Jude's Music

Twenty-One

There was no one left to talk to, except Jude. I didn't know where to turn with all the questions that were boiling inside me. If I wanted my friend to get completely better, I'd have to tell him everything I knew. Mr. Black liked him, so maybe Jude would know how to make the old man happy. I wanted to get the entire problem out of my hands; I wanted to put it in Jude's. I was tired of Moss Lake, of the house next to it, and of the man who lived there. I was tired of everything. I didn't want to care about any of it ever again.

The day after I spoke with Mrs. McBride was Friday, so Jude and I were supposed to go to Mr. Black's house. I had other plans, however. I went through the woods with him after school, just as if everything was normal. When we reached the old stump, though, it was my turn to stop him.

Even though Jude and I had been talking more easily to one another since we were spending more time together, I had serious things to discuss, and I was afraid I couldn't get started on my own. That's why I needed the help of the stump.

After the two of us had scaled the bark, Jude frowned at me. "Why are we wasting time? We have to get to Mr. Black's."

I was gaining courage. I could feel my feet sucking it up from the golden rings beneath them. So I wasn't too afraid to say, "No. I'm not going there today. I need to show you something."

Jude might have been a little annoyed, but if he was, he didn't show it. He only stood there, the white skin of his face contrasted against the dark backdrop of the forest. Stepping closer to me, he asked, "What's wrong?"

I started to talk. "I never told you – and I'm sorry – but I know why Mr. Black is so miserable. See, a while ago, before we met him, I learned that there was an accident in the lake right outside his house. Somebody drowned there a really long time ago, and right after it, Mr. Black shut himself up inside his house and sold his car. He didn't let anyone near the lake, and he wouldn't even go into town for groceries. Martin Switchett takes him his food. Anyway, what I didn't know was why Mr. Black was so sad about the whole thing. Of course it's terrible when somebody dies on your property, I suppose, but it was pretty extreme for him to become so mean and lonely over it. I wanted to find out who had died, but I couldn't find any of the newspaper articles from that time. Eventually, after I looked and looked, I kind of forgot about it. Then just this Monday, I found the missing articles in Mr. Black's house. Do you remember when I went into the kitchen?" He nodded slowly. "Well, I was looking for paper towels, but I found this." Saying that, I took off my gloves and pulled the terribly crumpled newspaper clipping out of my pocket, where it had been for several days. "Here," I said. "Take a look at this." I handed the article to Jude.

His reaction to it was much different than what I thought it would be. I expected him to show some sign of shock or surprise at the fact that the woman was Mr. Black's daughter. But Jude startled me by what he did.

Holding the picture close to his face, he studied it hard. Then I watched his eyes move across the lines of type as he read the article. I waited patiently for him to finish. He took his time, though, and I began to wonder whether he was reading it through a second – or even a third – time. What was taking him so long?

"It's his daughter!" I finally cried, my patience worn thin. "Don't you get it? The lady who drowned was Mr. Black's daughter. That's why he's so sad!"

With one quick motion, Jude tore the black-and-white clipping straight down the middle. Then he ripped the halves into quarters, and he kept tearing until nothing but little squares remained. Opening his hands, he let the scraps fall. I watched in confusion as they fluttered downward, the folds of newspaper flipping back and forth like live things until they came to rest on the old stump. When I lifted my gaze to look at Jude, I saw that he had tears in his eyes. The only times I'd seen him cry were right after he played, and this wasn't one of those times. I didn't know what was wrong with him.