In the Real World

by Nōnen Títi

  I have no idea where all the water that suddenly runs from my eyes into her pyjama top is coming from. I don’t think I’ve ever cried this much and I have to keep thinking about strange facts like this or my brain will go and think about what I don’t ever want to think about again.

  After a while Granannie wants to lie down and I reluctantly move so she can turn off the lamp. I lie as still as I can so not to lose this closeness. I think she falls asleep first.

  In the morning the rain lashing against the window wakes me. Granannie is already up and dressed. “I’m running a bath for you,” she says.

  I roll out of bed and follow her into the ensuite. On a stool there are two clean towels and some clothes – my clothes, those I left in the barrel last time. They’re washed and folded. The smell of herbs comes from the steaming tub.

  “Granannie?”

  “No. Don’t waste a good bath with words, baby. Give it time.”

  She takes the dirty clothes. Something deep inside me that has been cold glows warm when I watch her do that. I feel safe near her; much more than when she was just my grandmother. Now she’s my confidante.

  I linger as long as I can after coming out. I clean the bathroom, make the bed and hang out the towels, but eventually I have to go down. I feel self-conscious walking into the kitchen in these clothes. Jerome isn’t there, only Mum, Uncle Charl and Granannie.

  Mum says good morning in a forced manner, but nothing about me not wearing black, so I assume Granannie has told her not to.

  “Go set the table, Mariette.” Granannie points to a stack of plates.

  I set it. The table stretches three quarters of the length of the kitchen and can sit ten people easily. Grandpa Glenn handcrafted it. When their kids were small they’d all sit together for dinner. Dad told me stories about them having food fights, in which they’d shoot potatoes from one end to the other using spoon catapults. “Needless to say, dessert consisted of a good hiding,” he would add.

  I set it for eight this time while Mum helps Granannie cook. Uncle Charl sits silently; nothing left of yesterday’s cheer. He looks up for a moment when I put down the cutlery. He smiles, but only with his mouth; his eyes are dark, a little like that night.

  “I’m sorry I lied to you about what Jerome did,” I tell him in an impulse.

  They all look at me. I drop the spoons.

  JEROME

  I jump down the stairs in a Miranda-like fashion. Who cares if it rains again when there’s no need to go out in the morning? No smelly wet uniforms, no moist classrooms with fungi-infested carpet; no homework, because I won’t be returning with my uncle, aunt and cousins. I’ll be free to go out or stay in, to read or to write, or take a walk with Dad and today Rowan is coming. I don’t envy Uncle Gerard having to drive in the sloshing rain.

  I find my grandparents, Dad and Miranda in the kitchen talking; or rather, Miranda talks and Dad nods now and then. He needs time to wake up in the morning. I only just sat down on his other side when Mariette waltzes in. “What about me not going home?” she demands in a tone that resembles the way she was before we arrived here last Thursday.

  “That’s right. Stuart is travelling with Rowan today and will also stay here. I have some things I want to talk about with you kids and since you have no school to return to, this seemed an excellent opportunity,” Grandpa Will says.

  Mariette looks at Granannie, who nods at her, and then sits down at the table. “Did anybody ask me about that?”

  “It was never a question,” Grandpa Will replies. “Gerard will drive to the airport to pick up Stuart and Rowan, after which he’ll take Karen and Miranda home. Your mum will pack up the things you want and send them here by courier, but you’re not leaving. I have plenty of work for the three of you.”

  Mariette doesn’t throw a fit this time. She stays pretty much quiet. I have ignored her as much as I can so far, but I have the feeling that might get harder from now on. I’m also not sure if I want to see Stuart again. It dampens my spirits to say the least. And I’m not the only one who’s disappointed. Miranda stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  “Are you up for a walk in the rain, Dad, before Rowan arrives?” Rain always clears my mind.

  “If you want, Jerome.”

  “Did you know about Stuart?” I ask him from under the hood of my rain jacket.

  “Stuart went to stay with Alistair a few weeks ago. He can’t get over what he did, so Grandpa Will suggested he talk to Lizette.”

  “And you?” I take off the hood since it stops me from hearing him.

  “I can’t remember what I did, Jerome. I was too bloody drunk to know anything.”

  “Don’t worry about it, okay? It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let them get me involved.”

  “I always despised men who beat up their kids and now I have become one of them. I can never again not worry about that.”

  “I thought you said Grandpa Will didn’t use words if there was no need for them and didn’t he get his fair share from great-grandpa – who wasn’t even his father?”

  “That’s different, Jerome. You know it is.”

  I can’t talk him out of his sad mood so I hope the rain will help. When we get back we’re both soaked through and through and in need of a warm shower.

  Uncle Gerard leaves right after lunch. Dad wants to have a rest before my brother comes so I help Aunt Karen get Rowan’s room ready while she prepares theirs for Stuart. Miranda isn’t very cooperative after being told she can’t stay here and despite the promise that she’ll spend the night with her other grandparents. “It isn’t fair. She gets angry and a holiday and I get sentenced to school,” she complains.

  We all sit around the kitchen table when Uncle Gerard returns two hours later. Rowan jumps on Dad first; next he embraces Grandpa Will, Granannie and then me. He looks bigger, happy. Dad is brighter now the morning has gone; he swings my brother around and makes jokes. Stuart says a brief hello to me and talks with Grandpa Will and Granannie. After coffee my aunt and uncle are ready to leave.

  “Thank you so much for having me.”

  “I’ll miss you, Jerome. I enjoyed your company.”

  Miranda is still pouting and doesn’t say much. After they’re gone Rowan claims Dad for himself, which leaves the rest of us sitting in the kitchen in a bit of an awkward silence. This seems to amuse Grandpa Will. He looks from one to the other, raises his eyebrows or cocks his head as if to prompt one of us to begin.

  “How is Lizette?” I ask Stuart, for lack of a better idea.

  “She’s good. She jokes around like always.”

  That’s the end of the conversation. I still wonder if he feels like I deserted him that night, but I have no idea how to ask. Never mind that Mariette will probably kill me if I mention it. She shuffles restlessly in her chair. Stuart plays with his hands, but as if by decree we all stay sitting around that table until Rowan and Dad come running back in, soaking wet and laughing.

  “You two better get cleaned up,” Grandpa Will tells them and then orders Mariette to help make dinner and for Stuart and I to come down into the cellar with him. “I’ve been meaning to move these crates to the back so we can use the centre for the new storage shelf,” he says, and leaves us with instructions of what to put where.

  “I bet he doesn’t care one bit about the crates,” Stuart says.

  “I know.”

  “How did it go at Uncle Gerard’s all this time?”

  “Oh, okay, you know.”

  “I’m sorry about your dad.”

  “He’s better now.”

  Stuart puts down his crate and sits on it. “This is crazy, Jerome. I might as well say it now. I’m sorry for what I made you do that night. It was wrong to force you. I’ve no idea what came over me then. I was even afraid to talk to you until just now.”

  “You were?” I almost start laughing. “…I thought you were angry at me”

  “Why would I be angry with you? You were the only one
who kept your head,” Stuart says.

  “For letting you go into the water alone.”

  “I keep on thinking – what if we hadn’t found her? What if it’d been too late? In the institution where my mum works they have kids older than us who are like babies because they nearly drowned and someone rescued them too late.”

  “Is that why you went to Uncle Alistair’s?”

  “I told Grandpa Will I couldn’t live with it anymore. I had to do something.”

  “What did Lizette say?”

  “She thought it was a great adventure. She told everybody about it. You can bet Rowan knows all the details. And since I mentioned the risk of drowning, she’s been joking about being a vegetable. I couldn’t talk to her at all. All she says is, ‘Don’t be silly’.”

  “So did Grandpa Will ask you to come here?”

  “He didn’t exactly ask but, you know, I don’t care what he does. I’ll take anything. It’s driving me insane.”

  “What about Glen and Toine?”

  “Ha, Grandpa Will didn’t wait that morning. Guillaume was with your dad and Glen grew up here. He barely even got inside. And you can bet that Toine paid too, knowing Rory. But they were only followers. I was responsible, but my mum- …I wish Grandpa-”

  I feel sorry for Stuart. He seems so lonely sitting there in the middle of the cellar. I’m only relieved he isn’t blaming me. “Maybe you could ask him.”

  “How?” Stuart exclaims. “How in the world do you ask for that?”

  Mariette’s voice interrupts us: “Dinner’s ready!”

  “I said go down and tell them; I didn’t say holler,” Grandpa Will scolds her and then he comes down a few steps himself. “You won’t get anywhere if you sit on them,” he says to Stuart.

  “We were talking,” I answer.

  “Good. Come to dinner. You can finish tomorrow.”

  That same evening Grandpa Will orders the three of us into the summer room at the back of the house. I feel better for having talked with Stuart, but there isn’t much to be guessed about the subject of tonight’s discussion.

  “Well, can you explain to the boys what made you so angry all this time?” Grandpa Will asks Mariette without any introduction or preparation. We’re not even seated yet.

  Mariette gapes, blushes, but says nothing.

  “Were you angry at your parents, at the boys, or at yourself?”

  Mariette does what I would when put on the spot – she freezes. I can almost see her pull the curtain over her face.

  “What is it you feel so guilty about that you needed to blame everybody else?”

  Mariette only shakes her head.

  “What about you, Jerome, what is it about that night you’d rather forget?”

  I hadn’t expected this question. I can’t answer it.

  “Did you feel insulted by what Charl did or did you think you might have deserved it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Grandpa Will gestures for us to sit on the floor in front of his chair and bites the end off his cigar before lighting it. “You kids had better keep in mind that these kind of half-cast answers are not acceptable in my book. I told you that morning to think about what I said. You’ve had plenty time for thinking; tonight we talk. I don’t care how late it gets. Stuart, what is it you couldn’t live with?”

  Stuart takes a deep breath and says out loud what he told me earlier. “I just can’t believe I did that,” he says to Mariette. “It was me who forced Jerome. It wasn’t Jerome’s fault.”

  I avoid looking at Mariette directly, though she doesn’t try to make eye contact. She’s only interested in the rug and viciously biting her nails.

  “I want the three of you to tell me exactly what took place that weekend. Not the facts; I know the facts. I’m after your feelings and motivations. Remember, I already have a fair idea, so don’t make it harder by denying things. Remember also that I am your grandfather. I’m not trying to accuse or embarrass you, but when people start saying they can’t live with the guilt, I begin to seriously worry. This needs talking about.”

  He draws on his cigar and takes his time looking at each of us. It makes me uncomfortable. How much of an idea does he have?

  “You played a war game between the six of you. You each had a role. Stuart was the general, Jerome was the private and Mariette was the enemy. What went on that first night?”

  Stuart tells the part about the worms, the not being able to open the tent. Mariette admits they’d locked the other girls in, angry that they considered themselves too mature to play. We describe the second night in a similar way, but then we all fall silent.

  “What was it you had in mind before the boys foiled your plans?” Grandpa Will asks Mariette.

  She explains about the clothes in the tree and the tape recording that eventually went off at the wrong time. “It was just jokes.”

  “Like it was a joke to fill their tent with water and the bags with worms?”

  Mariette shrugs.

  “What did you feel when you saw Jacqui and Gabriela scramble out of the tent, freak for the worms? What did you feel then? Did you feel powerful?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Grandpa Will doesn’t repeat himself, but he looks at her for maybe as long as thirty seconds until she drops her shoulders and nods. I know we’re next.

  Stuart does most of the talking. He stresses that he ordered us, trying to take all the blame. He explains we decided it wasn’t a game anymore. “It seemed like we were only saying it, just words, but something changed. We fed off of each other. We came up with excuses as if the girls were no longer known to us, no longer family, you know?”

  Grandpa Will nods. No doubt Stuart has thought all this through, probably more than once already. “Why did you obey his orders and go for the worms, Jerome? What made you do Stuart’s bidding?”

  “He always decided. He was the oldest.”

  “So you got up and went?”

  “He asked why, but I told him to trust me,” Stuart answers for me and admits he felt powerful having the girls under his control and being able to call the shots.

  “So you felt important and in command; power. What about pleasure?” Grandpa Will asks him.

  “Maybe that too.”

  “Don’t give me ‘maybe’.”

  “Okay, yes. I enjoyed their pleading. It felt like I was getting what I deserved. We’d been on the receiving end for so long.”

  “Did her crying make you back down or put it on a bit more?”

  Grandpa Will doesn’t let Stuart off with anything, but Stuart seems almost eager to spill it all and admits it helped fuel the power. “I’m sorry,” he says to Mariette, who doesn’t look up.

  “What about you, Jerome? You came back and didn’t like what you saw. What made you change your mind?”

  I knew this was coming, but now it’s here my throat chokes up. Grandpa Will slaps his hand hard on the little table at his side, so I have no choice but to look at him. “Did you refuse to do what you knew to be wrong?” he repeats.

  “No.”

  “He tried to, but we-”

  “I didn’t ask you,” Grandpa Will silences Stuart.

  “I didn’t want them to think I deserted them.”

  “So you did what you knew to be dangerous, just so you wouldn’t stand alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did it feel like?”

  I can’t tell him that. I just can’t. Mariette sits motionless on Stuart’s other side. I block out Grandpa Will’s voice as he repeats the question. I feel like Stuart now. I don’t care what he does, but I won’t tell.

  He doesn’t ask again, but attacks Mariette again. She struggles through admitting that she told on Lizette before there was any real threat. That she’d have betrayed Lizette if it meant we’d stop. “I was the coward,” she says.

  “I told Uncle Alistair the same thing when he found us. I told him they’d made me, but it wasn’t true,” I admit to Grandpa Will.
<
br />   “What possessed you to set Lizette off into the fog on the dam with her hands tied?” Grandpa Will asks Stuart.

  “I’m not sure. She wouldn’t cooperate. We needed something drastic.”

  “Why?”

  “Or we’d have lost.”

  “So what was at stake was your loss of power or pride?”

  “I think so.”

  “Where was common sense, logic, responsibility, compassion, some realization that this could be dangerous?”

  Stuart shakes his head. “It wasn’t there. At that point it wasn’t the issue.”

  “It became the issue when she fell in?”

  “Yeah, I suddenly woke up, I think. I suddenly knew she’d drown. I panicked and ran. I don’t know any more how I found her, I just did.”

  “Glen and Toine ran in as well. What about you, Jerome? When you realized what they were doing with Lizette, did you try to stop them? You must have seen the danger. Did you tell Stuart?”

  “No.”

  “Because you didn’t want to stand alone? You were afraid?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell Jerome what you said to Charl when you came in, Mariette.”

  She doesn’t hesitate this time. “Uncle Charl was in the kitchen. I-”

  “Don’t say ‘Uncle Charl’. He isn’t Jerome’s uncle.”

  Mariette starts again, but Grandpa Will stops her once more. “Look at her, Jerome, she’s speaking to you.”

  She doesn’t like it any more than I do but it isn’t possible to ignore Grandpa Will. She tells me she lied because she was angry.

  “Right, and that was it. Then Charl lost it as well and all that because of some game that got out of hand. A game that was about self-image and power, in which each of you represented a group and considered the others strangers. You focused on a difference. In this case it was gender, but in real wars it might be skin colour, religion, language, or anything else.

  “There was no reason to start this war, except the objective, which was the winning of it, am I right? You say the reason you started the pranks was because of last year. But the pranks were meant to be fun. Nobody came here that weekend because they had been injured or unjustly treated or invaded or anything else that sets off wars. That’s because those are excuses for wars, not reasons. Wars don’t have reasons other than the power they bring the winner. The incidents that start wars are never important enough to still be remembered by either side, and a few years later the enemies in one war become allies in the next, fighting over a different piece of land. The instigator is after power, nothing else. The others might start with the idea of defending themselves or some ally, but soon they also count winning points. The soldiers often don’t even know what they’re there for. They follow orders and until things get hot under their own feet they continue their jokes and show-off games, their bragging and occasional harassment of the civilians.