Jasper Jones (21 page)

“What were you going to do?”

“Dunno. Whatever come my way up there, I guess. Anythin. I don’t know. I got a few ideas, you know. Boxing. Footy. Get a trade. It weren’t ever a worry. I mean, shit, even if I had’ve come down here of a weekend and taken back a sack full of crayfish, I would have killed the pig up there. It’s crazy, Charlie. It’s money for nuthin. If you know the right people, if you get friendly enough with the folks that are exportin em, you’re makin out like a bandit. It’s good money for good sizes. And I know all the spots down here that nobody goes. Where the big ones are, in deep, big as your arm. You spend a night setting traps, take them up fresh. You could make a good living, for certain. So, you know, I got irons in the fire.”

Jasper sighs, and his body rises and falls sharply, like a single hiccup.

“I bin thinkin a lot about poker too.”

“Poker?”

“Yair. Never lost money. Not once. I got a gift, I reckon. I could scratch out a living during the week, then make it tenfold again over the weekend. That’s what I do at the orchards. Work hard during the day, pocket my coin, then go find a game and make some real money.”

“Really?”

“For certain. Easy. See, poker isn’t about luck, Charlie. Luck’s got nuthin to do with it. It’s all about acting. It’s all about how you comport yerself at the table. You got to give nothing away. Or, if you
do
give yerself away, it’s got to be on purpose, you got to be hamstringin them.” Jasper pauses to strike a match and feed it to another smoke. “But mostly it’s about readin people. And that’s what I do best. I reckon
I got a gift for it. True. Like a sixth sense or something. See, when it comes to pounds and pennies, it don’t matter who you are, at some point it means something. And when there’s enough of it out in the middle, blokes’ll tell you things with their eyes. It’s almost like I can smell it when they’re lyin.”

“I got that too. It’s like I can tell before people even open their mouths. Specially my parents.”

“You’d be a good poker player, then.”

“Nah, I don’t think so. I can’t lie so well. I just blush and squirm a lot.”

“You don’t have to lie, Charlie. You just have to look like you don’t give a shit.”

“I can’t seem to do that either. I wish I could.”

I take the bottle again. Then I look down and rub the back of my head. Maybe that’s how he does it. Maybe that’s how Jasper Jones navigates this world and comes out on top, in spite of the shitty hands he gets dealt over and over. That poker glaze, like a superhero mask. Hiding his suspicion, giving nothing away. But it is still a lie, isn’t it? It’s just a deflection. That’s his trick. That shrug is just a big act. A myth. It’s his way of hiding his rubbish cards.

Like Laura, for instance. Like when he cried that night with his back turned, and then nodded so vacantly when I asked him if he missed her just now. The mask is back on, the alter ego.

Jasper Jones has lost his girl, maybe his best friend too. His only friend. It seems so infinitely sad to me, I can’t even imagine. To lose someone so close, someone he had his hopes pinned on. Someone he was going to escape with, start anew. And to see her, right here, as she was. Right where I’m sitting. What a horrible series of events this has been. But Jasper Jones has to keep that poker face. He has to throw that cloak over his heart. I wonder how much of Jasper’s life is spent pretending he doesn’t give a shit.

It must be a lonely way to be. I wonder if Jasper really needs me here to help solve this or if he just needs company. I wonder if he
considers me a friend. I hope so. I imagine him sitting here with Laura, shooting the breeze. I wonder if he has anybody else to talk to. I guess he doesn’t.

I think that maybe I’m drunk. Am I drunk? I don’t know. I feel a little woozy. I can feel my pulse on the sides of my head. I put the whiskey to one side.

“So are you still going to go? To the city, I mean.”

“Yair, probably,” Jasper sniffs. “I bin thinkin about it. After this whole mess is sorted, I’ll head out. Not sure exactly where, though.”

“But doesn’t it seem too soon?” I ask. “You’re only a year older than me. We’re still kids, really. Don’t you want to wait?”

“Wait for what? And I haven’t ever felt like a kid, Charlie. You don’t unnerstand. I bin lookin after myself since I can remember. And that’s food, clothes, where I sleep, the whole lot. I tole you, it doesn’t
matter
how old you are. Everyone ages. Everyone can learn a trade and pay taxes and have a family. But that’s not growin up. It’s about how you act when your shit gets shaken up, it’s about how much you see around you. That’s what makes a man. And if I can do it here, in this town, I can do it anywhere, I reckon. What’s for me here, anyway? There’s no reason to stay. It’s a dead end, this.”

“I’m starting to feel the same,” I say. I flick a twig into the dam.

“So you
do
unnerstand. And don’t worry about me, mate. I can look after meself.”

“Oh yair,” I say. “Oh shit, yair. I know that.”

Jasper lights yet another cigarette.

“It won’t be for a while, anyway, I don’t reckon. Not until we can get enough on Mad Jack Lionel.”

“So you know for sure that it was him?”

“Dead set. I reckon so, Charlie.”

“How?” I lean forward, intrigued.

“Well, that’s what I bin wanting to tell you. See, I bin walkin past his house every night this week.”

“On your way to here?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“But isn’t that dangerous? Coming here while they’re searching?”

“Nah, not really. I only come here late at night. And it’s dead easy to slip the patrols. It’s no problems.”

“Right.”

“Right. Well, I tole you that every time I walked past that house, without fail—and I mean
every
time—Lionel would come out his front door and start yellin out at me. Waving, calling out my name. Or at least I think he was. I could never tell what he was saying, the house is too far away to hear proper.”

“Okay.” I nod.

“Well, it’s been the same as last week when we went there and waited by the gate, remember? Nuthin. Not a word. He hasn’t come out once. Maybe he’s skipped town, who knows? There’s no sign of him at all. And I bin there
every
night, waiting.”

“For
what
, though? What will you do?”

“Go in there. Talk to him. It’s not trespassing if he’s out the front, hollerin my name all over the place.” Jasper motions for me to pass him the whiskey.

“Surely you wouldn’t go in there!”

“Course I would. Why not?” Jasper frowns.

“Are you insane? It’s Jack
Lionel
! You don’t know what could happen!”

“Well, there’s only one way I’m gonna find out, Charlie. What’s the worst that can happen?” Jasper sucks at the bottle.

“What do you
mean
? I don’t know: a
bullet
?”

“Maybe. But I got to get to him somehow, right? I got to talk to him.”

“But it could all just be a coincidence, him suddenly being absent. There’s a big chance he’s got nothing to do with this at all.”

Jasper nods.

“Could be. You’re right. But I don’t reckon. I got a feeling, Charlie. It’s hard to explain. There’s
somethin
that links him into this. I just
know it. And I got to talk to him. Think about it: for
years
he’s bin coming out that door, callin out
my
name. And I got to find out why. He’s seen Laura too. Seen me with her. And now, starting from that night, I haven’t seen him once. That in itself is worth investigatin, let alone what we already know about Mad Jack Lionel. That he’s killed before.”

Jasper sniffs and blows smoke out the side of his mouth. I fiddle with the buckle on my sandals.

“What do we even know about that, though?” I ask.

“We know the fact of it.”

“Do we, though? Who did he kill? And how? I mean, I don’t know, was he even convicted?”

“As good as.”

“What does
that
mean?”

“It means that from what I’ve heard from my old man, he was lucky to escape the gallows. He only ever talked about him just the once. But I never seen him so worked up about somethin without being half drunk. He went wild. Says he should have bin locked up for what he done. Says he’s a waste of a living soul, that hell’s too good for him.”

“Christ,” I say. “I wonder what really happened.”

“So do I, Charlie. And that’s what I intend on findin out, among other things. I don’t know. See, what I bin thinking is, there’s every chance Laura might’ve bin walkin past Lionel’s property on her
own
that night. She might have bin tryin to find her way here by herself. And he took his chance. That’s what I reckon.”

“Why would she try to do that?”

Jasper shifts uncomfortably. Takes a long drag at his fag.

“Well, see, thing is, usually she’d just wait for me to come and get her. I’d come to her window of a night, then we’d come here. Or she’d creep out and meet me under one of them peppermint trees in their street. But some nights she got tired of waitin. And she’d come to my house, come lookin for me. And lately, over the last few months, she bin wanting to see me
all
the time. She wanted to come here every
other day. Like she really dint ever want to be at home, you know.” Jasper crushes and pockets another expired cigarette. He scratches his neck and pulls at his nose. Fidgeting in a nervous way. I edge forward.

“But the truth is, Charlie, I hadn’t seen Laura for a bit. As I say, I’d bin out on the orchards picking the early stone fruit, trying to get some dough up for when we left. Thing is, I never told her, I just went. I knew she wouldn’t want me to leave her for so long, so I just went. It was stupid, but I just had to. Not only because I dint want to leave town with nuthin in my pockets, but I wanted to have some time for meself again. I was missing just bein here on my own. The way it always used to be. And with us sposed to be leavin soon and all, I dunno, I just wanted to be alone for a bit.” He shrugs.

“That’s okay,” I say. “I understand. I get like that.”

Jasper shakes his head and looks up. He breathes in deep.

“But the strange thing is, last Thursday night I came home, dog-tired, money in my pockets, and the first thing, I went out looking for Laura. I was worried about her, to tell you the truth. And I
wanted
to see her, I admit. I missed her. Thought about her the whole time I was away. So I went up to her window, like always, but she weren’t there. But I saw her window was open, so I shut it and went back to my house to see if she might be waitin for me. But I couldn’t find her. So I went lookin through town, down to the river, the same route we always took. Nuthin. And then, finally, I made it back here.”

“And then you found her,” I say. Jasper nods slowly.

“See, what I think might’ve happened is, she must’ve bin tryin to get here at the same time I was out looking for her. She probably got fed up waiting, and snuck out to try to make it out here on her own. That’s where she would have walked past Lionel’s place, see? That’s what I reckon, Charlie. That’s where it all went wrong, mate. I dunno. Maybe you’re right. Maybe she really
did
know the way here, or she was bullheaded enough to try. Maybe Lionel follered her. Or maybe Lionel had follered us both here one night, maybe
he
knew the way.”

I try to reason it through as Atticus Finch might. But it’s hard when
Jasper seems so resigned to this scenario, as though he’s accepted it as truth. I shake my head. It’s too much for me. Jasper coughs and spits.

“And that’s where I fucked it up, Charlie. I left it too long, I should never have gone away without tellin her first. I should’ve seen her sooner; I should’ve written, at least. See, it don’t matter who done this”—and Jasper points up at the branch overhead. “Because it’s
my
fault. It’s my fault this happened.”

“But, Jasper,” I appeal, spreading my hands, “we don’t
know
what happened. That’s the thing.”

“We know what happened, Charlie. We just don’t know
how
. Or
why.
”

“Either way.” I shake my head. “There’s no reason for you to feel guilty. That’s absurd. It had nothing to do with you. It doesn’t matter what we find out. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do this. Jasper, we don’t know
anything
. We don’t know if it was really Mad Jack Lionel. We don’t even know if Laura left her bedroom by herself. It’s just a story we’re telling ourselves.”

Jasper sighs.

“You’re not listening, Charlie. If I’d have bin with her, like I
should
’ve bin, this would never have happened.”

“Well, okay. But we don’t know that either. And that’s no way to look at things. That doesn’t make it your fault. The fact is, you weren’t to know. How could you? By that logic, every horrible world event would be your fault because you didn’t stop it. I don’t know. You should have warned Kennedy not to ride in a convertible.”

Jasper shakes his head. “It’s different. That’s not my fault, because them people never relied on me, like a family would. So I dint let them down. And I let Laura down. I should have come back sooner, or left her a letter. I should have known she would come here lookin for me. And that’s my fault, just like everythin that come after. I had a … a
duty
. To protect her. To help her.”

“Protect her? From what?”

“Nuthin. Forget it.” Jasper sniffs and sighs in a way that suggests
he’s unwilling to talk anymore. He slides out another cigarette and, with a knitted brow, lights it.

It’s irksome. I get the sense he’s withholding something from me. I’m always a step removed. Eliza, Jasper, my father. I can wade through the dark, but I can only see as far as the guttering candle allows me.

All I know is the end, the part where I walked in. But the rest of the story, all the parts before it, is still just a litter of torn leaflets. It seems so helpless and hopeless. I’m so small and weak in the wake of all this, in its sinister ripples. I wonder if we will ever find out for certain. I wonder how much I should really stake in Jasper and his assertions. Of course, it’s an attractive notion: pinning it all on the town recluse with the shady history. But it seems so filled with coincidence and chance. It seems too convenient. Then again, maybe the simplest answer really
is
the most accurate. I wonder too if Jasper actually needs my help. Whether he came to my window looking for Atticus Finch or Tom Sawyer. A brain or an ally. Maybe both.