The Insect Farm (37 page)

“And now may I ask you a question, Jonathan?”

“Of course you can, Roger. What is it?”

“You won’t be cross?”

“No, Roger” – and in the light of what he had just been telling me, I wondered what he could possibly be intending to ask me that he feared might make me cross – “you can ask me anything and I promise that I won’t be cross.”

“Tomorrow,” he said, “could we have something different for our breakfast?”

Chapter Thirty

In the many years since those seismic events which shaped so much of the remainder of my life, I have made a number of attempts to write down some of what happened. I thought that the process of organizing the story into a continuous account might help me to come to terms with it all. I am not sure whether it did or did not, but when we got back to our house on the day of my birthday, I went straight to my desk to pull together the various starts I had made over the years. Somehow it seemed to me that these extraordinary revelations from Roger at last offered an opportunity for what I have sometimes heard referred to as “closure”.

I have of course spent the days and nights since then turning over questions in my head. So many questions but, chief among them, how it was that Roger – my older brother, who has so many problems and handicaps – could have done everything he did and still managed to keep his secrets for all these years.

I have also thought much more in recent weeks about the insect farm and the implications for Roger of his role as its creator. It was he who had dreamt up and built this amazing universe, and he who was ultimate controller of everything that took place within it. Perhaps his omnipotence in this
environment helps to explain why Roger felt it to be within his power to control events as he had in our world too. He, it turned out, was the silent and invisible mover behind what happened on the insect farm, but also in the lives of Harriet, himself and me.

I have no way to know whether any of these thoughts will help me to get a perspective on all that has happened, but one thing has become completely clear to me. It is that all the while the insect farm is a part of our lives, I will be destined to remained plagued by these events every single day. Again and again I have turned over everything in my mind, and what keeps coming back to me is that the insect farm has been a hidden player in so much that has happened – the continuing thread running behind so many of the milestones along the way.

It was Roger’s place of hiding when our parents died in the fire; it was the place where I hid Harriet’s body on that terrible night; it was the place where every last trace of her was consumed; and the place where I came within a hair’s breadth of being arrested as Harriet’s killer. It has taken me some while and a lot of agonizing to reach this conclusion, but to me it now seems perfectly obvious that there can be no chance of moving on – for me or indeed for Roger – while the insect farm remains in existence. It has become my firm resolve that we must finally be rid of it.

I realize that I will have to think very carefully about how to break this news to Roger. I do not underestimate that it
will be very difficult for him. His first reaction could well be anger and confusion, and I must not forget how violently he responded when I hinted all those years ago that Dad had wanted to close it down. But I believe that in the end I will be able to make him understand why it is necessary. After all, as Harriet was the first to point out, Roger would do anything for me.

Anyway, that’s a job for tomorrow.