Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey Read Free Book Online Page A

and I’ll end up with lesions.
    I glance at my sandals and try to play down my disgust. “Yair, shit. I usually drink … what is that … 
single
 … malt?”
    “No idea, mate. Dint get much time to read the label. Beggars can’t be choosers, Charlie. You take what you can get.”
    “You mean you
stole
this?” I ask, handing it back to his outstretched fingers.
    “Well, I dint
pay
for it. Lifted it from my old man. Right out from under him. He was out of it, huggin an empty one, so I helped meself to the full one on the table.”
    I nod slowly as Jasper pauses to swallow.
    “But you probably already bin told I’m a thief, right? I’m a lifter? I steal stuff.”
    I pause. Trying to choose the right words.
    “It’s okay, Charlie. You can’t help what you hear. But it
is
what you heard, right?”
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    “Well, what you don’t know, Charlie, what nobody will ever be tellin you except me, is that outside of my old man’s pocket, I
never
stole a thing I dint need. For certain. I’m talkin about food, matches, clothes sometimes, whatever. Nuthin big, ever. Nuthin people couldn’t go without. And, see, it’s these people who expect three meals a day, who got pressed clothes and a missus and a car and a job, it’s them that look at me like I’m rubbish. Like I’ve got a choice. Like I’m some runt who just needs to lift his game. And they’re the ones tellin their kids that I’m no good. They don’t know shit about what it is to be me. They never ask why. Why would he be stealin? They just reckon it’s my nature. Like I don’t know any better. And you know what else, Charlie? I never once bin caught. Not even close. They all just suspect it. Theyexpect it.
Of course he’s a thief
, they say.
Of course he burned down the post office. Of course he hanged that poor girl. That poor girl.
”
    Jasper’s lips are wet. He is starting to merge his words.
    “Your dad doesn’t even buy food?” I ask, and regret my incredulity.
    “You’re joking, right?”
    “Well, I don’t know. What does he spend his money on?”
    “Grog and whores and horses, mostly. But even that’s slowed down since he was laid off. He hasn’t had a job in months. The useless bastard should join the army. Go to bloody Vietnam or whatever and stay there. I’ll sort meself out.”
    “So what do you steal off him?” I press.
    “Well, mostly the stuff that I want. Smokes, drink, money when it’s there. Whatever’s in his pockets. Trick is to do it when he’s stone-cold gone; that way he can’t be sure if he lost it, drank it, smoked it, or spent it. If he’s really bin cooked, he never even notices anyway. It’s always different. Sometimes, after he’s been layin it on, if he suspects me of clearing him out he might let it slide on account of him feelin guilty, but that’s not often.”
    Jasper scratches his chest, offers back the bottle. I scrunch my face.
    “Do
you
ever feel guilty? For taking his things?”
    “Not even once, mate. See, from him, I just figure I’m owed. He’s not a father’s arsehole. I
got
to take it, Charlie, because it’s never gonna get offered. And all my life so far, shit’s bin taken off me, so I’m evenin the ledger a bit.”
    I nod. Jasper continues.
    “But you can’t think that way all the time. It’s a poisonous way to think. There’s no point sittin down feeling sorry for yourself because other kids are gettin Christmas presents or their old men give a shit, or they’ve got a mum who’s a top cook or whatever.”
    “Yeah, but you’re still entitled to …”
    “Nah, bugger that, Charlie. I tole you, I don’t want to think like that. There’s nothing in it. I don’t know. I don’t want to have one of those bum lives where you just always expect your luck to be fucked because that’s the way it’s always bin. No. We always reckoned thatthings would be different once we got out of this town, you know? That’s when we reckoned it’d all turn itself