Текст книги "On the Jellicoe Road "

Автор книги: Melina Marchetta

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Chapter 7

The next afternoon I walk to Clarence House to find Ben. With hands shaking, I knock on the door and wait. The kid who answers looks at me nervously and I wonder why, until I remember how often I’d come across the UC leader in the past. Rarely. They didn’t do house calls. Even within their own Houses they became deified. The kid doesn’t move, still staring at me, and thankfully Ben appears and puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder.

“Go back to study,” he tells him. “I’ll be in soon.”

Ben doesn’t say anything to me, but his look says, And?

“So what did you tell your House co-ordinator,” I ask, pointing to his face, “about that.”

“That I’ve taken up football.”

I nod. “Naturally. You look like a footballer.”

“He was very grateful for the lie. Means he doesn’t have to investigate.”

We look at each other for a moment and for once I feel awkward. It’s not that I’m not into humility; I’ve just never had to practise it.

“You want me to come out there with you?”

“Yes I do,” I say honestly, realising there is no point beating around the bush.

“Year eight have assignments due tomorrow,” he says, pointing behind him. “It’s not really a good time.”

“You do homework with them?”

“I’m their House leader.”

“My House leaders never did homework with us. Hannah did.”

“And my House leaders used to flush our heads down the toilet. Consequently I’m going for a more pastoral approach.”

“Consequently? I would have used ‘naturally.’”

“You’ve already used it. Anyway, as a consequence of how I was treated I have chosen to act in the exact opposite way, so I’m sticking by ‘consequently.’”

“If I send Raffaela over to help these kids, then will you come?”

“Raffaela’s probably sitting there helping your year eights.”

“Naturally.”

More silence. Humility now has to give way to begging.

“Ben, my first seven days on this job are over and I have nothing to show for it. In the past, our leaders have always made contact with the Cadets and succeeded in at least re-establishing boundaries. I don’t even know what to say to these guys. I’m admitting that to you, and I don’t know why I’m admitting it to you.”

“Because you have no respect for me and you don’t care whether I think you’re weak or not.”

I resign myself to the fact that I’m down to one ally: Raffaela. But Raffaela isn’t a House leader, she’s my second-in-charge, and there’s no way she can save me from defeat at the hands of Richard and his five signatures.

“Fine,” I say, turning away. I make it to the bottom stair and turn to find him still there at the door. “And for your own information, I don’t know whether I have respect for you. But I chose you over Richard and the others because I trust you. That’s my motive and at this moment, trust is beating anything else in my life and if it’s not good enough for you then I don’t know what to say.” I begin walking.

“What’s in it for me?” he calls out.

“Nothing,” I call back to him. “I’m not even going to pretend there is.”

He catches up with me. “No. That’s what you have to say to them when you negotiate. I always used to hear the leader say it. ‘What’s in it for me?’”

He keeps on walking farther away from his House and I experience a sense of relief when we reach the clearing and he’s still with me. My stomach begins to twitch and I realise I’m nervous about the prospect of the Cadets.

“We could be lucky,” Ben says, sensing my nervousness. “They might be carving up a pig they’ve just slaughtered for dinner and ripping the flesh off the bones with their teeth as we speak and—”

“—as a consequence?”

“—Won’t be interested in us lurking around.”

I’m unconvinced.

We’re out there for quite a while, marking the map with all the important checkpoints. For most of the year we don’t have to worry about boundaries, but come September the map is our bible. I follow its instructions and I don’t realise how close I am to the edge of the ridge until Ben grabs my shirt and pulls me back. But I like being this close. Just one step and those cauliflower trees below could bounce me right back up again.

Ben is staring at me. “Are you blind? You almost went over.”

I’m about to tell him not to be ridiculous when he holds up a hand.

“Did you hear that?” he whispers.

“What?”

“That?”

He looks at me and I open my mouth to say something but he puts two taped fingers to his lips. “I think we’ve crossed the boundary without realising,” he continues, whispering.

“According to the map, this eucalyptus tree is the boundary.”

“According to the map there are two trees this size and we passed the other one about ten minutes ago.”

I stand still for a moment. Birds sing, trees rustle in the wind, but there’s something else. The feeling of being crowded in, despite one hundred acres of bush around us, stretching as far as the eye can see.

I hold up one finger, then two, then three, and we bolt. But not even one step later I’m flying through the air. I make contact with the ground in no time, face first in an exfoliation of dirt, leaving my face feeling scratched and bruised.

I try to kneel but I realise that some kind of trap has grabbed hold of my foot and then I see the boot in front of me. Big, black, laced-up, army regular, polished clean, with the ability to wipe out a whole universe of ants in one step. I look a tiny bit farther up and I see the khaki pants tucked in but I stop there. This is not the position I want to be in for this meeting. So I keep my eyes forward as I slowly raise myself, and then we’re eye to eye, give or take the ten centimetres he has on me.

Jonah Griggs is a tank. His face is blunter, meaner than I remember. Hair cropped. Eyes cold. Arms folded. He has perfected the art of looking straight at someone while avoiding eye contact.

Two of his Cadets have Ben by the arm and I can tell by the look on Ben’s face and the angle of their strongholds that he’s in pain.

“Let him go,” I say.

Jonah Griggs looks over my head, as though he’s contemplating my request. As if. He ponders for a moment, placing his thumb and finger on his chin, and then shakes his head.

“Maybe another time,” he says, his voice so unlike the one about to break three years ago.

“We might just take him around for a tour of the boundaries and when he comes back, he can pass them on to you,” his second-in-command says.

“I’d prefer you took me for that tour.”

Jonah Griggs feigns contemplation again and leans forward as if he didn’t hear but still there’s no eye contact.

So I grab his face and look straight in his eyes and it’s like a punch in the gut holding that stare. “You want to make this personal, Jonah? Then let him go.”

I don’t know what possesses me to say his name but it slips off my tongue easily and I watch him flinch.

“No deal,” Ben calls out. “I don’t go without you.”

“That is very touching,” Jonah Griggs says, shaking free of my hand. “There is so much love in this space.”

Ben blows him a kiss and all hell breaks loose. The impact of boots on fingers makes it clear what happened the night before. I jump on Jonah Griggs’s back but I can’t even pull his hair because Cadet regulation haircut doesn’t allow for it. He shrugs me off easily and I land on the ground for the second time in less than five minutes.

“What happened to the scary folk that we were warned about?” he mocks, looking down at me. “You and the Townies are making this too easy for us.”

“You want scary? We can do scary.” I pick myself up. “Let’s go,” I say to Ben, who is almost speechless from the pain.

“Scare me, then,” I hear Jonah Griggs say.

I turn around to face him. “The treaty? The one that says we control any access with water? The one that you guys have been able to violate for the last four years because there has been no water? Well, while you were away it rained. That means there’s a river. That means you have no access unless we give it to you. That means you are restricted to a tenth of the land you’ve been used to using in the past.”

“So what are you saying?”

“This is war.”

Griggs shrugs arrogantly. “Well, I guess we’re better dressed for it.”

Chapter 8

She stood at Webb’s door: Tate, with the wild hair and the grin that went on forever. Sometimes Webb believed that he would never experience a better feeling than when he was looking at her, would never see anything or anybody bursting with more life and spirit. Sometimes he felt he needed to inhale it and place it in a storage area in his soul. Just in case.

When he said that to Tate she’d be perplexed. “But Webb, I’m like this because of you. You’re everything to me.”

On Narnie’s sad days, he wished he could be all that to her, too.

“Is that what you want?” his sister had asked once while they sat dangling their feet in the river.

“In a different way because you’re my sister but yeah. If it keeps you happy…or wanting to live, yeah, I’d want to be everything to you.”

“You do all the work, Webb,” she said tiredly. “Don’t you get sick of that?”

He shook his head. “Not if you and Tate are okay.”

“But what happens to all of us when you’re not okay? What then? We’ll become pathetic. Even more than I am now. So why would I want someone to be my everything when one day they might not be around? What will be left of me then?”

“I’ll never ever leave you, Narnie. You’re my sister. You’re all I’ve got.”

And Tate, standing at his door now, smiling her hypnotic smile. “The Cadets are here,” she said. “This is going to be our last year doing this. Let’s go get Narnie and make some trouble.”

The three of them stood their ground on the Jellicoe Road, directly in front of a bus-load of Cadets. In the distance the sound of a shotgun rang out and a cloud of dust hovered just above the trees in front of them.

“Townies,” Tate said. “At full throttle, by the looks of things.”

The bus driver kept his hand on the horn, lazily.

“Surrender,” Webb yelled. “Send out your leader!”

“You get off this road or you’ll be the ones surrendering your little arses,” the driver yelled back.

The doors opened and after a moment a boot appeared on the road and then another.

Tate and Webb exchanged looks. Narnie felt her heart knock against her chest.

A Cadet stepped out from behind the bus door, dressed in full military school uniform. He strode towards them, only looking back once when he realised that the car that had been making the ruckus up the dirt road was almost upon them. He reached the trio and searched their faces.

“I’ve never understood the strap across the chin,” Webb said. “It has to be the most moronic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“How can we take you seriously?” Tate said.

“Bloody uncomfortable, too,” Jude agreed, taking it off.

When the shooting got louder they all turned in the direction of the on-coming car.

“Fitz?”

“Psychotic as ever. He got expelled from his school about three times this year.”

“And you know how excited he gets when you come a-calling.” Tate grinned.

Jude grinned back. He punched Webb in the shoulder and Webb punched him back.

“Where are the others?” one of the Cadets called from the bus window.

“Parent weekend,” Webb called back. “We’re the only ones around.”

As the bus drove off, a car swerved around it, twisting to a halt. Then Fitz was out of the car, jumping on Jude’s back with the feverish madness they were all used to.

“Why haven’t they arrested you yet?” Jude said, throwing him off and diving on top of him. They wrestled until Fitz victoriously had Jude straddled.

“Loving that position, are we?” Tate laughed.

Webb helped them both up and the five of them made their way down the Jellicoe Road towards the school.

“Guess what?” Fitz said.

“I don’t know,” Jude said. “What? Narnie smiled?”

He glanced at her for the first time.

“When you guys see a Narnie smile, it’s like a revelation,” Webb said, gathering her towards him.

Jude stopped in front of her and, with both hands cupping her face, tried to make a smile. Narnie flinched.

“Leave her alone,” Tate said.

“I need a revelation,” Jude said. “And you’re the only one that can give me one, Narns.”

“Let’s get back to ‘Guess what?’” Fitz said, hyped beyond control.

“What?”

“Phase one of the tunnel,” Webb said in a low voice. “It’s finished.”

Every year the town puts on a welcome for the Cadets and invites us along for the gala event, if one can give a sausage sizzle and rugby league game such a title. I get word halfway through the day that a meeting is to take place between the three factions after the official part of the ceremony. I send Ben around to gather the other House leaders and we work out our strategy, which none of us can agree on. In the end we decide that a rental of the river may be allowed; however, the numbers of Cadets using it at any one time is to be no more than twelve.

As usual, the Cadets are in their fatigues and the bulky frame of Jonah Griggs stands out among them. He surveys the field and beyond, handling his team as he would his troops. I can tell that his team is first-class. Santangelo is tenacious and what his team lacks in skill, they make up for in endurance and speed. Our league team is abysmal and, halfway through the round robin, I realise that we are not even players in this whole territory war.

When the games are over, the official part of the ceremony begins. Behind the microphones, a band sets up and I see the Mullet Brothers tuning their guitars alongside a girl with dreadlocks and heaps of piercings.

Santangelo’s mother is the mayor and I hear her whisper, “Behave,” to her son as she lines us up for a school captain photo. She’s indigenous, which makes sense when I think of his colouring. Even for an Italian, his skin seemed dark. We have photos taken with her and then they place the three of us in front of the stage and take more photos.

“Chaz!” Santangelo’s mum is trying to get his attention from where she’s standing with some of the school officials. She mouths smile, waving her fingers under her mouth.

“Chaz,” Jonah Griggs says snidely. “Your mum wants you to smile.”

“And yours wants you to eat shit and die.”

I’m standing between these two intellectuals while the local photographer snaps away, asking us to say words like holidays and pornography.

“Yours thinks you should loosen up,” Griggs continues to bait.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She told me last night.”

The first strains of the national anthem screech across the stage, causing everyone to wince.

“What did you say?” Santangelo asks quietly.

“Your mum. Nice lady. Really nice.”

Santangelo flies into it first. Fist straight into Jonah Griggs’s stomach and next minute they’re both rolling on the ground pounding each other. Then there’s a war cry and it’s a free for all, present company excluded, of course, and believe me, I do feel excluded but there is no way I’m joining in. The leader of Murray House goes flying through the air and lands at my feet, groaning. I try to help him up but then I realise he’s getting off on this. They all are. It’s like some Neanderthal skirmish for the pathetic. Some of the Townie teachers try to stop it. Big mistake. It gets boring for at least four more minutes and even the girls from Jellicoe High acknowledge me with a roll of the eyes. Judging by Santangelo’s mum’s expression, I wouldn’t want to be at her dinner table tonight.

Then the police arrive. I recognise Santangelo’s dad, who saves police brutality for when he gets to his son. Then I see Ben disappear under a heap of bodies and I go in to assist because the Mullet Brothers have fallen into the body jam with their guitars still attached to them, causing more pain than is necessary. Except just as I’m about to pull Ben’s head out of the scrum, a whistle shrills in my ear and this cop is grabbing me by the arm. And then it’s over.

They separate us into groups. The Ringleaders and the Others. I belong to the Ringleaders because my weak, pathetic, traitorous, fundamentally base peers point to me when someone asks them who is in charge. The only positive thing in this whole situation is that because this stupid town is so small, you don’t have to actually get into the paddy wagon to be taken to gaol. They march you there. The worst thing is I’m placed in the same cell as Jonah Griggs and Chaz Santangelo and they are still so filthy with each other that I know it’s not over and somehow I’m going to be caught up in it. In the cell next to ours there are about thirty other kids, combinations of all three factions. I look for Ben but can see only some of the other House leaders, who are proudly comparing scars.

In my cell I don’t even seem to exist. The dust and grime begin to get to me and I feel a shortness of breath that I know spells trouble. On the other side of the cell Jonah Griggs and Santangelo are too busy sizing each other up like two demented pit bulls who have to prove who’s got the biggest…attitude.

I lean against the bars that separate us from the others. “So let me get this right,” I say to one of the Townie girls. “All it takes is to insult someone’s mother?”

“No,” she explains. “That’s the beauty of it. They don’t actually have to insult. The words Your mother are enough.”

“So if I said to you, ‘Your mother is a…?’” I shrug.

“Just ‘Your mother.’” But it doesn’t work if girls say it to each other,” she continues. “You have to have a penis for it to affect you in such a way.”

“Oh funny, funny,” Santangelo says.

The bonding with the Townie girls is a highlight. I spend my first hour of incarceration in conversation with one of them—who happens to be the girlfriend of one of the Mullet Brothers—about the myths around eyebrow piercing. When I have the courage, I ask her the burning question about why the Mullets but I’m short of breath and I can recognise the tell-tale signs of an asthma attack coming on, so I have to go and sit down and don’t get to hear the answer.

The first lot of parents come in at around five P.M., including the House master of Murray House, so within half an hour the cell next door is empty and it’s just Griggs, Santangelo, and me. They put me in the cell next door on my own and we get to order takeaway for dinner.

“You promised us a negotiation about the Club House,” Santangelo says, still eyeing Jonah Griggs, but speaking to me.

“Negotiations are over,” I say flatly.

“You can’t do that.”

“Any which way, we’ve got the Club House and you can’t stop us from getting there,” Jonah Griggs says arrogantly.

“Watch me.”

“If we make a deal over the Club House, it will be profitable for all of us,” Santangelo says.

“Come within an inch of our property…”

“And what?” Jonah Griggs calls over to me.

“Unfortunately the state persists in using our school as a juvie centre when it suits them. We have arsonists.”

“So you’ll burn us down?” he says, feigning fear.

“No, but we will burn down every single building you own on our property. Beginning with the Club House.”

Now I have their attention.

Raffaela is allowed to see me based on the fact that she knows how to sweet-talk Santangelo’s father, who I find out is her godfather.

“We’ve called Mr. Palmer but he’s at some Rotary Club do and Mr. Grace from Murray House says he’s not authorised to bail you out so we have to wait until Sal—sorry, Constable Santangelo,” she says, looking up at him and smiling, “speaks to Mr. Palmer…which could be after midnight.”

“Where’s Ben?” I ask.

“I think I saw him go after the Mullet Brothers.”

“As if he can take on the Mullet Brothers. Is he insane? Find him, Raffaela. He could be hurt.”

“I’m staying with my parents tonight so he can bunk at my place.”

I hear the sound of heavy boots enter the station and the next minute Jonah Griggs jumps to his feet saluting, a shocked look on his face. Santangelo mocks the salute behind his back.

“Hey!” his father bellows, and Santangelo sits back down, sulking.

I strain my neck to see what has surprised Jonah Griggs so much and my heart begins racing wildly.

It’s the first time I’ve seen the Brigadier this close since he delivered me back to Hannah’s place three years ago. In my memory he has always been a giant but today I notice that Griggs towers over him. I slouch against the gates, watching the interaction between him and Griggs.

“I don’t think it will kill you if you stay the night,” he says to Griggs in a tone that isn’t open for negotiation.

I don’t know how it is that a voice I’ve only heard once can stay in my mind, but it’s as recognisable to me as Hannah’s.

I see a flicker of shittiness on Jonah Griggs’s face but he holds the salute. “Yes, sir.”

“You, too,” Santangelo’s dad says, pointing at his son. Santangelo swears under his breath.

“Sorry, what was that?” his father asks loudly.

“Nothing,” Santangelo mutters.

And then the Brigadier is looking at me and I hold his stare, despite the fact that a part of me feels sick. He looks younger than I’ve remembered him to be all this time. Younger than Santangelo’s dad, anyway.

“Do you want me to take her back to the school?” he asks Santangelo’s dad.

“No!” I almost yell.

Santangelo’s dad shakes his head. “John Palmer’s coming down soon. She’ll be fine.”

The Brigadier continues to hold my stare, like he’s taking in every detail of me and it seems like a million years later that he turns to go.

“I hear you’re going to be sticking around for a couple of weeks,” Santangelo’s dad says to him as they both leave. Only then does Jonah Griggs relax.

“Since when do real army brigadiers run the Cadets?” Santangelo asks.

“They don’t.”

I can tell that Griggs is confused about the Brigadier’s presence. He looks at me and I walk over to the other side of my cell, settling myself as far away as possible from both of them.

Gaol’s not that bad, especially when you’re used to crap food at school and you get Thai takeaway.

“How’s Hannah these days?” Santangelo’s dad asks me as he hands it over.

“You know Hannah?”

“Since she was your age.”

I shrug. “She’s away.”

The phone rings and the other police officer comes in holding it.

“It’s Clara,” he tells Santangelo’s dad. “She wants to talk to Chaz.” Santangelo takes the phone through the bars and Jonah Griggs snickers and makes himself comfortable on the bunk while Santangelo tries to speak as quietly as possible.

“Hi…look…I know…Yeah, like I did it on purpose, Mum…. Okay…you’re what? Don’t go to their place…. She’s a liar…. She only pretends to be that sweet in front of…Oh, good, believe her over your son…. No. He’s being an a-hole…. I didn’t say “arse,” you did…. Fine, take his side….”

He hands the phone to his father. “She said not to forget to pick up the bread.” He sulks.

By ten o’clock I make a pact with myself that I will never commit a crime because gaol is the most boring place on earth. Even more boring than the Jellicoe School on a Sunday afternoon. It’s so boring that when Santangelo comes over to my side of the cell, I welcome the conversation.

“Chewy?”

I reach over and take a stick. Up close he is truly a good-looking guy and I’m curious about the Raffaela connection but don’t dare ask him about it. Santangelo has this way of looking at me, not in a pervy way or like someone who’s interested. He’s staring at me like he did in the negotiating hut. Like he has a question to ask or something to say, but doesn’t quite know how to say it.

“Spit it out,” I say.

“Spit what out?”

“Whatever you want to say.”

He’s about to deny it, but then he seems to change his mind. “The guy…the Hermit? My dad used to take me out there sometimes, to see how he was going.”

I move closer. No one at the Jellicoe School has ever mentioned the Hermit. Their way of dealing with it has always been to pretend it never happened.

“You knew him?”

He nods. “He was a bit mad. Like obsessive compulsive, you know. He’d stand on a tree branch and dive into the river in the same spot all the time and just let the current take him away. I thought he’d die doing that, not…”

We don’t say anything for a while.

“Do you remember much about that day?” he asks.

Only that when I woke up I was in Hannah’s bed and I heard someone crying like an animal. I remember opening my eyes and seeing the blur of her body holding on to another—a man. He was clutching onto her with grief and they were both so distraught. I wondered if he was a friend of the Hermit. I remember that I never saw the clothes I was wearing that day ever again, which was a pity because I so liked my Felix the Cat T-shirt and grey cord jeans and whenever I asked Hannah for them, she’d just shake her head.

I don’t answer. “What did your dad say?” I ask instead.

He doesn’t look at me. “I don’t know. Just that it was messy,” he mumbles.

“How messy? What do you mean ‘messy’?”

He looks up at me. “You know…messy.”

I see Jonah Griggs get up from his bunk and walk towards us. “Why are you telling her this?” he snaps at Santangelo.

He ignores Griggs. “My father cried…. I’d never seen him cry…. He told me that the Hermit had a kid….”

I feel sick. Up till now the Hermit had never possessed a life. He was just this madman who lived in the bush. But to know that he left someone behind…And then a horrific thought enters my head.

“Was he my father?” I whisper. “Is that what your dad said?”

“Why would you think that?” he asks, surprised.

Griggs grabs Santangelo by the arm. “You’re stressing her out.”

“Why is this your business? You don’t even know her.”

I feel my windpipe constricting and I know what’s about to happen. I’m trying to work out where my backpack is so I can get my inhaler but I realise that it’s out there with the cops.

Jonah Griggs looks at me for a moment and I see a frown appear on his face. “Sit down. You’re going to faint.”

The chewing gum makes my mouth feel sweet and next minute I’m throwing up mucus that is making me gag.

“Look what you’ve done, you arsehole!”

I can see them both glued to the bars that separate us. The retching never seems to end, like it’s carving out my insides and I can’t breathe. My windpipe feels like it’s choking me and I can smell the Hermit’s blood, the sickly sweet smell of it, and suddenly I see it, plastered all over my clothes, and I see the Hermit out there on that day when the sun was so hot and I hear his whispers and I try to keep my eyes closed, but I can’t and there are parts of him around me and the blood smacking at my face and I can’t breathe and I can hear Jonah Griggs shouting and Santangelo calling out, “Dad, Dad, get in here.” I’m making this gurgling sound because I just can’t breathe and although I’m bent over away from the bars I feel hands grab hold of me, pulling me towards them. I feel arms around my chest, a mouth against my ear whispering…whispering…Jonah Griggs whispering, “Just breathe, just breathe, come on, Taylor, just breathe…just breathe.”

Mr. Palmer is wiping my face. Santangelo’s dad is there as well, placing a glass of water in my hands and helping me drink. I’m gulping it down, feeling weak and pathetically teary.

“We’re going home,” John Palmer says quietly. “Can you stand?”

I nod. “I’m sorry about the mess,” I tell Santangelo’s dad.

He smiles. “We’ll live.”

As I walk past the other cell I see Santangelo sitting on the floor with his back against the bars, his head in his hands, and Jonah Griggs standing, watching me. Like he did on that station platform. Like he did those times we lay side by side on our way to Yass. Staring like he’s never stopped. For a moment the mask slips from his face, but by that time I’m almost out the door.

It’s not until we reach the Jellicoe Road that Mr. Palmer speaks.

“Hannah’s fine.”

“How do you know?” I ask, raising my head from where it’s been leaning against the door.

“I spoke to someone who knows her. She’s in Sydney looking after a friend…who’s sick.”

All of a sudden Hannah has all these “friends.” Friends who have known her since she was seventeen. Friends who hand over letters. Friends who are sick.

“Who? You don’t understand. I know everyone she knows.”

He is keeping something from me. I can tell by the way he can’t look me in the face and that scares me. He seems to sense this and once again I’m surprised by his kindness.

“She calls her friend, ‘Mrs. Dubose.’ That’s all I know.”

Mrs. Dubose.

“Have you heard of her?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say sleepily. “She lived in the same street as Jem and Scout Finch.”