, gravity’s scream, pulled Mark quickly over the low parapet wall. Somewhere in this jumble of feelings and instincts, my arms had started to move, had somehow found a way to wrap themselves around the flagpole. With a sharp jerk I stopped falling. I felt the slick surface of the pole and quickly became aware of a great burden attached to my leg. And as my fingers started to slip, I didn’t think. There was no motive, no thought but survival. Life not death.

I kicked, electric, instinctive. I bucked like a killer at the end of a noose. Something was taking me down and I fought for life, I shook death off.

And that’s when Mark pleaded with me to stop, or at least that’s what I think those three quick words were supposed to mean, just before I managed to kick him away.

Jolyon, you win.

*   *   *

LXV(iii)
   As Mark’s body fell slowly into the light I saw that he was trying to twist through the air, instinctively steering his body to keep his skull from shattering against the earth. And he didn’t call out my name, Mark didn’t cry out at all as he dropped from the tower. He simply fell, down and down for two and a quarter seconds. At the end he managed to turn his body enough that I could see his face before he hit the ground. And in that moment of impact, Mark’s wide eyes seemed to call out to me that he was very scared of dying but also that this was a terrible injustice. And it was true, he was absolutely right.

And now I see his face every morning, every day. First Mark’s wide and afraid and accusing eyes. And then I hear the horrible crumpling sound, I feel his spirit fly up like a cold wind biting through me. And then I see the blood pooling around Mark’s body in the pale light. The blood was very black and the eyes very suddenly shut.

*   *   *

LXV(iv)
   It was quiet below as if the people down there couldn’t comprehend this sudden appearance of death on the gravel. A silent pause. No one saw me as I scrambled up onto the roof.

And then the screaming started.

First the screaming of women and then the yelling of men, the men shouting out the words God and Jesus over and over. More screaming and I was scrambling down the roof of Great Hall. What was I thinking, what words were running through my mind? I don’t know, I think there were only impulses. Run away, hide. I pulled myself through the chapel window, ran down the stairs and out onto front quad. I slowed down so as not to be seen running. And that’s when I saw someone coming into college through the front lodge. And I shouldn’t have stopped, I shouldn’t have stood there frozen by guilt.

And then, distantly across the lawn, the figure making its way into Pitt stopped as well, as if it were he who’d been caught and not me. He turned around quickly, started to hurry away. His squat limbs, those small, furtive features. Shortest.

I gasped so hard the air stuck in my chest like a stone. And then the impulse to escape took over again. I didn’t have time to think about Shortest, I had to keep moving. I had to cross the end of back quad to get to staircase six.

Already a crowd had gathered, some of them hugging, the rest of them smoking, hands jittery and tight around their cigarettes. And no one saw me, they were all looking elsewhere. Not at the body, no one could bear to look at the body for more than a moment or two. They were looking up vacantly, staring out into the night.

I could hear sirens as I ran up the stairs. Some part of me must have been thinking clearly, some awful part of me, because soon I had discovered Mark’s door unlocked. I found my diary. It was under his pillow, ten or twenty pieces of bright yellow paper poking out from the top.

And then I was back in my room, shivering in bed, the pillow over my head to muffle the sounds of more sirens. And that’s when I started to think, when words finally began to form in my head. The horror, the guilt.

And not only the guilt but the fear. Fear of Shortest. Fear of being caught.

*   *   *

LXV(v)
   So there you have it, my confession. And perhaps this is why I have been mnemonically upping my measures of whisky, my pills. Not because of Chad, not because of the Game, but because I knew that this moment would arrive. The time for confession.

And yes, I do confess to it. I killed him, Mark, it was me.

But it was never supposed to be that sort of game.

*   *   *

LXVI(i)
   There was a knock on Jolyon’s door. He opened hesitantly, wondering if it might be the police. But it was only Dee and she flung her arms frantically around him. ‘Oh God, Jolyon, Mark’s dead, he’s dead. Have you heard? He’s dead, Jolyon, Mark’s dead.’

‘Oh my God, Dee, no.’

‘He threw himself from the tower, Loser’s Leap, it’s so awful, it’s so…’

Jolyon pulled Dee closer to him, if he clung to her tight enough he might squeeze out a drop of his guilt. And while Dee sobbed hard on his shoulder, Jolyon cried as well. But nothing could diminish the guilt.

‘I phoned Chad,’ said Dee, ‘I told him what happened. He’s on his way now.’

‘OK, Dee, it’s OK,’ said Jolyon. And then the seed of Jolyon’s guilt began to grow. Seed sprouted shoots. Shoots scrambled through soil and surged up through the earth, out into the light. The feeling that he wanted to confess.

Dee was in his arms and he was safe here. But he had to tell her before Chad arrived. Dee would understand, Dee would tell him what to do. Hadn’t she loved him – even if only for a few days? And he had been lonely for so long and her tears were so warm on his shoulder.

He kissed Dee on the forehead and they broke away from each other’s embrace. Dee, still in tears, collapsed into the armchair and Jolyon knelt down before her. Yes, he would tell her, everything was going to be all right. But quick, before Chad arrived. He placed his hands lightly on her knees and blew out his breath. ‘Dee listen,’ he said, feeling his fingertips on her flesh, ‘Mark didn’t kill himself.’

But Dee didn’t flinch, she didn’t recoil from him. Instead Dee spoke quickly. ‘Don’t say it, Jolyon.’ She gave him a threatening look. ‘Don’t you
dare
say Mark didn’t kill himself because of the Game. We both know the Game is to blame for this, it was the Game that sent him off the rails.’

‘No, you don’t –,’ said Jolyon.

‘Christ, that’s what Chad kept saying to me on the phone. “The Game didn’t kill him, Dee, that’s not why Mark did it.” But it’s not true. It’s not true and I won’t listen. I won’t hear it from you as well, Jolyon, don’t you
dare
say it, don’t you…’ Dee put her hands to her face and started to cry again.

Jolyon let his head fall close to her lap. Dee had to listen to him, she had to hear his confession before Chad arrived. ‘Dee, please listen to me.’ The words were sharp inside him, were trying to cut their way out through his skin.

But Dee pushed him away. ‘No, Jolyon, I won’t listen to either of you. We killed him. We all killed him and now it’s over. I’m out. I quit. I told Chad already, I don’t care what he says to me. It’s finished, you both have to see that. And if you don’t, then I don’t care about either of you.’ She looked at Jolyon for confirmation that he understood but Jolyon was looking down at the ground, his eyes darting back and forth as if following his thoughts while they fell in neat piles all around him. Dee was out, the worst was over. And maybe he didn’t need to confess, perhaps he had the strength to fight the words, to hold them in.

‘I hate you,’ Dee cried out, ‘I hate you both,’ she said. And then Dee threw herself against him, at first with her fists to his chest, but then her hands began to climb. Up to his neck, his chin. And then Dee held Jolyon’s face between her hands and kissed him desperately. He felt her teeth sharp against his lips, the taste of her tears. And finally Dee pushed him away. She sat back in the armchair, not looking at him, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry, Jolyon,’ said Dee, ‘I’m sorry.’

But Jolyon didn’t know whether Dee was sorry for all she had done to him or sorry for kissing him. And he never did get to ask her, it was the last time they would speak for nearly fourteen years. Because just then there was a knocking on the door. And before Jolyon could answer, Chad was coming into the room.

*   *   *

LXVI(ii)
   Dee glared at him as he stood by the door trying to find somewhere to place his hands. Hips, pockets, the back of his head. ‘This is terrible, just terrible,’ said Chad. And then he became angry. ‘But there are people out there who barely even knew him,’ he said, pointing distantly. ‘You should see them, the wailing and … they barely even
knew
him.’ Jolyon was sitting on the floor by his bed, knees apart, head hung low. ‘I spoke to Shortest,’ said Chad, ‘and obviously we’re not going to go through with anything tomorrow.’

‘What?’ said Dee accusingly. ‘You did what? You’re already making plans? And why Shortest?’

Chad swallowed. ‘He’s just the one who answered the phone,’ he said. ‘They gave us a number a long time ago. You weren’t there, Dee.’

‘And was he upset? Or was he worried about getting caught up in something?’

‘No,’ said Chad, ‘I don’t think he was. Neither.’

Dee wiped her eyes, shook her head.

Jolyon looked at them looking at each other, his tormentors. Neither of them had seen his face, had noticed his fear and his horror, when Shortest’s name was mentioned.

Chad’s tongue hovered on his top lip. ‘So, we’re all going to meet next Sunday,’ he said. ‘Here at four, I guess. We have to … we have to wait a bit, let the dust settle.’

‘Let the
dust
settle?’ said Dee. ‘Oh, that’s nice, Chad. You mean post-cremation?’

‘No, I…’ Chad scratched the back of his head.

And Jolyon was watching them, watching. If Shortest had told Chad, then wouldn’t he say something? Or look at him knowingly? But Chad wasn’t looking across at him at all, Chad was only noticing Dee.

‘I already told you, I’m out,’ said Dee, hugging her shoulders. ‘How dare you even talk about this right now?’

‘Look, Dee,’ said Chad, ‘I’m really sorry. What I said to you on the phone, I shouldn’t have … I mean, we’re all just crazy upset right now.’

Jolyon locked his hands behind his head. Had Shortest really said nothing to Chad? Then perhaps he had a little more time, there might be a way out. And if Shortest had said nothing, what did everything mean? What was Shortest doing at Pitt?

‘Oh really, Chad?’ said Dee. ‘You’re
crazy
upset? And why’s that exactly?’

‘Because of Mark,’ said Chad, as if there were only one possible answer. Dee said nothing, she only stared hard at Chad. ‘Of course because of Mark,’ he repeated, ‘why else would I be upset?’ And then, although it seemed to Jolyon that Chad might be about to cry, something else happened. Instead of tears, Chad let out a short laugh. It was a wet sort of snort as if Chad were a schoolboy who had just spotted a double entendre in a textbook. And Jolyon had seen men at funerals laughing nervously like this – into the crooks of their arms, behind shielding hands – a diversion of emotion, the only alternative to breaking down, breast-beating and wailing, the public unleashing of all of their pain.

But as Jolyon looked at Dee he could tell that she did not see any ambiguity in Chad’s laughter. Dee looked shocked and appalled. What sort of a human being was this? What sort of monster? She got up hurriedly from the armchair and ran toward the door.

‘Dee?’ said Chad, catching her arm as she passed.

And then Dee turned and with a wild swing of her hand she hit Chad hard across the face. The sharp sound of the slap rang through the room.

Chad, his eyes wide and shocked, instinctively raised his hand and it seemed for a moment as if he might strike back. Dee looked at him, dared him to, and then Chad lifted his hand to his bright stung cheek. And Dee was gone.

*   *   *

LXVI(iii)
   Chad stood motionless by the door. He looked like a small boy who had been shamed by a teacher. Jolyon stared at him. He still felt guilty and yet he wanted to see Chad in all his humiliation. Chad glanced only momentarily back at Jolyon but this was long enough. He started to shuffle from the room.

Jolyon waited until Chad was halfway through the door. ‘You win,’ Jolyon called out after him. ‘I’ll quit next week, Chad. Congratulations, the best man won.’

Chad only paused, not turning around. His shoulders rose and then fell as he moved out into the hallway, as he disappeared gradually down the stairs.

*   *   *

LXVI(iv)
   Jolyon didn’t sleep. He lay in his bed picturing Mark’s eyes. The moment before, the moment after. Moment after moment after moment. And then, very early in the morning, Jolyon went down to the phone at the bottom of his staircase and dialled the number.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s Jolyon.’

‘Aha.’

‘…’

‘…’

‘What were you doing at Pitt?’

‘What were you doing coming out of the chapel?’

‘…’

‘You see, I heard that’s the way Mark got up there. Through a chapel window, that’s what they say, Jolyon, up via the roof of Great Hall. How about you?’

‘…’

‘So shall I tell the police what I saw?’

‘No.’

‘Good. But will they find any evidence? Might anyone else have seen you?’

‘No.’

‘Very good. Then I suggest we both hold on to our information like playing cards. Very close to our chests.’

‘Why would you do that, Shortest?’

‘Let’s just call it a sense of fair play.’

‘How do I know you won’t say something later?’

‘Respect the Game, Jolyon, and the Game will respect you.’

‘Is that what you were doing skulking round Pitt late at night, Shortest? Respecting the Game?’

‘Do we really have to spell it out, Jolyon? Oh dear, I was hoping we might be a little more English about the whole thing. Your erstwhile transatlantic friend has had an adverse affect on you.’