Jasper Jones (39 page)

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.”

Eliza cuts her eyes and looks away.

Jasper stands. He looks spent. He turns to Eliza, but doesn’t look her in the eye.

“Listen, you do you what you reckon is right. That’s all.”

He offers a slim shrug my way, then shuffles into his hollow and lies down. He doesn’t make another sound.

Drowsily, I notice faint slivers of blue light bleeding into the trees. We should head back. But I’m so tired and heavy, and there’s nothing but trouble to return to anyway. Almost involuntarily, I rest my head on the ground. Eliza crawls over and weaves herself into my arms. I’m still damp from the dam, but she doesn’t mind. She smells so good. I hold her tightly to me. And she nods. Slowly. But it’s there. Her nose brushes up and down my neck. And then sleep comes. And it’s dead and dreamless, like it hasn’t been for weeks.

***

Jasper Jones shakes us awake.

“C’mon. We should go,” he says.

It takes me a long time to understand where I am and why I’m here. I have insect bites on my legs, and my arm is heavy and prickly from where Eliza rested her head. Last night’s events drip into my mind like syrup, a series of flickering scenes that shackle me with a dreadful disbelief.

I stand unsteadily. It’s hot already. It must be late morning. The glade feels so different in the light of day. It feels barren and ominously calm. Gone is the sense of embrace, the warmth from the walls.

I shuffle to the dam and cup some water into my mouth. It fills my belly but does little for my thirst. Eliza and Jasper stand silently apart. I can hear birds trilling from miles away. Nobody speaks.

We trudge along the trail in single file. Jasper, then Eliza, then me.
I wonder what they’re thinking. I try to crawl into their heads, work through their worries. It makes it easier for me to postpone my own. All that’s waiting for me at home.

The least of my concerns is being caught sneaking out again, given that my mother resigned all her punitive powers in the back of our car last night. And I have a feeling my father will have weightier problems on his mind. Oh, there’s a shitstorm brewing. That’s for certain. And I’ve got to walk back into it. I scratch the underside of my arm. My rash looks red and angry. The bush is a secret switchboard of clicks and busy buzzing, and I’m heading back into the hornet’s nest. I know the sad truth. About everything. Jasper, Laura, my mother. It’s all come to light, it’s all been bared, and it’s bowed my shoulders so much I’m too tired to be afraid anymore.

I want to lie back down with Eliza. I want to take small hits of whiskey with Jasper Jones, even just to tip the bottle to my shut lips to pretend I’m sucking it down with him. I want to accept his cigarettes and talk about how broad the world is and how small we are and how easy it is to flip that around just by being bold and living big. I want it to be that easy. I want him to fill my chest with bluster, like he’s giving me the kiss of life, and I want to use that air to say wise and comforting things to Eliza Wishart for as long as she’ll let me.

We stay in the same formation even when we reach the road. I guess everyone’s alone with their thoughts. We walk like we’re soldiers carrying packs on our backs.

Curiously, we stop outside Jack Lionel’s gate. Eliza frowns and flaps away a fly. Jasper rests his thumb on the latch and scratches the back of his head. He looks over at the cottage.

“This is me right here. I reckon I’m gonna go in. I need to talk to the old man again. See what’s true and what isn’t. I got to see it all with my own eyes again.”

I nod.

“You two keep on. But go the long way, less you wanna get picked up. They’re probably lookin for you orready.”

Eliza tilts her head.

“Wait, you’re going in
there
? Why? Do you know whose house that is?”

“I do now.”

Eliza shakes her head, bemused.

“Listen,” I say. “Did you get to talk to your …”

“Nah,” Jasper says. “He weren’t even there. Skipped town again, looks like. He dint even unpack his bag. I got no idea where he’s gone to. No clue.”

“So why did he come back?”

“Buggered if I know.”

Jasper shrugs. We linger there. He pushes at the gate and it squeals like a siren. We watch it swing and settle. Then he marches toward me. Jasper Jones puts his hand on my shoulder and looks me straight in the eye. He holds my gaze so that I can’t glance away. He smells of tobacco and sweat.

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“That’s all right.” I blush.

He shoves his hand into his pocket for a cigarette. He lights up and regards Eliza with narrow eyes. And he apologizes to her again, under his breath, but it’s full of meaning, you can tell. Then Jasper Jones shakes my hand. Firmly. And he winks at me.

“Take care,” he mutters with his cigarette between his lips.

It’s all he says. Then he turns. I clean the chalky pollen off my lenses, and over Jasper’s shoulder I see that Lionel is waiting on his veranda. He’s wearing navy shorts and a white tank top. His back is straight.

“Is that Mad Jack Lionel?” Eliza asks.

“The very same,” I say. And I watch Jasper crunch down the gravel drive, his open hand trailing the heads of thigh-high weeds, sending seeds into the air. And I can’t help feeling it’s the last time I’ll ever see him.

***

From the low moist grasslands, where the shoulder of the river curls in toward town, under the paperbarks where my mother turned her back on my father and me, we can see cars swooshing by through the trees. We only see the white sparks where the sun catches their windows, but it still strikes me as more traffic than I’d expect for New Year’s Day.

As we pause at the junction that leads to the bridge, a rusted blue truck sidles up to us slowly and then idles beside us. Its driver reaches past his dog to wind his passenger window down. He nods once at Eliza.

“You Pete Wishart’s girl?”

Eliza shakes her head and says no. The man and his dog eye her suspiciously.

“Righto,” the man says, and pulls his car into gear. “Keep lookin, though, you two. She’ll turn up.”

He winks and sputters away, leaving a noxious cloud of diesel. I place a hand on Eliza’s shoulder.

“We need to keep our heads down. We’ll keep to the shade and go round the oval,” I say, but she doesn’t appear to hear, or care. She seems unperturbed.

In fact, she barely reacts when a horn blasts behind us minutes later and a hoarse voice splits the morning.

“Oi! You two! Git ere!
Now
!”

I wheel around. My heart sinks. It’s the sarge. And he doesn’t look impressed. He leaves the truck running and steps out. He looks haggard and hungover and pissed.

He points at me, then stabs his finger toward the ground.

“Get in.
Now.
”

I touch Eliza’s arm. It’s over. We comply.

I sit in the backseat while the sarge dresses us down, his mustache twitching and his red eyes wild. Eliza looks blankly out the window.