Fall (29 page)

I expatiated upon this with Julius. He was incapable of seeing her as anything but the victim of someone else’s misdeeds.

He believed that she was missing but not lost. This was natural.

Fall had a sister in New York. She was older and, according to Julius, had left home quite young because she did not get along with their mother. She had opted for a boarding school far away, had left before graduating, and had made a life for herself in New York.

Julius believed that if Fall went anywhere it was to be with her sister. They had made a pact that if things were ever difficult they would be together.

Over Christmas the police, Julius, and Fall’s mother made an effort to contact Fall’s sister. She had made a point of being incommunicado with their mother, but a search of Fall’s things at home revealed her number and address.

All parties tried to get in touch with her, with no success. Julius wanted to go down to New York, but his father believed that he should not return to the U.S. while the investigation was at this stage.

At that point in early January it seemed that Fall’s sister was missing as well.

There was the fact that Fall had packed no bag. She had such a vast quantity of clothing at home and at school that it was impossible to know whether anything was missing. But there were no obvious signs that she had taken anything.

Julius didn’t want to think about it. This was natural.

This change in Julius. Our room felt completely different. There was a slightly chilly politeness now, a respect of each other’s space that hadn’t existed before.

My jet-lag from Australia always took weeks to wear off. I found myself wide awake in the middle of the night. The whole school felt quieter, colder.

Ant had been in Paris with his aunt. He brought back a new haircut. We were both slightly surprised, I think, to find how pleased we were to see each other. He for his own reasons, I for having someone to spar with.

“I’ve heard of places where you can go and fight other guys,” he said. “You just show up and fistfight. Just strip down. It’s a cool idea. But I was thinking when I was away in Paris. I was out one night, kind of in Pigalle, and I saw this guy, all on his own, walk up to a bunch of guys, and he just started beating on one of them. I have no idea what it was about. And the other guys started laying into him and soon he was fighting all of them and getting the shit kicked out of himself. It kind of reminded me of you at Chez Henri. But I was thinking, you know, whether you have a reason or not, the best fight is a fight like that.”

It was true. I admit, in fact, that I found it compelling. Boxing, or any organized type of combat, removed some of the thrill of fighting. Most of the thrill is in the fear. A spontaneous fight is a rare opportunity to experience genuine chaos. Why put gentlemanly limits and conventions around that? How often are we truly able to test our strength in our organized lives?

What Ant proposed was not ganging up on or surprising a solitary victim. It was walking into a dangerous situation where fairness would simply not play a role. We imagined various scenarios and talked about the matter quite often.

I watched Julius with Chuck, and with other people. I remember looking out the window and seeing him in an earnest-looking conversation with the Head Boy. I had somehow forgotten that Julius had many friends. I couldn’t overhear their conversation. The
window was very hard to open discreetly in the winter because ice would freeze it shut.

He often looked earnest, though, and busy. Never busy with schoolwork, but busy with finding his girlfriend, with trying to set right everything he felt was wrong. He believed that he had played by the rules, that when he was gated he obeyed the Masters, got his sheet signed. How could they have focused on that sort of thing but shown absolutely no diligence in protecting students, in keeping danger away. Simple security.

When he was angry I felt strangely silenced, perhaps even acquiescent. I let him have his way sometimes with little things. I didn’t want to do anything that might offend him. He rarely directed anger at me, but I could tell he was watching me, evaluating me, always ready to take offence—and, initially, I was careful not to give it.

When he succumbed to petulance, he began to annoy me. I understood that concentrating on schoolwork was difficult for him—it was difficult for all of us. But he often whined the same refrain: “How can they expect me to concentrate?” At first I offered to do some of his work for him—I would write things for him, do his Algebra homework, etc. But his whining continued and I lost energy in doing my own work, never mind his.

I had thought my helping him would be a way for us to reconnect, a form of washing each other’s back. I hoped it would provide opportunities for trust and confession.

Was he a suspect? Was his focus on security and her supposed abduction a means of turning attention away from himself? I don’t remember making a reasoned decision to make suspicion fall on him.

He had regular interviews with Sergeant D’Arcy. In his case there were also representatives from the U.S. embassy—a lawyer and occasionally an imposing American known as the Regional Security Officer. Their presence in the hallways sometimes caused excitement.

Julius told me about the interviews but rarely told me their content. “I’m not supposed to talk about it,” he would say. I pictured him
sitting in that small room, beleaguered by these figures of authority, wondering why it all had to be thus.

It was not an accurate picture.

“Have you been fucking with my toothbrush?”

“No.”

“It’s older-looking.”

“I haven’t touched your toothbrush,” I said.

“I’m not gonna brush my teeth. Why do I need to brush my teeth? At this fuckin’ sink. You over my shoulder. Do you realize how fuckin’ weird this is? This whole thing?”

“Well. Yes,” I said.

I brushed my teeth while he got undressed. I noticed that he was more shy about undressing somehow. He turned off the light before I had finished at the sink and he got up onto the top bunk.

I got ready and got into my own bed. “Don’t turn off the light while I’m still brushing my teeth,” I said.

In the moments when he was calm, when the light and warmth in that room achieved their seldom alchemy, we softened into friends.

“I just want to get out of here,” he said. “I want to get out of this country.”

I wondered sometimes whether he missed Fall anymore. Grief seems to lengthen with age. He was only eighteen.

I didn’t want to ask him.

Sometimes when I stood with Ant in the hall or any of the common rooms, I was aware of how people noticed us. We were big, and I was quite handsome with my tan. I thought of how I had watched Julius talking to his friends, and was certain that people were watching me in the same way. Sometimes I laughed in a way that I thought was quite warm.

I wanted to find some way of pleasing Chuck, some way to establish another version of the original triumvirate. I decided to give
him the lighter which I had been carrying in my pocket for months. It was an attractive steel-and-lacquer affair, probably not immediately identifiable as Julius’s; and since Chuck was such a passionate smoker I thought he would appreciate it. I wrapped it up and was ready to present it to him, but something stopped me. I think I simply liked having it in my pocket.

In the weeks before Fallon disappeared you saw a lot of her?

A certain amount.

Where’s Fall?

Sorry?

Where’s Fall? A few students have mentioned that you were asking that question often. Have you seen Fall?

Really?

I’m trying to get a clear picture of as much as I can. In the lead-up to your friend running away. That’s why I’m conducting these interviews. Time is very important with missing persons. Over a month has elapsed now, you see, Noel. Much too long. But at this point I consider it necessary to get
every
detail I can. Even things people consider . . . what’s the word you might choose? . . . insignificant.

I was passing notes.

When?

Julius was gated. He wasn’t able to move around outside the main building. So he asked me to pass Fall notes. That’s why I was asking that question.

I see. I thought it was kind of strange. You at every corner saying, “Where’s Fall?”

I wouldn’t describe it that way. I don’t know who told you that.

It’s your eye for detail that I want, Noel. Tell me about Julius being punished. Gated?

It’s when one cannot pass certain perimeters. One has to have a sheet signed every hour.

And why was he gated?

For dousing. It seems very immature. We were involved in late-night foolishness with a friend. We poured Coke on a friend. Coke
and water. On Antony. In retaliation. It’s a long story which would seem rather fatuous to you, I think.

So you were involved?

Yes. But Julius was caught. He didn’t implicate me, which was very nice of him.

He didn’t do anything violent? Didn’t hurt anyone?

No. Absolutely not.

No one was hurt?

Ant was hurt, but I did that. He was fine. It was very minor. We’re friends.

Just roughhousing?

Exactly.

So Julius was gated and you passed notes to Fall.

Yes. And notes from Fall to him.

Did they not see each other all this time?

They did. In class and so on. But their other time. They were very limited in terms of seeing each other. So I helped whenever I could.

You liked them as a couple?

What do you mean?

Were they good together? Were the three of you close? Your impressions.

We were close. Julius told me a lot.

You’ve said that.

And I think they were, are, good together. I wouldn’t say they will be together forever, necessarily. Fall is a very intelligent girl.

And Julius isn’t intelligent?

I don’t mean that. I don’t know. I simply think that he probably doesn’t see as much of her, let’s say, her true self, as others might.

She is a very beautiful girl.

Yes. But there is so much more to her.

Did many people love her?

Love?

I guess that’s a big word. I’ve heard you use it. Did you know many guys who . . . you know. You guys must talk up there, late at night.

Sure. I talk with Julius. I generally don’t indulge in scandal. I think people were interested in her, to answer your question. Yes.

You’ve been here a while, right, Noel?

Since grade eight.

That’s a long time. I was looking at your school record. I’m looking at everyone’s. It says you actually came here halfway through grade eight.

That’s right. My parents went away. They went to London first, where my father was number two at the High Commission, and then to Sydney, where he is consul. The warmth appealed to them.

I hear that. My car wouldn’t start today.

Ha.

But those are nice places. Why didn’t they take you with them?

They wanted stability for me. My schooling.

Of course. And your behavioural problems?

Pardon?

On your file. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Christ knows I had problems. They don’t stop. But on your file. I’ve seen this on other students’ files, too. It says next to your admission details: Behaviour. Also a biting incident in grade nine.

I don’t know, really. At my other school. At the beginning of grade eight. I didn’t really get along. I’m surprised that’s on the record. I just wasn’t fitting into that school, I suppose. Nothing happened. It sounds immodest, but the consensus—this isn’t my opinion—the consensus among my teachers and parents was that I was too intelligent for that school. So they sent me to a better school.

This is a great school. I have no doubt it was a better fit. Do you feel that?

I think so.

Until December I guess. This has been disruptive for everyone.

Yes.

I should let you go. You say you were close friends. Do you miss her?

“I feel antsy,” I said.

“I hate fuckin’ January,” Ant said. “You know, you shouldn’t let this bullshit weigh on you. The thing we’ve gotta do is get out. Let’s go out.”

I had never deliberately missed classes in the past, but Ant and I began to do it regularly. I was beginning to consolidate my sense of
teachers as inferior members of society, their days of petty discipline and cookie-cutter curiosity. It’s true, as Sergeant D’Arcy said, that St. Ebury was superior to many, but I was moving beyond wanting to please my teachers, and certainly beyond expecting to learn anything from them.

There was another high school halfway between St. Ebury and the market, where we stopped for a while. It was near lunch hour and we waited by a fence around their yard until students began to come out. Since it was January, I didn’t expect a crowd. Ant wanted to look at them. “If a really big guy comes out, or like a group of them, you should go over and swing. See what happens.”

“Thanks,” I said.

I wasn’t going to do anything of the kind, of course, but the idea amused us both. Three girls came out and promptly went back inside.

“It’s fuckin’ freezing,” Ant said.

We walked toward the market.

“I feel like you’re the only one who understands,” Ant said. “Next year we’re all maybe going to different places. We’ll probably never have friendships like this again. You can’t trust a lot of people.”

We went to a military outfitter where they sold knives. Ant reminded me that years earlier, under a different House Master, there had been frequent room inspections and it had been next to impossible to hide things. Cigarettes, pornographic magazines, alcohol were regularly confiscated. “You could never own a knife.” But things had become relaxed over the past couple of years. Until now.