Jasper Jones (33 page)

I lean on my elbows and scratch my scalp, staring at the title page. My curiosity and resentment work against each other like a knife on a whetstone. I don’t know what to expect. My heart is racing.

I pinch a page. Flip it. The first line.

Jasper Jones has come to my window.

“Charlie!”

I start and wheel around. For some reason, I feel the need to conceal the manuscript with my arms.

“Charlie!”
he hisses again.

“What are you doing? It’s still light outside!” I climb onto my bed and flip the slats. He looks restless. It’s strange to see him with the sun still out, albeit fading fast.

“Tonight, Charlie. We’re gonna do it. Are you ready?”

“Tonight we’re going to do
what
? What do you mean,
ready
? Ready for what?”

“Mad Jack. We’re gonna go there tonight. Me and you. Right now. Are you ready?”

“
What
? Wait. Go up to his house? Why right now? And why do you need me? I can’t go there. It’s Mad Jack
Lionel
. He’ll shoot us before we get inside the bloody gate. It makes no sense.”

“I tole you, Charlie. We’re gonna go there to get it out of him. We’re gonna get him to own up to what he done.”

“But
how
? How are we going to even talk to him?”

“The man’s been calling out my name for as long as I bin walking, Charlie. Tonight I’m gonna call
his
out.”

I sigh, with my eyes closed tight.

“Okay. Look. Even if we get in there without being shot, he’s not just going to throw his hands in the air and admit he did it. That’s for books and films. It doesn’t happen. We can’t send him to jail on our own.”

Jasper shakes his head quickly.

“You don’t have to say nuthin, Charlie. Just be there. I’ll do the talking. I’ll work him round. I’m gonna tell him that we know it were him. That we know how and where. That we were there when he did it, hidin; that we saw the whole thing. I’ll even tell him we saw him scratch that word in the tree, same as the rusted car in his yard. Then I’ll tell him that if he don’t come forward and turn himself in, we’ll go to the police. We’ll back him into a corner, Charlie. He’ll
have
to talk.”

“He’ll never believe you,” I argue.

“Only one way to find out.”

“Why do you need me there, then? If you’re doing all the talking?”

“Because I reckon it’s more likely he’ll believe me if I say it was both of us who seen him do it. And also, I need you there as a witness, Charlie. You got to corroborate my story. If he talks, and if I go to the sarge by meself, it’s my word against Lionel’s. I got no chance. But if you’re there too, they
got
to believe me. But we’ve got to go now.”

“Why? Why right
now
?” I’m getting flustered; my voice shifts higher in pitch. I can’t think straight.

Jasper slaps at a mosquito on his forearm and wipes it on his shorts.

“Because the whole town is on its way to the Miners’ Hall for New Year’s. There’s no curfew tonight, which means nobody’s going to ask any questions if we’re walking to somewhere. Even so, we’ll separate while it’s still light. So you go in there, tell your folks that you’re going in to watch the fireworks; then you walk into town the main way, and I’ll meet you at the railway station. No one will suspect anythin. And we’ll go to Lionel’s from there. Orright?”

I pinch my nose.

“Jasper, it won’t work! This is
ridiculous
. I mean, we don’t even
know
it was him.”

Jasper shakes his head, setting his upper teeth behind his lower.

“Jesus
Christ
, Charlie. Listen. You can either help me or not. It’s your choice. I don’t give a shit. You don’t owe me anythin, it’s true. But you tole me you were in for the pound, Charlie, and I took your word. But I reckon you’re just fuckin scared. That’s all. All this bullshit right
now, that’s just you bein afraid. And what did I tell you, right at the start? I
promised
that nuthin would happen to you. I tole you that I’d make sure you were safe, that you never had anythin to worry about. And that’s still the same for tonight. It’s up to you if you trust me or not. Now I’m gonna wait for you at the station until it gets dark. If you’re not there, you’re not there. No hard feelins. It’s orright. But I hope y’are, because I need your help, Charlie. I got to set this straight, and not just for me, remember. I got to do what’s right. I got to put this bastard away.”

Before I can respond, Jasper slips away.

I’m rattled. I pace my room for a time. I stare out the window at a peach-colored sunset that stains everything with its glow. And then I kneel and put on my shoes. I walk to my father’s study and tap on his door. He looks a little surprised to see me. I explain that I’ve changed my mind, I’m going in to see the fireworks with Jeffrey. When he responds with more enthusiasm than I’d usually expect, I know I’ve disappointed him by not sitting down to read his novel. A nasty shard of me is pleased he’s upset.

I have to slip out of our street quickly, lest Jeffrey sees me and decides to come. I stroll down the hill, kicking at bits of gravel. Most families are making their way in now, dressed to the nines and mucking about. I wish I could walk in their shoes.

The world is aflame. The sun is a giant red ball. And by the time I pass the bowls club and approach the council gardens, the sky is a thin violet, stunning and clear. I’m not far from the middle of town. The main street has been blocked off, and folks are milling and trilling. I keep to the roadside, ducking behind ambling families, worried that Eliza might be among those ahead. Light is fading fast, and I don’t know if I’ll have enough time to take the long route round the oval. I’m not sure how long Jasper will wait. A strong part of me, the part that’s making my legs heavy and sluggish, hopes that I’ll find the station steps empty.

I can hear the warble and shriek of the street crowd now, and the
thin pacy melodies made by the bush band up by the pub. I decide to stick close to the family in front of me, who are certainly broad enough to use as a screen, and hope that Eliza doesn’t pick me out.

I can hear laughing and chatting. Kids have organized a game of British bulldog on either side of the main street, and they duck and slip around people like slick fish in a stream, bending and arching their backs so they don’t get tagged. There are stalls and attractions. A raucous ring of two-up outside the hardware store. There’s an enormous bonfire in the pebbled car park of the Miners’ Hall, a pyramid of old railway sleepers feeding the flames. Against the wall of the hall, there are crates of fireworks, a few of which, no doubt, will sting the fingers of the pissed idiots who’ll swagger in to light them later.

Behind the hall, they’ve shoveled coals into a long hole, above which a half-dozen skewered lambs twirl and roast. The aroma is thick and moreish.

People spill out of the hall like wasps from a hive, nursing small refreshments. I duck my head as the crowd gets thicker. A line dance has formed before the band, and partners stomp and skip out a heel-toe polka. A happy arc of observers clap the rhythm, laughing and cheering. The beer garden has sprawled out onto the street; they’ve even wheeled out kegs to keep up with demand.

Then there’s a tap on my shoulder. I freeze and wheel around. Of course, it’s Eliza Wishart, and she’s beaming, her dimples like pretty buttons, her skin like milk. I must look horrified, because her expression immediately falls.

“Charlie, what’s the matter?”

“Oh, no, nothing. At all,” I sputter, and shake my head. I try to smile, but my weight is on my heels. I’m lost for words. She smells amazing.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! I’m glad you came. I haven’t seen you for a while.”

I open and close my mouth. Take a small step backward. She glances over my shoulder with a frown.

“Are you here by yourself? Where’s Jeffrey?”

“He didn’t come. Actually,” I begin, my voice strangled, “I can’t stay. Here, I mean. I’ve got to go. I’m on my way to … somewhere. I can’t say. I mean, it’s nowhere, really. It’s just … I can’t …”

My hands are flapping. I’m buggering this up.

“Well, are you coming back? I thought I might be able to see you tonight. I need to talk to you, Charlie. It’s important.” Eliza sounds distressed; her eyes even glaze a little, which makes me ill to see. So I do it. I put a hand on her shoulder and I squeeze. And I give in to the creeping curse. I promise her I’ll be coming back. That I won’t be long. She looks down and nods. I think she can tell I’m lying. Either way, it’s clear I’ve disappointed her. I wish I could tell her everything. But I can’t. I have to go. I have to disobey every impulse and leave her here for Jasper Jones, for Jack Lionel, for this horrible mess.

Everything is so loud and boisterous around me. Thumping through my brain. The light is leaking. But I gather myself long enough to commit an astonishing act of bravery. In the middle of town, in front of everyone, I lean in, then and there, and I kiss her, quickly, on the lips. And they’re as soft as I remember. I hope I haven’t impaled her eye with the frame of my glasses. But when she looks up, she seems a little lighter, a little less sad. I try to reassure her.

“I’m very … fond. Of you. I’m sorry,” I say. She smiles. I tell her I’ll see her soon.

“How soon?” she asks anxiously. She seems edgy. She wells up again and it melts me. I wonder if anything has happened.

“Soon,” I say, and I pull away. I feel like dirt. Eliza squeezes my fingers as I turn, gives them a weak tug. I didn’t even realize we were holding hands. I leave her and walk toward the junction, concentrating hard on not looking behind me, because doing so might have me abandoning Jasper Jones altogether.

I arrive in time. Jasper is leaning on a pillar beside the timetable corkboard, casting a long shadow across the gritty slats of the station floor. He smiles, his teeth bright white in the dimness.

“I knew you’d come, Charlie. I knew you’d do the right thing.”

I say nothing and climb the stairs. I can’t shake Eliza from my mind.

“Are you ready?” he asks, tapping a cigarette from its crumpled pack. He offers one. I decline. I don’t even feign interest.

Jasper pats his pockets.

“Shit. You have a light?”

I look at him blankly, then shake my head.

“Fuckit,” he mutters. “We have to go, Charlie.”

We set off, and it gets suddenly very real. We walk side by side and don’t speak. The stars emerge. Gravel crunches underfoot as we leave the sound of the town behind. It feels so different to the first night Jasper Jones came to my window. There’s no thrill to jostle with the apprehension, just a dark thread of dread. I know we’re making a mistake. Even in the heat, a chill shudders my shoulders.

We’re going to Mad Jack Lionel’s. We’re really doing it. We’re about to trespass on the property of a killer. The town recluse. The unhinged eccentric. And we’re not just sneaking in for peach pits. We’re not just taking badges of bravery. We’re rapping at his door and we’re accusing him of unspeakable acts.

And what if he did it? What if it really was him? What if all the rumors are true? What if he’s really violent and unstable? These people exist. Albert Fish. Gertrude Baniszewski. Eric Edgar Cooke. They’re real people. It’s not myth. I’ve read about them. We trudge closer. I can’t do this. There’s no way I can do this. I can’t walk to his door and accuse him. I have to get out of this. It’s a death warrant. Not even Jasper Jones can stop bullets. I want to flee this scene, back to Eliza Wishart.

I speak to Jasper, because I’m nervous.

“What do you think he’ll do?”

Jasper scratches at the back of his head.

“Honestly? I dunno. I really do not know.”

“Then why? Why do it like this?”

“Just because you don’t know how somethin’s gonna turn out is no
reason
not
to do it. If the world went by that rule, nuthin would ever get done. But the simple truth is, we got to. We’ve just
got
to.”

I wave and clap at a cluster of midges at eye level. Jasper feeds his cigarette back into his mouth. He pats his pockets, looking confused.

“Jasper, you don’t have a light, remember?”

“What? Oh, shit. That’s right. D’you?”

“No. I don’t. I told you.”

He shoves his smoke back into his pocket. And it occurs to me that maybe Jasper Jones is afraid, and it ratchets up my anxiety. And that strange admission that he doesn’t know what to expect, that he doesn’t know what this night will bring. Of course he doesn’t. How could he? I know that. But Jasper is normally so reliably forthright, it’s unnerving to see him wavering. Maybe I could convince him to turn back. Maybe we could rethink this. Devise something less hopeless and dangerous.

But it’s too late. We’re here.

We pause. It’s incredibly still. Mad Jack Lionel’s gate is closed.

The yard beyond is scruffy and dilapidated. Along the border closest to the river, where the bush meets the property, a thick thatch of blackberries presses through the rusted wire fence. On the other side, toward the cottage, I notice a goat tethered to a star picket and lying on its side. If it weren’t for the circle of shorter grass inside its boundary, I’d believe it to be dead. Crows moan from gray leafless branches. They look like silhouettes. Crow-shaped holes.

Jasper unlatches the gate; it swings open loudly. I’m shitting myself.

“Wait! We’re coming up from the front?”

“That’s right,” Jasper says loudly, as though he intends for Mad Jack to hear. His boldness is back. Jasper strides up the drive. I follow as he speaks over his shoulder. “Straight up, Charlie. We want to be direct. I reckon that’s the way.”

I watch him walk. Straight-backed, chest full of air. And I see it now, just how counterfeit his confidence is. It’s a noise, a distraction,
hot air. It’s Batman’s cape; it’s my father’s comb-over. And a bubble bursts in me. Still, I march behind him, like a tired infantryman, frightened and resigned.

The goat lifts its head languidly, bleats, then rests it again. I interpret it as a bad omen. Beyond, a mob of kangaroos bounces lazily across a paddock. I see a still windmill I’ve never noticed before. It’s dreamlike and intense, this short walk. My heart is a bomb. It’s so still, I can hear the fireworks pop and crackle in the distance. I even think I can see their small flashes of color. I wish I was there.