I feel his fingers on my collarbone, faintly tracing the marks where my buttons scratched my skin when he grabbed me days before.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said,” I say quietly. “I don’t know why I did.”
He shrugs. “I didn’t come here to ask or give forgiveness.”
And it’s like a trigger word, making every pulse inside of me throb. “Forgive me,” I whisper, dizzy from the sensation.
He leans forward and our foreheads are almost touching and for a moment, a tiny moment, a slight vulnerability appears on his face.
“Nothing to forgive,” he says.
I shake my head. “No. That’s what he said. ‘Forgive me.’ It’s what the Hermit whispered in my ear before he shot himself.”
“My father took one hundred and thirty-two minutes to die. I counted. It happened on the Jellicoe Road, the prettiest road I’d ever seen…”
Jude sat still, listening to a memory so sad that he wondered how Narnie could tell it so calmly, with so much clarity and detail. Over the years he’d had a fair idea of what had happened that night on the Jellicoe Road and sometimes he hated himself for wanting to be part of something so tragic. He wanted to be the hero riding by on a stolen bike. He wanted to be the one carrying their parents and Tate’s sister out of the cars. He wanted to belong to them. With them he found solace.
They sat by the river and he wanted to take Narnie’s hand but didn’t dare.
“Do you know why I couldn’t count how long it took my mother to die?”
As much as he knew that he didn’t want to hear the answer, he shook his head.
“Because she flew out that window. I could see
her the whole time. From where I was sitting. And I knew she was dead straightaway because she didn’t have a head, Jude, and I stayed in that spot, not moving a single inch and everyone thought I was scared but I wasn’t. Because if I moved an inch, Webb would see her and you don’t know how much Webb loved her, Jude, and I would have died right there if I knew that Webb saw her like that. I would have…I would have….”
It was a despair he could not comprehend, spilling from her mouth. Not knowing any other way to stop her, he covered her mouth with his hand but she pulled it away.
“If he doesn’t come back, there’s no one left, Jude,” she whispered, the horror of it all there on her face. “They’re all gone. Everyone’s dead.”
He held her against him and for once he understood what she had felt every day that he had known her.
“Hold my hand,” she said, sobbing against him. “Hold my hand because I might disappear.”
It’s peaceful like this, on my back. A loving sun caresses my face and it wraps me in a blanket of fluffy clouds, like the feeling of my mother’s hands when she first held me. For a moment I’m back there, in a place where I want to be.
But then somewhere up-river, a speedboat or Jet Ski causes a ripple effect and miniature waves slap water onto my face, like an angry hand of reprimand, and the shock of it almost causes me to go under. I fight hard to stay afloat and suddenly I remember the feeling of fear in my mother’s touch. Some say it’s impossible because you remember nothing when you’re five seconds old but I promise you this: I remember the tremble in my mother’s body when the midwife first placed me in her arms. I remember the feeling of slipping between those fingers. It’s like
she never really managed to grab hold of me with a firmness that spoke of never letting go. It’s like she never got it right.
But that’s my job.
My body becomes a raft and there’s this part of me that wants just literally to go with the flow. To close my eyes and let it take me. But I know sooner or later I will have to get out, that I need to feel the earth beneath my feet, between my toes—the splinters, the bindi-eyes, the burning sensation of hot dirt, the sting of cuts, the twigs, the bites, the heat, the discomfort, the everything. I need desperately to feel it all, so when something wonderful happens, the contrast will be so massive that I will bottle the impact and keep it for the rest of my life.
For a moment I sense something flying menacingly low over me and I start with fright, losing my balance and this time I do go under. But the sky is a never-ending blue, no birds, no clouds. Just a stillness that tells me I’m the only person left in the world.
Until I see Jonah Griggs.
On my side of the river.
I breaststroke over and attempt to get out with as much dignity as possible. One is always at a disad
vantage when standing dripping wet in one’s bathing suit, no matter how modest it is.
I try to think of the rules and begin to say in a strong assertive voice, “The Little Purple Book…”
“…states that any negotiated land must not be accessed by the enemy and, if caught, the handing over of territory is to take place with alacrity,” he finishes for me.
“You know the water access belongs to us. You are tres—”
Before I can say another word, a body comes flying over the river and lands, expertly, just next to me. Griggs and Anson Choi shake hands, the enjoyment so evident in their faces. For a moment I’m reminded that Griggs is just a typical guy our age. There’s a softness to his face that’s almost painful to see because it makes him vulnerable and to think of Jonah Griggs as vulnerable is to imagine him as a ten-year-old boy at the mercy of his father.
“So who does the air belong to?” he asks me. “Can’t recall that being in the Little Purple Book.”
“This is private property.”
“According to rule four-four-three of the Little Purple Book, private property is neutral ground.”
Nodding. Like I know rule four-four-three well. We are standing approximately one kilometre away from the Jellicoe Houses. The leaders would have a fit if they knew the Cadets were this close. If they get inside our Houses, we have to trade. If we get inside their tents, they have to trade.
I’m shivering from the cold and he must read a little panic in my eyes.
“Don’t worry,” he says before his whistle pierces my eardrum. A rope comes flying across and he grabs it. “Today, we’re just practising.”
Ben and Raffy are dumbfounded.
“They’re planning an invasion, aren’t they?”
I nod.
“Pretty gutsy,” Ben says with a whistle.
“How about the Townies?” Raffy asks. “We can ask for their help and finalise this deal.”
I shake my head. The Townies would want something from us. We don’t have much to give.
“Just say they get into the Houses?” she asks.
“Tell me the rule about invasion?” I say to her.
“You need six enemies in your territory to confirm it as an invasion. If they attempt twice and fail
both times, we get to negotiate diplomatic immunity for the rest of their stay.”
“Today’s attempt was just two of them, so it doesn’t count.”
I look outside the window. Any movement sets me on edge. We’re studying
Macbeth
in Drama and any moment I expect Birnam Wood to come to Dunsinane. That would be just their thing.
“I’m going to Hannah’s,” I say.
I see the disappointment on both their faces.
“Taylor, please. This isn’t the time. We need to concentrate on the territory wars just for this week,” Raffy says.
I begin walking out of the room and they’re on my tail. “I want cows,” I tell them.
“Cows?”
Outside the House they are still trying to keep up. “This isn’t going to be like…that cat thing, is it?” Ben asks.
I see Raffy signal Ben to be quiet. Any talk of the drowning of the cat has been off-limits. Like an unwritten rule.
“Hannah wanted me to work on the garden and I never did.”
“Hannah’s house isn’t the issue here, Taylor,” Raffy says.
“Yes it is.” I continue walking.
Ben grabs my arm. “Then I’m taking over,” he says angrily. “Go work on Hannah’s house but I’m working on those Cadets not getting within one metre of us. All you can think of is planting—”
“Manure,” I tell them. “All over her front garden. Perfect for growing vegetables.”
It’s like he wants to hit me with frustration. “You’re losing it!” he shouts. “No one wants to tell you that, but you…” I see the light go on. “…You are a genius.”
Raffy looks at him confused. “She’s a genius? I’m lost.”
“What he means is that we’re not giving in without a shit fight,” I tell them. “Literally.”
Strategies come in all shapes and sizes and as juvenile as this one is, it keeps me amused.
They come calling again late the next afternoon. Griggs is first. Territory war aside, he is a pleasure to observe, like he was built for flying through the air.
He picks himself up from his landing, inspecting
his fatigues. Then he looks up to where I’m sitting on Hannah’s verandah, my legs dangling over the edge. He sloshes towards me and I can tell it’s not easy.
A war cry is heard from the other side and before he has time to warn them, at least six Cadets come flying over the river and land around him. They looked shocked, and I actually feel like giggling at their horror.
“We’re an Ag college,” I explain to them. “Not as good as the one in Yanco but we have livestock.”
“Cows?” Anson Choi asks, covering his nose.
“Pigs, too. And horses. Great for growing tomatoes.”
The Cadets are wanna-be soldiers. City people. They may know how to street fight but they don’t know how to wade through manure.
“I’m going to throw up,” one of the guys says.
“Don’t feel too bad,” I explain. “Some of our lot did while they were laying out this stuff. Actually, right there where you’re standing.”
The Cadets look even more horrified, peering down, imagining the worst.
I point to the neutral path that is at least a forty-minute walk back to their camp. “It’s manure-free,”
I offer. “And I do believe you have access to it.”
Griggs stares at me.
“If you try to invade us again and fail, then we may have to talk. Rule three-two-one of the Little Purple Book.”
“This is war,” he says quietly.
“Well, thank God you’re dressed for it, Griggs.”
And so the war games continue and sometimes it’s so much fun that Hannah and my mother disappear from my head for a minute or two. The Townies find out about it and are diligent about neither of us using their territory as neutral ground, so game plans are drawn up by Richard, who is in his element. Anytime now I expect him to start smoking a pipe and wearing a beret.
The plan is that we force the Cadets to invade, rather than wait for them to spring it on us. So on Saturday morning, when we know that Jonah Griggs’s troops are on their morning drills, Ben, Raffy, and I stroll onto Cadet territory. Accidentally.
The Cadet in front sees us almost instantly and I watch his eyes narrow. He looks behind, to Griggs, I guess. I stand on the path not ten metres
away and I allow a tiny bit of fear to enter my eyes before I turn and bolt.
We run for our lives. The heavy footsteps of the Cadets crash behind us. Raffy knows exactly where to lead us. My heart is pounding with the fear that they will grab us before we reach our lines. Our only advantage is that we know this bushland inside out. It’s our playground for most of the year when they’re not around. For them it becomes an obstacle course but we know what to roll under and jump over. We know what trees to grab for assistance and which ones will let us down, caving under the pressure of our grips. We know where the limbo-stick trees are and we shimmy under them like contestants on
Dancing with the Stars
, and what plants to avoid for fear of the sticky hidden thorns. But they have speed and discipline and sometimes I can feel the breath of the first Cadet on my neck.
Then, in the distance, I see the area we refer to as “no-man’s land.” It’s the strangest area of the property. Exactly one hectare of land, devoid of trees but knee-high in wild grass on both sides of a path that looks like a dug-out trench. Our territory officially begins smack in the middle. My lungs are begging
me for air but I know I can’t stop, not until I get to our line. More importantly, not until the Cadets get to our line. The trenches are tricky, but we can do “tricky” any day of the week. We make it over the invisible line and a few seconds later, I know all eight Cadets have, too. I hear the roar coming from the wild grass on both sides and Richard’s voice booms, “No prisoners! No prisoners!”—which is ridiculous, because it’s not as if we’re going to kill them, but he has this Lawrence of Arabia obsession—and all of a sudden our seniors come flying out from all directions.
Later, I’m reminded that Jonah Griggs is a rugby league player and if there’s one thing he can do, it’s tackle or dodge a bunch of those of us whose closest thing to a contact sport is a biffo that might take place after a chess game. So it’s not surprising that when I look back for a moment, he’s battling his way between our guys. It’s like one of those scenes in slow-mo because our eyes make contact and I yell to Ben and Raffy to keep running. There’s something about the look on Griggs’s face that tells me our army is not going to keep him back. When we make our way out of no-man’s land, Raffy takes a detour and I know
she’s heading towards the Prayer Tree because it’s too early in the morning for the Townies to be out here.
The Prayer Tree is a kind of Jerusalem. It used to belong to us, the trail leading up to it belongs to the Cadets, and now it belongs to the Townies. When I see it in the distance, a sense of euphoria comes over me but when we reach the trunk, we notice that the rope ladder is nowhere to be seen.
We stare up at it, our sides pained with excruciating stitches. I look behind, waiting for Jonah Griggs to make an appearance.
Santangelo’s head appears at the top. “If they get you, what’s the worst thing they can do?” he yells down to us.
We are standing on Cadet territory. Santangelo knows exactly what they can do. He’s our only hope.
“Let’s make a deal,” I say finally.
“Club House?”
I look at Raffy and she nods.
“Club House,” I say between gasps.
The ladder comes down and we begin our climb. I’m halfway up when I see Griggs come out of the clearing and I try to go faster but my legs fall between the steps. Santangelo, Ben, and Raffy pull
me up from almost the fourth step down and they grab the rope ladder and yank it up at the exact moment that Griggs reaches it. He’s on his own but who knows how many Cadets have broken through and are about to join him.
“They can’t get up here. No chance,” Santangelo says behind me.
I can hardly breathe and I feel Raffy take the inhaler out of my pocket and put it in my hands.
When we all have our breaths back, I look over the side.
“It’s not as if he’s going to chop us down,” Raffy says.
“We’re stuck here until he goes,” Ben says.
“They’re sticklers for time. As soon as their bugle sounds, they’re out of here,” Santangelo says. “One goes off at ten.”
Two and a half hours.
Griggs stands at the bottom and stares at the trunk and I can tell he’s reading it. I wonder if he sees the names of the five or if he understands about nothing stopping them in the field in their day. I wonder which statement is his favourite. I wonder if he sees the blood of someone who cut themselves while carving out their soul. Or if he’s imagining
what he’d write if he had a knife in his hand.
But then he’s gone and I panic more at the idea that I can’t see him than when he was standing at the bottom. Knowing Griggs, he’s lying in wait for us.
Surprisingly, the time passes pleasantly, apart from Santangelo going into specific detail about his plans for the Club House. Half an hour later, though, Griggs is back. Holding a bucket.
“Great tree,” he calls up to us.
“What’s he got?” Raffy asks, trying to peer over my shoulder.
“Whatever it is won’t get him up here,” Santangelo says.
Suddenly my heart goes cold. In his hand he holds a paint roller. Jonah Griggs is either going to tar or paint over the trunk.
“You can’t do that!” I yell out.
“Then come down and stop me!”
A rage comes over me but I don’t move. Because deep down I don’t believe he’ll wipe out those voices.
“Which one do you want me to go for first?” he calls out cockily.
“I don’t give a shit!” I yell back, hoping he doesn’t call my bluff.
“Really? Because according to my surveillance
team, you’re here every night.”
I feel Raffy and Ben looking at me. Santangelo goes to say something but, by the sound of his “ouch,” is slammed in the ribs by Raffy.
From all the way up here I see Griggs place the roller in the bucket and it hits the trunk. The next minute I grab the rope ladder and throw it down. When it’s securely in place, I begin my descent, sick at the thought of what I’m about to see.