It would be much safer for both of us.
* * *
Character is fate. Remember that, for later.
Remember the kid, too.
And I don’t just mean the kid in me, but the kid in you.
“I know telling you to love yourself is a big ask,” Mariana used to say. “But learning to love, or, at least, have compassion for, the child you once were, is a big step in the right direction.”
You might laugh at that. You might roll your eyes. You might think it sounds Californian, and self-indulgent, full of self-pity. You may say you’re made of stronger stuff. Possibly, you are. But let me tell you something, my friend: self-derision is merely a defense against feeling pain. If you laugh at yourself, how will you ever take yourself seriously? How will you ever feel everything you went through?
Once I saw the kid in me, I started seeing kids in other people—all dressed as adults, playacting at being grown-up. But I saw through the performances now, to the frightened children beneath. And when you think of someone as a child, it’s impossible for you to feel hatred. Compassion arises, and—
You’re such a hypocrite, Elliot. Such a damn liar.
That’s what Lana would say, right now—if she were looking over my shoulder, reading this. She’d laugh—and call me out on my bullshit:
What about Jason? Lana would say. Where’s your compassion for him?
Good point. Where is my compassion for Jason?
Have I been unfair? Misrepresenting him? Twisting the truth, deliberately making him unlikable?
Possibly. I suspect my empathy for Jason will forever be limited. I can’t see beyond his terrible actions. I can’t see into the heart of the man—all the things he endured as a kid; the bad things, the indignities; the cruelties that made him believe the only way to succeed in life was to be selfish, ruthless, a liar, and a cheat.
That’s what Jason thought being a man was. But Jason wasn’t a man.
He was just a kid, playing make-believe.
And kids shouldn’t play with guns.
13
Bang, bang, bang.
I woke up with a fright. What the hell was that noise?
It sounded like gunfire. What time was it? I checked my watch. Ten A.M.
Another gunshot.
I sat up in bed, alarmed. Then I heard Jason outside, swearing with annoyance, as he missed yet another bird.
It was Jason, hunting, that’s all.
I sank back in bed with a groan. Jesus, I thought. What a way to wake up.
And so, we come to the day of the murder.
What can I say about that terrible day? Truthfully, if I had known how it would end, and the horrors it would bring, I would never have got out of bed.
As it was, I must confess that I slept soundly, troubled by no bad dreams, no premonitions of what lay in wait.
I always slept well on Aura. The island was so quiet. So peaceful. No drunks or garbage trucks to disturb your sleep. No, it took Jason, with a gun, to do that.
I got out of bed, the cold stone slabs on the floor waking up my feet. I made my way to the window and threw open the curtains. Sunlight flooded in. I looked out at the clear blue sky, the orderly rows of tall green pine trees, and the blue-and-silver olive trees, pink spring flowers, and clouds of yellow butterflies. I listened for a moment to a chorus of cicadas and birdsong; breathing in the heavy scents of earth, sand, and sea. It was glorious. I couldn’t help but smile.
I decided to do a little work before going downstairs. I always felt inspired when I was on the island. So I sat at the desk and opened my notebook. I sketched out some ideas for a drama I was working on.
Then I had a quick shower and went downstairs. The strong smell of coffee beckoned me to the kitchen, where a fresh pot was on the stove. I poured myself a cup.
No sign of the others. I wondered where they were.
Then, looking out of the window, I noticed Leo and Lana outside. They were hard at work in the garden.
Aided by Nikos, Leo was digging up a plot of earth in an old flower bed. Nikos was doing most of the work, exerting himself. His vest was drenched with sweat. Lana was crouched nearby, picking cherry tomatoes, collecting them in a wicker basket.
I poured myself another cup of coffee. Then I went to join them.
* * *
I left the house and made my way down the uneven stone steps to the lower level. As I walked past the walled orchard, I glanced inside, at the rows of peach and apple trees. They had white and pink blossoms on their branches, and tiny yellow flowers growing among the roots.
Spring, it seemed, yet to arrive in England, was in full bloom on Aura.
“Good morning,” I said, as I reached Leo and Lana.
“Elliot, darling. Here”—Lana popped a cherry tomato into my mouth—“something sweet to start the day off.”