Scorpion Grass
by Jack Dalwood
Trust me when I say, nothing exciting ever happens in Gosdale. This quiet neighbourhood that stood alone from society; as though situated at the edge of the world. A seaside settlement, that knew not the grandeur of a city, only the rhythmic sound of the ocean. I’ve lived here for almost fifty years now. It was always peaceful. Always quiet.
“I say with certainty. Nothing happens in Gosdale.” The police officer leaning on my door frame frowned.
“No disrespect ma’am, but I’d say the missing child would disagree with you there.”
Ah right. That.
“Oh, I’d say she’s just gone wandering,” I began, “that’s hardly anything of note.” The man’s frown deepened.
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to ask a couple of questions.”
I sat in the kitchen while he strolled through the house at his leisure and examined each room while I waited. Surely he didn’t suspect me... What if… No. What reason would he have to think such thoughts? Besides, I’d done nothing wrong. For every question he may have asked, there was a reasonable answer. I could tell him exactly what he wanted to hear. I’d done nothing wrong.
A slight yawn escaped as I waited.
“Late night?” asked the officer, appearing from the hall.
“No, no. Not really.” I’d merely been feeling tired as of late. The supposed events of the previous evening had played no role.
“So you slept through the screaming then?”
“The-, the what?”
“Last night at approximately 10PM, a number of people reported hearing the screams of a young girl. The one now presumed to be missing. Is this sounding familiar?”
“I-, what, n-no.” I’d not heard anything last night, save for the waves splashing against the rocks. Splish. Splash. Back and forth. Always.
“Funny,” said the officer, “I’ve collected statements from your neighbours. One claims to have seen you through the window at the time of the incident. According to them you were very much awake.”
My face soured and I clenched my fist slightly.
“Of course they did,” I spat. “Some of the people in this town have been liars their whole lives. Attention seeking low lives. Always causing some sort of trouble. I assure you officer, I lay sleeping before 10PM. I heard no screaming. Perhaps if you wish to solve this case, you should look no further than the bastards who fed you these falsifications.”
“Calm down ma’am, I’m simply following every potential lead. And rest assured I’ll be speaking to them again in the near future.” Good. Exactly who had spoken to the officer, I did not know. But for whatever reason, they had seen fit to pass the blame onto me. Likely in an attempt to cover their own hide.
“Perhaps you had company last night,” the officer suggested, “the culprit perhaps?”
“As far as I know, nobody else was here last night.” I stood and gestured to the windows and doors visible from the kitchen. The doors all locked and bolted. The windows shut tight.
“There’s no way anybody could have been here at all, let alone having entered without my knowledge. As you can see officer, my residence is highly secure.”
“Still, stranger things do happen.” I yawned again, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the officer. But he didn’t question it.
“Is there anything else you could tell me ma’am? Anything at all that may assist with the investigation?”
“Perhaps… I think so… ”
I lead the man up the stairs and into a small room. It was a relatively empty space and yet one I found myself in for many an hour. Tranquil. I would come here often to relax in the large chair, positioned directly in front of the window. The window that allowed a perfect view of my garden below. The window from which I had observed a group of children the day before.
I knew not if one of these children was the one that was now missing. But such a coincidence was not unlikely. Children would often play in the garden located at the front of my house. It was the envy of many who passed through the neighbourhood. So it was never surprising to see the children who were drawn to it. It was spacious. Lush. Vibrant. But I think it was the flowers that impressed most people. The rows of the same, blue flower that dotted the ground. That was the true beauty of my garden. There was an unspoken agreement that they were not to be touched. Such beauty had to be preserved. Thus, seeing the children from my seat by the window had become commonplace. The group yesterday had been no different to the others who had come before. The attention they had garnered however, had been a slightly different story.
A man had stood on the edge of the street, a few houses down. From this distance, I had not made out any fine details, but the basic features were visible. I had seen at the very least, where his attention had been directed. He had stared intently towards the garden for some time. At the group as they had laughed and ran around at the flowers edge. An unsettling feeling weighed heavily upon the atmosphere. He had eventually glanced toward the window and, upon seeing me, turned to leave. Minutes later, a car crawled along the road, passing slowly by the garden. The children, oblivious to the dark vehicle, hadn’t reacted as the engine roared to life and it sped out of town. It hadn’t reappeared, and neither had the man. At least, I don’t think so. I’d not seen him if he had. But the stranger’s visit seemed to be too perfectly aligned with the incident.
I relayed this to the officer, who stood peering through the same window I had used the day before.
“Thank you ma’am. What you’ve witnessed is unnerving to say the least. But, it may well help us bring the child home.” I nodded in agreement.
“Oh I do hope so.”
I escorted him back to the lower floor and out of the door that he had once entered through. The air was heavy again. The wind whispering gently through my flowers; as though it knew some great joke we were unaware of. The officer’s gaze fell upon them
“They’re beautiful.”
“Indeed. The envy of the town I’d wager.”
“You did say that, yes.” He smiled and crouched down. The smile faded slightly as he did so. I followed his line of sight. He was focused on a few flowers, no more than five or six. Dead. Trampled. Dirtied. One large footprint lay imprinted in the soil beside them.
“B-but- they all know not to touch them,” I stuttered.
“Yes,” he pondered, “you mentioned that. Ma’am, I’d suggest you go inside and ensure that all entrances are locked. Stay inside tonight. For all we know, there may have been a very dangerous individual in this garden.” He picked up the dead flowers and stood. “May I?”
“Of course, they’re no use to me in that state.”
“And might I ask what they’re called?”
“Scorpion grass.”
I watched from the upstairs window as the car rolled down the driveway and out of sight. Everything was locked, as per the request. The flowers swayed gently in the wind. As they always did. They saw many things. They knew many secrets. It was silent now, as dusk approached. Silent. Except for the waves. Colliding with the rocks. Always moving. I closed my eyes and allowed the sound to wash away the day, cleansing my mind. The waves were awfully good at washing things away. I opened my eyes once more and thought of the officer. He had left with two things. The flowers? I think that was one of them. And the other was the knowledge of what had happened yesterday. The story I had told him about yesterday. I imagine, had Letha been able to do so, she would have told a very different story.
Rationale
Scorpion Grass is a short story told through first person perspective, in order to construct the voice of an unreliable narrator. The story itself details the exchange between the narrator (an elderly woman) and a police officer; both of whom, remained unnamed. In a structure, similar to an interrogation, the officer questions the narrator's involvement in the recent disappearance of a child. Over the course of the story, the narrator attempts to detail her understanding of the disappearance; in order to defend her claimed innocence. However, through the omission of relevant information, numerous contradictions and physical cues, the narrator’s credibility continuously deteriorates. Thus, the reader is forced to consider which aspects of the story are true and ultimately analyse the elderly narrator’s reliability.
Through the unreliability, that will later be detailed further, the reader is forced to assume a role, similar to that of the police officer. Audiences must question her involvement, using the given evidence, and make a final decision as to whether they believe she is guilty; as no definitive answer is ever given. The assumption of the officer’s role bears similarities to a concept referenced in Erikson’s Essay On Characterisation. “We’re dragged along behind Eleese by that point of view, meaning the reader is invited to feel all right about ‘struggling’ to catch up to the narrative, since Brianth is doing the same.” - (Steven Erikson, Essay On Characterisation). This idea is mimicked in Scorpion Grass. However, it does subvert from this concept slightly, as instead of assuming the role of the narrator, as is the case with Erikson, the reader assumes the role of the secondary character. This was done in order to allow the reader to make their own inferences and conclusions, rather than simply being given all the information. This is another concept explored by Erikson. “You are either spoon-fed, or expected to feed yourself… the latter takes effort, work, thinking and learning. I would argue that the rewards are worth it.” - (Steven Erikson, Essay On Characterisation).
Readers need not look further than the first paragraph to determine that the narrator is unreliable, as shown in this extract. “Trust me when I say, nothing exciting ever happens in Gosdale.” - (Scorpion Grass). The opening line was deliberately made to be a plea from the narrator to the readers that they place their trust in her. However, mere sentences later, the statement she wishes for us to believe is contradicted, via the revelation of the missing child. As such, any trust is immediately broken, and audiences are wary of her every move from the outset. Consequently, readers will potentially infer that she had something to do with said disappearance. Thus, the dominant interpretation is that she is intentionally lying, in order to deflect suspicion. This is then constantly reiterated via the actions of the narrator and further contradictory statements. While she claims to have been asleep, she was seen awake at the time of the incident. Additionally, she bears signs of fatigue, indicating that perhaps she was indeed awake. Furthermore, the stuttering exhibited by the narrator whilst speaking alludes to her potential anxiousness at the prospect of being discovered. Additionally, her sudden anger at being accused also solidifies this theory. ‘“Of course they did,” I spat. “Some of the people in this town have been liars their whole lives. Attention seeking low lives.”’ - (Scorpion Grass). All of these choices were made with the intention of subtly implying the narrator’s involvement. However, the most unnerving pieces of evidence are presented during the inner monologue in the final paragraph. “The waves were awfully good at washing things away.” - (Scorpion Grass). This excerpt seemingly incriminates the narrator, with readers led to believe that the missing child has been disposed of via the sea. This is furthered even more, after the narrator explicitly claims that her story may be different to that of the child. Finally, the choice was made to name the child in the concluding sentence, despite zero mention of a name elsewhere. In using “Letha,” it highlights that the narrator has supposed knowledge that had not been divulged to her by the officer. And thus, this creative decision ultimately forces many readers to conclude that she is intentionally lying.
However, an alternate interpretation can be garnered. The concepts of alternate readings and false inferences are explored in Jim Barloon’s analysis of A Rose For Emily. “How teachers and their students choose to approach a particular story … lies outside the purview of my control… One should not adjudge interpretations right or wrong.” - (Jim Barloon, A Rose For Homer). As Barloon explores, there are often red herrings within texts that are used to direct the reader's thoughts down a certain path. A similar phenomenon occurs within Scorpion Grass. The conclusion of the story offers no definitive answer as to whether the narrator is actually lying and the culprit. Thus, there is the possibility that she is in fact innocent. Furthermore, it is plausible that the narrator is not intentionally lying and instead merely suffers from some form of dementia.
While it is not as apparent as the other reading, it is still highly likely. This is due to the fact that every clue that hints towards her criminal nature was specifically chosen to also hint towards her memory loss. The version of events conveyed merely depends on reader interpretation. Trouble speaking, anxiety, sudden changes in mood and fatigue are all common symptoms of dementia. All of these are shown by the narrator and it is assumed that it highlights her guilt. However, when revisiting the story, it becomes clear that the narrator’s unreliability may not be a choice, but instead a mental impairment that prevents her from telling the truth. This potential reading explains why the neighbours statements contradicted her own. “‘Funny,’ said the officer, ‘I’ve collected statements from your neighbours. One claims to have seen you through the window at the time of the incident. According to them you were very much awake.’” - (Scorpion Grass). Examples such as this outline her forgetful nature. The narrator claims to have been asleep, while the neighbour states that she was awake. In reality, she may have simply forgotten when she went to sleep. Numerous, similar examples are presented throughout the story. Additionally, the fact that the narrator repeats the same statements multiple times proves the credibility of this reading. “‘Indeed. The envy of the town I’d wager.’
‘You did say that, yes.’” - (Scorpion Grass). Finally, the ending of the story also aligns with this interpretation. The statement “the waves were awfully good at washing things away,” is immediately assumed to be malicious. However, having been a resident in Gosdale for many years, there are numerous things she could be referring to. In this instance she may simply be stating a fact that has no other intended meaning. Or perhaps, it may be a reference to the ease in which she forgets the day when listening to the sound. This is replicated in A Rose For Emily. “Those who insist upon maintaining that Homer Barron is gay must hang virtually their entire case upon the claim that Homer ‘likes men.’” - (Jim Barloon, A Rose For Homer). As is the case in A Rose For Emily, a key piece of evidence is ambiguous and may not mean what it initially seems to. Even the narrator knowing the child’s name can be attributed to her false memories.
Creating two equally valid explanations for the narrator’s lack of credibility is what constructs the true unreliability. While readers are well aware that the narrator must not be trusted, it is never made definitively clear as to why this is the case. Essentially, the depiction of her unreliability is, in and of itself, unreliable.
Symbolism is utilised to create additional depth and bolster the underlying implications of the story. Poe’s Essay On Composition outlines his own use of an emblematic creature to drive the plot forward. “I had now gone so far as the conception of a raven - the bird of ill omen… in a poem of melancholy tone.” - (Edgar Allan Poe, Essay On Composition). Poe highlights that the use of the raven as a negative omen was a key component in designing the story. Ultimately, much of the plot was reliant upon the idea of the bird. This idea was utilised in the creation of Scorpion Grass. The titular flowers served as a symbolic device, around which much of the story was designed. Furthermore, as Poe’s raven serves to match the tone of the poem, the flowers in Scorpion Grass also achieve the same feat. The tone of the story itself is often unsettling and at times mysterious; as are the flowers. There is no explanation behind their importance and yet there is constant emphasis placed upon them. This serves to solidify the idea that something is amiss and strengthen the often mysterious tone.
The implementation of the scorpion grasses as a symbol replicates the creation of two different interpretations (as discussed previously). Commonly, scorpion grasses are referred to as forget-me-nots. A flower that is often representative of dementia/memory loss. But a flower which is also given to others when an individual passes away. As such, it is once again clear that it could mean either of these two things; hence why it was an essential component of the story. It was a key point of focus, as it served to represent the story as a whole; offering the two different perspectives. This is akin to the raven representing the darkness and sadness in Poe’s poem. In both instances, an item that embodied a key idea was used to develop the story.
On the whole, unreliability in the narrator is created via the use of symbolism, characterisation and the deliberate development of two contrasting interpretations. In accordance with techniques presented in critical literature, Scorpion Grass displays this unreliable narrator. Ultimately it leaves audiences unable to decipher a definitive truth and are instead left with their own interpretation of the truth; as they are made to construct their own version of events. A task that the narrator was essentially unable to accomplish.