Jimmie Character Analysis

Her mum had written down each and every word in that book, and one day Jimmie would read them and hear her mum’s voice again. So she didn’t pack the book into the boxes with the other things.

That was three years ago. She still can’t read the words. Still can’t hear her mum’s voice.

I know about Thermoses because some days the Jackets bring them in filled with wonderful smells that I never knew existed, and they sip away at those smells and yo-yo their keys, and all I can do is watch. Queeny gets right mad when they do that, but that just makes them laugh. They don’t laugh with their eyes, though, and soon enough they move away or put the lids back on the Thermoses. I don’t mind it. With smells, if you close your eyes and breathe as deep as you can, they turn into a taste right at the back of your throat, and then you can almost pretend that the Thermos was brought in for you as well.

‘Subhi. I don’t want it to end. I want this to last.’

I hand back that book without another word. I get it. I don’t want my ba’s stories to ever end either. ‘Good thing you don’t know them then,’ the duck says quietly. ‘They can’t end if they never start.’ He thinks he’s being funny.

She wonders what it would be like, only knowing what’s inside that fence. Never being able to go exploring. Never swimming in the creek or running down a hill. ‘He’s probably never even climbed a tree,’ she says out loud. Jimmie feels the howl in her throat turn from happy to sad at the unfairness of it all.

How can people be so mean to each other when isn’t everyone just the same anyway, and why can’t anyone work that out?

I never used to know what Queeny meant when she said that, about being invisible. But then I think of Eli and I think of Nasir, and I think of the different I feel when Jimmie is here. Like someone is really seeing me, really listening. I haven’t felt like that before. So when Queeny asks me if I understand, I do. And I wonder if maybe that’s how everyone is feeling. I wonder if maybe that’s the sad angry sick that’s all over the place and funking up the air.

And I wish I didn’t understand, because understanding doesn’t fix it. Understanding just makes it worse.

Jimmie wants to ask more. Wants to find out how they can help, so that no one has to sew their lips together. Wants to know why they have been locked up in there for so long. Why no one is listening. Why it is illegal for people to try to save their families. Why it is illegal to want to live. Jimmie wants to know.

But her dad has already slid the paper across the table and is flicking through to the sports pages.

Queeny says they only do it so that I shut up for a bit and stop pestering them for more stories. She reckons the only time I’m ever quiet is when I’m being told a story. But Queeny doesn’t get it. I need these stories. Everyone else in here has memories to hold on to. Everyone else has things to think on to stop them getting squashed down to nothing. But I don’t have memories of anywhere else, and all these days just squish into the same. I need their stories. I need them to make my memories.

Harvey says that drawing down the stories for the oldies is important. He says it’s like I’m making the oldies their very own blanket to wrap themselves up in and keep them warm and safe.

All the little rats who are too scared to go into the Space watch me, their noses quivering to see what happens next. I tell them that when I get back, I’ll tickle their stomachs for them, each and every one, and give them chocolate every chance I get. I tell them I’m sorry for their baby.

I don’t run. I walk. Just like Jimmie did. Straight ahead to the perimeter fence. [...]

Then I’m under and those rats and cheering and clapping their paws together and some are even whistling their congratulations.

I’m frozen just watching. More and more black angry smoke clouds up from the camp, and I just want to be with Maá and Queeny and Eli, no matter if it means sizzling right up like a sausage along with them.

I look at Harvey. I think of Oto and Anka and Iliya and Ba and Maá and Queeny and Eli and all of us. All of them all that time ago, and all of us now. Just trying to find somewhere to be safe. Just walking our journey to peace. I can hear Queeny’s words in my head and now they make sense. I get it now.

‘We’re the dead rats, Harvey. Just like Queeny said. Left out to rot so no one else bothers to try. There’s no keeping safe for us.’

Harvey looks at me like he’s never seen me before. But he doesn’t say I’m wrong.

‘The sparrow in the house. Queeny was right after all. It did mean death. Eli...’ But Jimmie hears me. She hears and her eyes go soft and she shakes her head and brings my hand up to her cheek.

‘No, Subhi, you’re wrong. A sparrow in the house doesn’t mean death. It means change. Waking up new and starting again. Subhi, a sparrow in the house is a sign of hope.’

Her mum had written down each and every word in that book, and one day Jimmie would read them and hear her mum’s voice again. So she didn’t pack the book into the boxes with the other things.

That was three years ago. She still can’t read the words. Still can’t hear her mum’s voice.

I know about Thermoses because some days the Jackets bring them in filled with wonderful smells that I never knew existed, and they sip away at those smells and yo-yo their keys, and all I can do is watch. Queeny gets right mad when they do that, but that just makes them laugh. They don’t laugh with their eyes, though, and soon enough they move away or put the lids back on the Thermoses. I don’t mind it. With smells, if you close your eyes and breathe as deep as you can, they turn into a taste right at the back of your throat, and then you can almost pretend that the Thermos was brought in for you as well.

‘Subhi. I don’t want it to end. I want this to last.’

I hand back that book without another word. I get it. I don’t want my ba’s stories to ever end either. ‘Good thing you don’t know them then,’ the duck says quietly. ‘They can’t end if they never start.’ He thinks he’s being funny.

She wonders what it would be like, only knowing what’s inside that fence. Never being able to go exploring. Never swimming in the creek or running down a hill. ‘He’s probably never even climbed a tree,’ she says out loud. Jimmie feels the howl in her throat turn from happy to sad at the unfairness of it all.

How can people be so mean to each other when isn’t everyone just the same anyway, and why can’t anyone work that out?

I never used to know what Queeny meant when she said that, about being invisible. But then I think of Eli and I think of Nasir, and I think of the different I feel when Jimmie is here. Like someone is really seeing me, really listening. I haven’t felt like that before. So when Queeny asks me if I understand, I do. And I wonder if maybe that’s how everyone is feeling. I wonder if maybe that’s the sad angry sick that’s all over the place and funking up the air.

And I wish I didn’t understand, because understanding doesn’t fix it. Understanding just makes it worse.

Jimmie wants to ask more. Wants to find out how they can help, so that no one has to sew their lips together. Wants to know why they have been locked up in there for so long. Why no one is listening. Why it is illegal for people to try to save their families. Why it is illegal to want to live. Jimmie wants to know.

But her dad has already slid the paper across the table and is flicking through to the sports pages.

Queeny says they only do it so that I shut up for a bit and stop pestering them for more stories. She reckons the only time I’m ever quiet is when I’m being told a story. But Queeny doesn’t get it. I need these stories. Everyone else in here has memories to hold on to. Everyone else has things to think on to stop them getting squashed down to nothing. But I don’t have memories of anywhere else, and all these days just squish into the same. I need their stories. I need them to make my memories.

Harvey says that drawing down the stories for the oldies is important. He says it’s like I’m making the oldies their very own blanket to wrap themselves up in and keep them warm and safe.

All the little rats who are too scared to go into the Space watch me, their noses quivering to see what happens next. I tell them that when I get back, I’ll tickle their stomachs for them, each and every one, and give them chocolate every chance I get. I tell them I’m sorry for their baby.

I don’t run. I walk. Just like Jimmie did. Straight ahead to the perimeter fence. [...]

Then I’m under and those rats and cheering and clapping their paws together and some are even whistling their congratulations.

I’m frozen just watching. More and more black angry smoke clouds up from the camp, and I just want to be with Maá and Queeny and Eli, no matter if it means sizzling right up like a sausage along with them.

I look at Harvey. I think of Oto and Anka and Iliya and Ba and Maá and Queeny and Eli and all of us. All of them all that time ago, and all of us now. Just trying to find somewhere to be safe. Just walking our journey to peace. I can hear Queeny’s words in my head and now they make sense. I get it now.

‘We’re the dead rats, Harvey. Just like Queeny said. Left out to rot so no one else bothers to try. There’s no keeping safe for us.’

Harvey looks at me like he’s never seen me before. But he doesn’t say I’m wrong.

‘The sparrow in the house. Queeny was right after all. It did mean death. Eli...’ But Jimmie hears me. She hears and her eyes go soft and she shakes her head and brings my hand up to her cheek.

‘No, Subhi, you’re wrong. A sparrow in the house doesn’t mean death. It means change. Waking up new and starting again. Subhi, a sparrow in the house is a sign of hope.’