You've got the choice.
Disclaimer : All characters except Simon's brother belong to William Golding, whom I deeply admire. No offence intended.
Warnings: Everyone who was able to read the book without being scarred for life will be able to read this, too. That means: Violence, language, philosophical thoughts and angst. Probably slash ahead, as well. PG-13 - R
Summary: It's 1968, twenty years after the events of 'Lord of the Flies'. The survivors reunite and travel to the island once more, to have a little ceremony for the dead ones. But then, unforeseen things happen... have they learned or will the past repeat itself?
Note: I started writing this almost a year after having read LotF for the first time, and a day after having seen the 90's movie, which is crap in my opinion (mostly, the actors were okay, especially Simon and Jack). But the movie triggered the fascination I held for LotF once more, so I had to write something. Sadly, I could not just write a little snippet (oh no), but once more a multi-chaptered story. Lately my inspiration is a little undependable, though, so I cannot promise to finish this. Let's hope!
Bagheera (who would also like to excuse for any terrible grammatical errors, for she is not a native speaker!)
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2 Conversations
"What can we do? We don't have a radio or anything, do we?" Maurice glanced at the other men that were sitting with him in a small circle. There were Sam and Eric, who still looked very much the same, although you could easily tell them apart now: Eric had a small scar on his left eye-brow and Sam wore his sandy hair a little shorter. Both had become tall and athletic. There was Bill, in a business suit and with a nice wire-framed set of glasses, looking very much out of place on the beach of a tropical island. Then there was Johnny, once a littlun, now a student at Cambridge – or had it been Oxford?. He looked a little messy, like many students of the social sciences, his fair hair a little bit too long, his jeans faded and his shirt baggy, sporting a rainbow-coloured peace sign. But his expression was soft and intelligent. There were Robert and Harold, both about thirty and looking like men with a good enough job and a nice enough family, decent and straight and maybe a little conservative. Then, a little younger, there was Henry, who had dark hair and a stubble, bags under his eyes and a golden chain around his neck. And there was a young man, not older than 24, with a tumble of black hair and stunning bright blue eyes. They all had stared at him in shock and recognition when they had first seen him at the reunions and the airport. He was the splitting image of his brother. He looked exactly what Simon would have looked like at this age.
"All the equipment was in the plane. It's all gone."
"We'll have to wait 'til they come for us. They'll have to," Johnny said, tying back his fair hair with a ribbon. They all were hot and sweaty, even though it was already evening.
"Fuck it," Henry cursed, fiddling with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. "We're in the same damn mess again." Although a bit shocked by his language, they nodded.
"Should we light a fire again?" Sam asked tentatively. "Like... back then, I mean. On the hill. A signal fire."
"Probably."
"I still can't believe it. How could he?" Harold craned his sturdy neck and looked down the beach, were Jack was lying under the palm trees, looking very much asleep.
"He's a nutcase. A maniac. That's how," Henry mumbled. "I'd shoot him, if just I had my..."
"I don't think so." They all turned their heads. It was the first time that Daniel had raised his voice. Simon's brother was the only one who didn't look gloomy and tired. He had an air of confidence around him that was extraordinary to say the least.
"He doesn't look mad to me."
"Ha! And what's mad to you, Danny?" Henry snorted with disbelief.
"He doesn't look mad to me. Do you remember what he said earlier?" Maurice looked at him closely. He had already noticed that while Daniel resembled Simon a lot, there were also significant differences between them. While Simon had been a shy boy, unable to explain what he wanted to say, Daniel spoke with great clarity and confidence. And he didn't look like he might faint very soon either.
"He said it was time to rectify his mistakes. He said he had learned. I think he might have something in his mind, some kind of plan." Henry grimaced and spat into the sand.
"Bah! Some shit of a plan he has got! You're just as batty as your brother was."
"Henry!" Robert gasped, embarrassed that Henry would speak of a dead person in such a way. Henry shrugged and stood up, walking towards the forest. They fell silent. After a while, somebody's stomach growled.
"Man, I'm hungry," Eric grinned. "Somebody come and look for something to eat with me?" Sam, Robert and Harold followed him, and after a while, Bill and Johnny followed. Maurice was hungry, too, but he stayed with Daniel. The young man was calmly observing the horizon, where night was falling rapidly. Maurice rolled his jacket together and laid down, bedding his head on the clothing. The first flickering stars were appearing on the velvety sky, while the small clouds still were rimmed with gold and copper from a far away sunset. It was not just his dreams and memories that had made this place beautiful and magical. It was dreamlike, perfect. It was paradise, like in the movies, like some holiday resort. It had that unreal quality. Was Daniel right? Did Jack really have a greater purpose when he crashed the plane that morning? But even if he had, it was some twisted purpose, and Jack was not to trust. He turned his head. He could see some other men, farther down the beach, and he could still make out the shadow that was Jack, still lying quietly under the palm trees. They were about twenty men on the island. Almost all of the surviving biguns and quite a few former littluns. Where had they all gone? Where was Ralph? What would they do, when the next morning would come?
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It will really help you to come to a closure, his psychologist had said.
It will be nice to see your friends again, his wife had said, not knowing that there were not any friends.
It will be a lovely holiday, his boss had said, totally unaware of the situation.
Will you bring me a shell, Daddy? Like the one you told me about? His daughter Lizzie had asked.
Oh, what a fool he had been. Ralph should have known that there was nothing good in coming here. He should have known, and still he had come here. He had not wanted to, but he had also been unable to refuse. He had drifted along, right into disaster. He could have screamed until his throat would be sore. All his nightmares, all his secret fears and ugly memories had come true.
It had all started with a letter from Maurice, one of the boys, last September. Maurice had written to him, asking him if he wanted to come to a 'reunion' of the boys who had been on the island. He had wanted to burn the letter, to tell nobody about it, but then he had told his psychologist, and the man had said that it might really be worth a try, that maybe he needed to resurface the memories that had caused his trauma.
So he had gone there, ready to leave as soon as he could. It had been a meeting in a nice restaurant in London, not too expensive, and very quiet. Many of the men he had not recognised, and he had been happy about that. But everybody seemed to recognise him. Some, like Maurice and the twins, behaved like nothing had ever happened, like they were old buddies. Some, like Robert and Harold, ignored him shamefully. And then this young man, just looking at him hurt. Simon. Daniel. Jack wasn't there.
They talked about a lot of rubbish, their jobs, their families, where they lived and so forth. Nothing about the island. Then they met again, and again he went. But that time, Maurice, who seemed to have had that in mind all along, suggested talking about the island. So they did. Agreeing that everything had been wrong and terrible – and an accident. Yes, really. They had only been children after all. Tragic, and very sad, but unavoidable. Tragic, really.
And then, the fateful decision. One of the younger men, Percival, was the son of the owner of a flying school, and he, too, was a pilot. They decided that they would try to find the island and go there, and maybe have a little ceremony for the 'victims'. Simon and Piggy. And the little boy with the mulberry mark, someone added.
Why had he come along?
It will really help you to come to a closure, his psychologist had said.
It will be nice to see your friends again, his wife had said, not knowing that there were not any friends.
It will be a wonderful holiday, his boss had said, totally unaware of the situation.
Will you bring me a shell, Daddy? Like the one you told me about? His daughter had asked.
They were your friends. Your only friends on that island. They deserve it, his conscience had said.
And so he had been on that plane. Only when they had started, he had noticed Jack. Jack, who had never been at any of their meetings.
'Why is he here?' he had asked Maurice frantically.
'He phoned me, said that he had somehow heard of our plan to go there. Said he wanted to come along. Said it was his duty. I think... I really think he's sorry for what he did. What we all did. Except you, of course...'
Ralph might almost have believed it. Jack had looked different. His sandy hair was short and neat, he wore simple, normal clothes, and he looked very calm. Not at all like the bold, arrogant boy he had been.
They made it to the island in the plane, a big thing, one of those planes which can land on the water, and from the plane they had taken a rubber dinghy to the beach, a wreath of white flowers with them, to lay them on the beach. They hadn't even planned to stay over night, had not taken any equipment with them. Jack had been one of the last to reach the shore. Only seconds later, a huge ball of fire exploded, where once the plane had rocked peacefully on the waves. A bomb. It slowly filtered through Ralph's panicked mind, now that he replayed the events in his thoughts, that Jack must have planned this all along.
Why? There were answers, lurking in his mind, that were all terrible and frightening and insane. Jack had always wanted to stay on the island. He had loved being a savage. Jack had maybe always wanted to come back. They had given him a perfect chance to repeat it all.
'I made a lot of mistakes, 20 years ago! Now is the time to rectify them!'
What had he meant by that? Ralph lay shivering under the palm trees, curled into a ball on the perfect white sand, trying his best not to break down.
'Remember that you were children,' his psychologist always said. 'Remember that you're an adult now. It will not happen again. You're living with civilised people. They are not your enemies. You know that we're not your enemies, don't you?'
Civilised people. Maybe. But not here. This place was made to destroy civilisation.
"Why don't you talk to him? If you're afraid, why don't you talk about it?"
Ralph jumped, scrambling away from the voice. But it was only Daniel who stood before him and now leant down. The pale moonlight glistened beautifully on the waves and the white crowns of foam that were carried to the shore by them. Everything was peaceful. Ralph wrapped his arms around his knees, looking into the distance. Daniel sat down next to him.
"Do you know how your brother died?" he asked suddenly, shocked by his own words. But Daniel nodded quietly.
"I do."
"How?" Ralph was surprised. They had never, ever told anyone of Simon's and Piggy's fate. He had wanted to, but he had never brought up the courage to do so.
"Maurice told me, when we first met."
"Maurice."
"He said he needed to tell me. He also said that you all needed to talk about it. He says that if you don't digest the memories you have, they'll suffocate you."
"Is he a psychologist?" Ralph asked dryly.
"He's a reporter."
"Aren't you afraid?"
"Afraid of what?"
"Afraid of us. We killed your brother."
"No. I believe Jack."
"Jack?" Ralph stared at the young face next to him. Daniel smiled gently.
"I believe that you have learned. That's what he's said. That he has learned."
"Just what is it that he has learned? Because I have learned too, you know? I have learned that we're all killers. Either killers or victims. That is all we are. Either hunters or prey."
"Maybe." Daniel still smiled. "But we have the choice to become either a killer or a prey, don't you think so? Maybe he has learned that. That you have the choice."
"Some of us don't have the choice. Piggy didn't. Your brother didn't."
"Yes, but think about it. If they had had the choice, what would they have chosen?"
Ralph fell silent. Daniel had not known Piggy and he probably could barely remember Simon. How could he still be so right about them? Because Simon would never have been a hunter. Piggy... he didn't know about Piggy. Piggy had on the one hand desperately longed to be one of them, and maybe he would have been a hunter just so that they would have accepted him. But on the other hand he had always called them 'kids' and 'stupid' for what they did. He had been the voice of reason. Ralph wanted to believe that Piggy would not have chosen being a hunter.
"And you, Ralph, you could have been a hunter so easily. But you chose to be a prey. And think about it. You're all adults now. Isn't that what it means to be an adult? Knowing how to make choices, how to choose carefully and intelligently?" Ralph looked at him for a very long time, debating that idea in his mind. Then he shook his head.
"You're very different from Simon. Simon knew the truth. He knew that we are the beast."
"But don't you have the power to control yourselves?" Daniel got up, a darker shadow against the dark of the night.
"Don't be afraid. Think about it. What good has fear ever been to you? Fear is what undid you, back then." He walked away, slowly, unafraid of the dark.
Ralph bit his lip. He was alone again. He prayed to a force that he did not believe in, that they would never see who was right, Simon or his brother. That they would be rescued, before the truth would show itself.
"Don't be afraid, that's exactly what I wanted to say to you. Funny, isn't it?" Someone said behind him. Ralph stopped breathing and closed his eyes. Jack. Jack had come for him. He heard him walking in the sand, around him until he was very close, and then he sat down, right were Daniel had just been sitting, but not quite as close. Ralph had to breathe again., and it came out as a sharp gasp.
"Don't be afraid. At least not of me." Maybe, if Ralph didn't answer, Jack would go away. He hadn't anything to say to him. But Jack obviously was quite happy with monologues.
"I won't repeat the past." Against his will, Ralph had to laugh, a choked, disbelieving laugh.
"That's exactly what you're doing! Repeating the past!" For the first time he looked at Jack. He couldn't see much in the dark. Jack was tall and very lean, physically not stronger than him, just as it had been when they had been children. Something had changed, though. It was the stiffness, the way Jack had always been so tense. That had gone, and the way Jack had been loud and impatient, too. It was something you often can notice when people grow up. They get calmer and more secure of themselves, and they relax a little bit. But Jack had not only become calmer, but almost too silent, like something dark and heavy was constantly in his mind. Only Ralph could not believe that it was guilt.
"Maybe... maybe I'm trying to repeat the past... so that this time, I can do it differently.. ."
"What for? To show us how much you have changed? Great, that's not necessary at all! You haven't changed, Jack Merridew, you're still an egoistic bastard. You stranded all of us on an island, on this island, just to show us what a good boy you have become?"
"No!" For the first time Jack was upset . "To show me and you that it can be done differently! Only that. I don't matter."
"...."
"I'm sorry. I know that what I did was... is dangerous and ... maybe not the right way to do it... I just... did you ever think about how you could have done it differently? What you could have done that maybe it all wouldn't have happened? Didn't you replay and replay in your mind, ever and ever again, all the events... asked yourself what you did wrong? Why it has ended this way? It was actually pretty easy for me... I was the reason why it ended this way."
"..."
"Right after the island... I did not feel this way. I didn't feel guilty... only a little afraid, that somebody might... find out what I have done. What we have done. That the adults would know. I knew that what I had done was wrong, but I did not feel that way. But later.... when I grew older... I changed a lot... and I met a lot of people... people who believed in mankind, who were so hopeful... so ... did you ever meet that kind of people? Who think that if we only work hard for it, we'll all be happy? World peace and love for everyone? And I realised that I could not feel that way... because of what I have done, what we have done... and that question was always there, nagging at me... did we do what we did, because we couldn't do anything else? Were we evil? Or could it have been otherwise?"
Ralph found that he was listening raptly, even though he hadn't wanted to.
"It scared me, you know? When I was in love for the first time, really in love, I started to ask myself... started to ask myself how it would be if that person died. And I realised what it meant, really meant, when a person dies... when a person is killed... and I could not stay with the one I loved, because I always imagined... imagined killing her... because I couldn't do anything else, because I was evil... I needed to know. I needed to know if I had changed. If I could do it differently... ."
"I want to be your friend. I wanted to be your friend back then. I still want it."
Ralph did not answer, once again he was unable to breathe. What he had just heard was not the Jack Merridew he had known. Such deep thoughts... such doubts and fears.... he could not tell him, but Jack had already changed.
"I used to think about you. I thought that I might go and visit you, wherever you were... that I might tell you all of these thoughts, because if there was one person who might understand them... it would be you."
"I don't understand you." Not at all.
"But I would like you to understand me."
"And I'd like to be at home, with my wife and my daughter! Fuck, but if you need a therapy, then go and visit some psychologist!"
"Oh, I did." A bird hummed sleepily in the dark of the rain forest. Somewhere down the beach, a man laughed loudly. The waves brushed the sand in exactly the same way they always had. Men would change, but this place would never. "And what did he tell me? That of course these events had been traumatic, but that I should not forget that we had been children. That of course, a group of children can not live without adults. That I was not responsible for what had happened. That I should regard those deaths as accidents. That it would be highly irrational to think of our group of children as a valid representation of a civilised society. That my fears are irrational ... blah, blah... ."
Ralph buried his face in the sweaty insides of his hands. What Jack had just said was a word by word recitation of his own psychologist. He needed a cigarette, really, even though he had stopped smoking four years ago, when Lizzie was born. Damn. Damn it all.
"But they weren't there, were they?" he whispered.