X-Isle

by Steve Augarde

  He was aware of hands upon his shoulders, and he heard Jubo say, “You OK, guy. You OK.”

  Baz wiped his streaming eyes, coughed and spat, and spat some more. He couldn’t get the awful taste out of his mouth. His stomach gave another dry heave, and another, but gradually his juddering breath became calmer. He looked briefly upwards to see that Jubo was standing beside him.

  “No... no good?” he said.

  “Taps?” Jubo shook his head. “Nah. Him gone, man. Come on. We get you on your feet.”

  Baz needed all the help Jubo could give him to get back up the rubble bank. The pair of them were dripping wet, and it was difficult to get any kind of grip on each other. Time and again Baz slipped from Jubo’s grasp and fell. But somehow they got there, staggering over the lip of the jetty at last and onto level ground. Jubo still held him upright, and now the pair of them were confronted by Steiner.

  “Satisfied?” Steiner’s lips were pursed in cold anger, his upper teeth protruding slightly. He stepped forward and caught Baz with a stinging slap on the side of the head. As Baz rocked sideways, Steiner lashed out again – this time at Jubo. But Jubo managed to dodge what was coming, letting go of Baz’s arm in order to protect himself. With no further support, Baz collapsed in a heap. He looked up to see Steiner and Jubo in a brief circling dance on the brink of the jetty, Steiner’s arms outstretched like a goalkeeper’s, Jubo dodging from left to right, trying to get past. Then Steiner suddenly lifted his foot and kicked Jubo straight between the legs.

  Jubo doubled up and fell to the ground, rolling this way and that in gasping agony.

  “What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?” Steiner’s freckled face had turned red with fury. “Just ’cos one little nutter decides to go for a chuffin’ swim doesn’t mean you all have to. You’re not much use to me alive, but you’re no chuffin’ use dead!” He whisked at the ground with the side of his boot, sending a shower of stones flying towards Baz.

  “Get up! Yeah, you! Come on. You’ve wasted enough chuffin’ time already.”

  Baz rolled over onto his hands and knees and struggled to stand up. “Now get that other useless tosser onto his feet. Drag yourselves down to t’ sort room and tell Hutchinson I need a couple of replacements. Now!”

  Jubo was still lying on his side in the dust, clutching at himself, tears of pain streaming down his face. Baz staggered over, his stomach in turmoil. He crouched beside Jubo.

  “Come on, Jube. Better see if you can get up.” He managed to lift Jubo into a sitting position, then grabbed his wrists and hauled him onto his feet.

  “Ah... ah...” Jubo’s breath escaped in short bursts.

  “Come on. You’re OK.” Baz got one of Jubo’s arms around his shoulders.

  “Oi – shift yourselves!” Steiner took a step towards them, and Baz made an effort to start walking.

  “Come on,” he said to Jubo. “We can do it.”

  They began to stumble slowly along the jetty. As they passed Dyson, he gave them a slight nod.

  “See you later, Jubo,” he muttered. But Jubo said nothing.

  About halfway back to the main building Jubo called a halt. “Gonna have to stop.” He disengaged himself from Baz and leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees, head down.

  Baz was glad of the breather. His insides were knotted up in pain and he felt dizzy. The putrid taste was still in his mouth, a reminder of his underwater terror, the moment when he really thought he was going to die. To die. And that was what had actually happened to Taps. Poor guy. Poor, poor guy...

  The sudden splatter of falling liquid made him jump. Jubo was throwing up. Bits of yesterday’s spaghetti festooned the tarmac, thick white worms in a pinkish juice, watery patterns trickling through the dust.

  Baz felt his stomach lurch, and he too leaned forward, retching a couple of times in sympathy. But though his guts heaved and the back of his throat felt as though it would split open, there was simply nothing there. He got a grip on himself and stood up again.

  “Jesus, man.” Jubo’s voice was thick and muffled. He let out a deep breath, took another. Eventually he stood up too, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

  “Ey.” He looked directly at Baz, his dark face covered in a film of sweat. “I gonna kill that Steiner. I don’t care who say what – it already happen, man. Yeah. And not ’cos him kick me, but ’cos him stand there and watch Taps drown. Don’ lift a finger. So I gonna take him – and rass, man, to what Dyson or anyone else t’ink. Yeah?”

  Baz nodded. Yeah.

  The hum of the sort room died down as they walked in, everyone turning to look at them. Hutchinson was slumped in a low chair close to the fire doors, one foot resting on his knee, a magazine spread across his lap.

  “What do you two want?” he said.

  “Been an accident,” said Baz. “Down at the jetty.”

  Hutchinson took in their bedraggled appearance, glanced at Baz’s bloody shins. “Get Gene to give you a plaster or something.” He flicked the pages of his magazine.

  “No. It was Taps...” Baz didn’t know what to say. “Taps fell in the sea. He’s gone.”

  “How d’you mean, ‘gone’. You mean like... drowned?” Hutchinson sat up straighter, paying attention now.

  “Yeah.” Baz hung his head, aware of the dead silence that had fallen upon the room. “He fell off the end of the jetty. We tried to get there – me and Jubo. But he’d gone. And then I fell in as well – and I nearly drowned too. And then Steiner beat us both up and—”

  “Christ.” Hutchinson stood up and flung his magazine onto the chair. “So what’s the matter with this one?” He looked at Jubo. “Did he nearly drown as well?”

  “Steiner kicked him.” Baz was embarrassed. The way Jubo was standing made it obvious where he’d been hurt. “For trying to help,” he muttered.

  “Ha.” Hutchinson was unmoved. “For acting like a prat, you mean. OK, so what does Steiner expect me to do about it?”

  “He wants two replacements,” said Baz. “To mix the concrete.”

  “Do what? He loses one of his own, and so now he wants two of mine? We’ll see about that.” Hutchinson took off his lab coat and hung it on a peg next to the door. As an afterthought he picked up his magazine, folded it and stuffed it in the pocket of the coat. “Right, you two. Stay here. Mark up some tins while you’re waiting. And the rest of you – keep working!”

  Hutchinson pulled open the fire door and left.

  “Ffffffff... ffff Me got serious grief here, man.” Jubo hobbled over to Hutchinson’s chair and gingerly lowered himself into the seat. The other boys began to gather round, their mouths open, eyes wide with shock.

  “What happened? What happened?”

  “Taps was... on the jetty.” Baz stared blankly at Amit, trying to remember exactly what he’d seen. “Just walking along the jetty, carrying his buckets. But he didn’t stop – he kept right on going.”

  “What, like, on purpose?”

  “Maybe. I dunno. We were miles off – just coming down from the playing fields with the wheelbarrows. And Taps... you know that counting thing he does? He was counting his footsteps, seeing how many from the sports center, how many from the sand pile. Maybe he got his numbers mixed up. But he just kept... he just kept on walking...”

  Baz’s voice faltered as he saw it again in his mind, the distant little figure, so colorful, disappearing over the edge of the jetty. Had Taps known what he was doing? Had he really decided to try and kill himself? Or was he just unable to stop until he’d reached the right number?

  Ray came and stood next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right?” he said.

  “Well, I’m still alive,” Baz said. “And I’m in better shape than poor old Jubo here. Don’t think he’ll be riding a bike for a while.”

  It was a stupid joke and nobody smiled.

  Amit put both hands up to his temples, his eyes staring wildly at the floor. “God, I can’t believe this place,” he said. �
��Just can’t believe it. Taps has gone and we’re all standing here. What’re we gonna do? Something’s gotta happen before we all end up jumping off the jetty.”

  “Yeah, I tell you wha’ gonna happen,” Jubo croaked. “I gonna take a hammer to that Steiner. I gonna wait till him in his crib and den clat him so hard his brain jump out.”

  “Do Hutchinson as well, then,” said Amit. “’Cos he’s as bad. Neither of ’em could give a stuff about Taps.”

  “Hutchinson’ll be back in a minute,” said Gene. “So watch what you’re saying. But you’re right. Things are getting bad, and we’re gonna have to talk about it. Later, though. Come on, Jubes – let’s get you on your feet and give you some tins to play with.”

  Gene’s prediction was correct. Within a couple of minutes Hutchinson came back into the sort room.

  “OK,” he sighed, apparently calm and un concerned. “A couple of you better get down to the jetty. Amit, Robbie, stop what you’re doing. Go and give Steiner a hand.”

  Baz had been going over things in his mind, and now he remembered something that Taps had said earlier about Hutchinson. The boys were in the slob room, grouped around the seating area as usual, and they listened as Baz tried to recall the conversation.

  “It was to do with the hymn books – forgetting the stupid hymn books in chapel. I think maybe Hutchinson got into trouble over it with Isaac, and then blamed it on Taps. Anyway, Taps told me he wasn’t going down the hole again, and said something about how he wished he could make the days longer. Oh, God...” It all became clear. “Hutchinson was going to put him down the hole, wasn’t he? Next Sunday. He must’ve said that to Taps.”

  “What?” said Robbie. “After what happened to him last time? Taps couldn’t have gone through that again.”

  “The bastard!” said Amit. “I reckon it was Hutchinson that drove Taps mental in the first place. And Steiner. It’s their fault he’s dead now.”

  “It’s kind of our fault too,” said Gene. “We should’ve tried to help before it ever got to this.” He sighed. “Too late now.”

  “Ey – some of us try to help,” said Jubo. It was obvious to Baz who these words were intended for, but a few of the others looked puzzled.

  “Huh?” said Amit. “What are you getting at?”

  A few moments of silence and then Dyson spoke.

  “He’s getting at me. It’s because I stayed up on the jetty – didn’t go down into the water to look for Taps. And you wanna know why? ’Cos I already knew it was no good, that’s why.”

  “Nah, it ’cos you scared, man,” said Jubo. “You scared of Steiner.”

  “I’m no more scared of Steiner than you or anyone else.” Dyson leaned forward in his chair and looked directly at Jubo. “But I’m not going to get myself beaten up for no reason, OK? Look at you. Baz nearly drowned, and you got a kick in the bollocks. You reckon it was worth it? Taps had already gone, so what was the point?”

  “If you don’t know, guy, then I ain’t gonna tell you.”

  “They tried,” said Amit. “That was the point.”

  “Hey – you weren’t even there, Amit, so butt out!” Dyson was looking beleaguered, his face reddening as he tried to defend himself. “You’re all mouth. And since when did you care so much about Taps, anyway? You were the one that called him a retard, not me.”

  Amit said nothing.

  “I ain’t all mout’.” Jubo raised a fist. “I say I gonna take that Steiner an’ it be done. I got him in the bag already, man. Body bag.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Dyson’s voice was a sneer of dismissal. “Whatcha gonna do, Jubo? Choke him to death with one of your farts?”

  The tension in the room broke and everyone laughed.

  “Ey – whatever it necessary, guy.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  At Sunday chapel Preacher John gave another raging sermon, and this time, surprisingly, he mentioned Taps. At first the boys didn’t know who the preacher was talking about, and it took them a while to twig.

  “Heavenly Father, in as much as it has pleased you to take from us our brother Paul’ – Preacher John lifted his eyes and hands to Heaven – ‘and have gathered him unto you, let his body and soul be as a sacrifice for our sins.”

  Paul? Who was ‘our brother Paul’? What was he on about? Baz glanced sideways at Amit, who just shrugged and pulled a dumb face.

  “Give us a sign that his young life has been accepted by you as an acknowledgement of our guilt and as a payment against our debts. Draw back the waters, O Lord, then we shall know that we live in your sight once more.”

  Preacher John looked towards the vacant piano stool. “And thus shall we give, and give again, until the tally is met, and all our sins have been washed away. Amen.”

  Only then did it dawn upon Baz that Preacher John was talking about Taps.

  “Hymn number one-three-one. All stand.”

  Baz rose automatically amid the general shuffle of feet, and began to flick through his hymn book.

  “When I survey the wondrous cross... “ The voices sounded ragged and unmusical – naked somehow – without the piano.

  At the end of the service Preacher John said, “Capos, stay behind as usual.” Then he pointed at Gene and said, “And you, boy. I want to see you as well.”

  “I never knew his name was Paul.” Enoch was sitting cross-legged on the grass. He dipped his spoon into a tin of beans and passed it on.

  “Yeah,” said Dyson. “We only started to call him Taps because... Well, it was obvious why. He was always ruddy well tapping something. Like, if he did five on one knee, he had to do five on the other.” Dyson accepted the tin of beans from Enoch. He had agreed at last that sharing their food was the only way. The loss of Taps had drawn the boys together, healing the rift between them. The atmosphere behind the sports center was less strained than it had been the previous Sunday.

  But if the disagreement over food had been settled, the bigger worries had not.

  “So... I didn’t get it,” said Enoch. His pinched little face was creased into a frown. “Taps was like a sacrifice? But it was just an accident, wasn’t it? I mean, he wasn’t pushed or anything. So how could he be a sacrifice?”

  “Dunno. Maybe Preacher John’s asking God if poor old “brother Paul” could be like a gift or something.”

  Baz remembered the way Steiner had stood at the end of the jetty, just looking down at the water. Watching.

  “Do you reckon Steiner was told not to help?” he said. “Like maybe those were his orders?”

  “Nah,” said Jubo. “Nobody know what Taps gonna do.”

  “’Cept maybe Hutchinson.” Ray balanced a tomato on his spoon, and paused with it in mid-air, as if struck by the meaning of his own words.

  “What – you think Hutchinson made him do it? Told him to?” said Amit.

  There was a moment of reflection as everybody considered this possibility.

  “Come on. Even Taps wasn’t that crazy.” Dyson dismissed the idea.

  “What d’you mean, he wasn’t that crazy? He soddin’ well did it,” said Amit.

  “But not ’cos someone told him to.” Dyson still wasn’t having it. “You think we’re all going to get told to jump off the jetty like good little sacrifices?”

  “Next time someone might get pushed,” said Amit. “And what was that thing that Preacher said? Right at the end he said something about doing it again, or giving again. He was looking at where Taps used to sit, at the piano, and said, “We’re gonna keep on giving.” Something like that. “Till all our sins have been washed away.” Gave me the bleedin’ creeps, that bit did.”

  Gene appeared round the side of the sports building. He walked over to the flattened patch of earth and plonked himself down.

  “Right,” he said. He pushed back his long curly hair and let out a deep breath. “This is serious. Hey – did you save me any food?”

  “Yeah,” said Amit. “We kept back a tin. Here. Lamb stew. So what was all that about?”

/>   Gene took the tin of food from Amit. “Preacher John had a special job for me,” he said. He picked up the tin-opener, but just sat there staring down at it, turning it over and over in his grimy hands.

  “Get this. He wants me to build him a crucifix. A cross. So I said, what, like something to go in here? On the wall? I thought he wanted to make the assembly hall look a bit more like a chapel, maybe. So Preacher John said, no, it had to be bigger. So I said, how big do you want it? Know what he said to me then?”

  Gene raised his head and looked around at the puzzled faces. “Lifesize.”

  It took a while for that piece of information to sink in. The circle of faces remained blank.

  “What do you mean, lifesize?” Dyson was the first to speak. “How big’s that? You mean big enough to...” His voice trailed off.

  “Yeah, that’s right, mate,” said Gene. “Big enough to crucify someone on. He didn’t say that was what he was gonna do with it, but that’s how big he wants it.”

  “Christ!”

  “Exactly. Christ. And Christ knows what he’s thinking. But if he’s really going off his head, then we need to be coming up with some kind of plan. Today. “Cos this has got me worried, I can tell you.” Gene applied the tin-opener, the soft click of engaging metal clearly audible in the surrounding silence.

  “You don’t really believe he’s gonna start crucifying people,” said Dyson, and there was the trace of a plea in his voice, as though he were looking for reassurance rather than stating a fact.

  “I don’t want to hang around to find out,” said Gene.

  Baz wondered if he was the only one to have noticed the faint smile that passed across Gene’s face, and to have seen the grim little joke.

  “We gotta be getting outa here,” said Jubo. “Teef that salvage boat or somet’ing...”

  “And go where?” Gene took a mouthful of stew. “Mainland’s as bad as this place. Worse.”

  “Maybe another island somewhere. Where there no Preacher, ey?”

  But there were no other islands as far as anyone knew, and stealing the boat would first mean stealing the keys from Isaac. Who would risk that?