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Statement of Jack Dawson, regarding his life, the sinking of a ship, Rose DeWitt Bukater, and the Heart of the Ocean. Original statement recorded direct from subject March 3rd, 1951.
Statement begins.
The brief screech of the legs of a pulled-up chair cuts through the silence of the playing cassette tape. A man in his late fifties— fifty nine, to be precise— settles down, eyebags potent underneath his eyes, whether from aging or lack of sleep. Yet, despite it all— despite everything he went through and what he's about to tell you— there was… a hint of a soft, melancholic smile on his lips.
JACK DAWSON (STATEMENT)
(Exhale). Nothing was quite the same ever since that day. Those fateful three hours that defined my every waking moment onwards. So many years spent wondering whether I am even alive, or if I'm simply a ghost that God bound to this earth as a… another kind of joke of his that he so often likes to pull. (Brief laugh). Do you know I wasn't even meant to be there? Yet I was, and by the will of God, luck, her piercing words, that beckoning necklace of hers, or— or anything, really— I, I— I did make it out.
Words growing more and more intense with each passing moment, he suddenly hesitates. He looks into your eyes, breathing, body going rigid… only before exhaling with a glint of amusement, reclining in his seat once again, smile only growing wider. He crosses his arms, gaze staring off… somewhere. It is a place you cannot reach just yet.
Oh, that's right. I suppose I ought to start from the beginning. 1912, Southampton port, England. The day the now-infamous "unsinkable" ship, Titanic, was supposed to take on its maiden voyage to America. Did you know a whole 15,000 Irishmen built that gigantic ship? It's true, believe me. A nice Irish man I had the pleasure to speak to told me that while I was sketching. As for me… I, myself, was something more of a tumbleweed rolling in the wind. I'd only recently come from France after drawing my way through the country, taking on the challenge of capturing the loveliest beauties of Europe on paper with my trusty pencil. That was the way of my work, and that is how I found myself anywhere but home at that very moment, though… finally resolving to come back to America.
I know that this ship was the ship of everyone's dreams. It was the largest there'd ever been— even though the purpose of such strive for record-breaking heights was not entirely clear for anyone, really— especially the pretentious folk that built it, I'm sure. That, combining with the deceptive promise of the "American Dream", the Titanic made for a fancy little trap for the rich guys, and the unfortunates from the gutters alike.
Speaking of the gutters, never in my life would I have been able to gather the money for the tickets myself, no, (brief laugh). I won them in a game of poker, believe it or not. Perhaps it was the sole, most important event in my life, all hilariously decided by luck in a single passing moment. I… I do wonder, sometimes, what would have been had I not not taken the voyage. But these thoughts are of scarce purpose.
(Loud exhale). Irregardless, without any second thoughts I found myself running up to the ship with my Italian friend, Fabrizio. We made it! Yelling to each other, laughing… He was a good man. I wish I'd known what truly happened to him. The moment we set sail, me and him immediately made our way through the entirety of the ship, ending up at its bow, looking out into the vast, empty ocean and the warm glow of the sky reflecting in the water— and at that very moment, I truly felt like I was the king of the world. Like everything was finally right. God, how wrong I was. The ocean was so beautiful, tantalizing, I… I just couldn't look away.
The man takes a pause. He looks down, voice going lower and getting weaker. He clears his throat and starts once again with an inhale.
Granted, there was one thing that drew my attention back into the real world. A woman, an aristocrat, clearly unfit to be even in the presence of someone as low as me. And yet she was. She was looking out into the ocean and the infinite blue reflected right into her shining eyes, and the more I stared up at her, the more it felt as though I was losing myself deeper, and deeper, and deeper. She shared a single glance with me, and, truth be told, I remember it just like as if it happened just now— my whole body felt… electrified, even from such a glaringly small action.
The next time, I… unexpectedly found her clinging onto the railing of the bow of the ship, her last hope reflecting from the water, staring out into the distance and combing through her mind for reasons to live. I couldn't sleep that night. Couldn't, wouldn't. God, I was simply too excited to. All those stars above… the quiet swing of the ship… It was all too inspiring. So I wandered, just like I always did. And saw her shaking in her red dress, disheveled hair adorning her sweet, teary-eyes face, contemplating her death but not quite ready to act just yet.
“Don’t do it,” I called out to her, yet I’d already known she wouldn’t, cause if she wanted to, she— she would have done it already. I couldn’t leave her now. Not that I’d wanted to. As her chirpy, saddened voice rang out from her lips, telling me to go away as well as all the multitudes of things I cannot remember as I was simply too engrossed into her vast, sheepish eyes that were shakily staring up at me with so much faith, I simply thought to myself— what sort of terrible things could have possibly happened to her to get to this very verge?
I, I just couldn't stay put. Obviously, I couldn't stay put. I slowly walked up to her, flashing my signature "oh-so-charming cool-guy-from-third-class" smile, and I told her this— this story of mine, (light chuckle), about how I… how I was drowning in a freezing, deep hole of water after the ice cracked beneath my feet back in my childhood, and I that I would have to relive that if she did jump down in the freezing waters, and she just… couldn't resist it, I suppose.
She finally reached towards me and I saw that unwavering glint of hope inside her eyes that I'd finally be able to grasp for myself, and— suddenly, her high heels slipped and all she knew at that moment is holding onto my wrist with her weakened, nervous grip, and all I could do was to focus on her horrified face and all I wanted was to bring her up and hold her close with me so she would never have to experience falling ever again.
(Pause. Shaky sigh, followed by an accepting exhale.)
Yes, we… did manage it in the end. I brought her up, saved her, and she told me her gorgeous name in her voice that was equally as gorgeous — Rose DeWitt Bukater. And then she saved me in return from her despeciable fiancé who was claiming I was doing horrifying things to her. She made an excuse for herself, telling them I saved her, and that I did. We only became closer after this, we… were practically inseparable during the entire voyage, really. Not that it went for too long, but… just because it was with her, it felt as though the days were immeasurably longer.
She had only worn the necklace once. That necklace, the Heart of the Ocean. Ever since she- she brought it out, it is as though we all suddenly became doomed. Well, frankly, I was the one had asked her to let me draw her in it. She trusted me enough to let me, and I am infinitely grateful for that. I hope the sketch rests with her at the bottom of the ocean. We talked, and talked, and talked… We talked about how when we'd have been back in America, she would've left with me. Me. She would've left him and come with me. (Sigh.) Back then, it felt like the greatest moment of my life, really. Biggest accomplishment of my career together with it being the sweetest moment in my entire life. Hm… But as you know, it also didn't take long for this high to plummet.
The Titanic began to sink. Of course, the Titanic began to sink, and I was being framed for stealing the Heart of the Ocean. They threw me in a cell— god just how much I wanted to punch her fiancé for how he treated her— and there was water at my feet. Please save yourself, I was praying under my breath. At this moment, Rose was the last person I wanted to see. I had hoped she escaped, found a- a rescue boat, a piece of wood to lay on, anything, really, but no— my biggest nightmare and guilty dream at the same time came true— I couldn't believe my eyes, but she was there to save me from drowning so very alone on that wretched ship.
Through the gutters we ran up, and, at this point, could only marvel at the hopelessness of it all. The ocean was before us still, that vast, helpless emptiness that instilled dread inside of our hearts. Looking at each other we knew that we wouldn't be coming out of here alive. Her eyes were so… so very sad. As if she'd seen the future. So wet, full of despair, but also a spark of unwavering determination. That is who she was, after all. Rose DeWitt Bukater. Didn't give up until the very end as she grabbed my hand and started running across the ship, until the ground buckled right beneath our very feet and condemned us to a painful death underneath the wreckage.
(Pause.)
Death. Yes, for so long, I did feel as though I had died there. I felt the water rise beneath my back as I woke up and began shaking her so intensely it could've sent the entire ship into a tremble. I needed her to wake up. To survive. If anyone, it had to have been her. It had to. The… the cold waters of the North Atlantic ocean made me shiver with anxiety, settling in deep fear into my bones. I yelled, I attemped to yank her out of the wreckage, b- but I was… only met with a scream of pain, but god, just how happy was I to hear her? I wanted to soothe her, kiss her, but I couldn't. I told her I'd get her out, but… she didn't believe me. Her arm… was caught, crushed, she told me she'd only be holding me back. "We'd die here together, you know?" She said to me. (Light sniffle.) I denied it, of course. Of course I denied it. But with her free hand, she shakily shoved something into my pocket— the Heart of the Ocean, as if she was giving her own heart for me to keep for all this time forward. "I know you can leave. I know you can escape. So, Jack… for me, for all the promises we made to each other, I want you to live. Live your life to the fullest, because I… won't forgive you if you don't, alright? And I'll always be waiting for you after. I love you," she said. I did not want to believe my ears. I told her not to make hed goodbyes, not yet, that it wasn't all lost yet and attempted to drag her out of the wreckage again, but— I felt the rising waters slowly consuming our pathetic bodies. And so I ran. I forced myself out, uncaring whether I injured myselfnin the process. It was for her I had to live. And I rushed out, blood gushing, swimming through the icy waters to a nearest piece of wood nearby. It was big enough for one to get up on, as if it had just been so conveniently waiting for me, and I… I waited. After abandoning her to die, such a lonely death, I… I wish I could have made it better for her. The weight of the Heart inside my pocket nearly dragged me down into the ocean as well.
(Sigh. A long pause.)
After everything, it… felt almost as though we became one. Carrying her emotions, her fears, her sentiments and feelings into the future, as well as the weight of all of her hope that so suddenly fell down on me, I just simply could not allow myself to live. I did not understand whether I was alive or not, and effectively, I might as well have been dead. I couldn't draw, I couldn't walk, I couldn't see anything without thinking of her. For years upon years I could not form a single thought that wouldn't somehow lead back to her, the way I was unable to save her, the way I did not even try. "Perhaps she would have been here with me had I attempted a little harder," I found myself thinking, berating myself, and spiraling down and down deeper into a hole that was only ever deepened by the pain that looking at and just possessing the Heart of the Ocean would give me. It would speak to me, murmur all these viciously sweet things about the waters, about how she's at peace lying at the bottom of the ocean, and that perhaps I should join her to complete the duo of the accursed lovers.
It called for me, even if I weren't looking at it, I… I nearly felt as though I was going insane. But I kept going. Memories of her begging me to live, to have a better life, couldn't allow me to leave this existence, no matter how truly miserable it was. Her hopes for a better future with me weren't letting me simply take the easy way out. And so, again… I wandered. Days, months, years bled together as I rolled across the earth, aimless. Until I finally met him. A frenchman by the name Louis, carrying the same kind of enchanting elegance behind him, the same kind of shine inside of his eyes, the same vastness and intrigue reflecting into mine that helplessly drew me in without a hope for escape. Not that I wanted to.
A single glance into his eyes let me know that I could trust him with anything and everything. I saw it from his smiles— genuine, warm, so soft that seeing them each time felt like a protective embrace which let me forget about the past that lingered within me for so long. He was anything but shallow— from our first conversation I knew I wanted to trust my heart to him, to tell him everything that pained me before, that wouldn't allow me to live. With him and every single word that fluttered out of his mouth as a poem of the highest sorts, my soul felt like it could soar.
Fifteen years had passed ever since Rose died. Maybe it was time for me to finally live.
The man shuffles in his seat. He takes a deep breath, looks into the other side, and exhales again. His story is coming to an end, yet it is only the beginning.
Where do I end and you begin, Rose DeWitt Bukater? It is… something I cannot answer now, and I don't think I will ever be able to. Yet, I… don't feel shackled anymore. Not by her spirit dragging me back into the past, nor by this diamond harboring all the fear and struggle we experienced way back on the ship. Finally, I feel free.
I… I know it's sudden, but I believe you should have it. The Heart of the Ocean. I know many people hunt for it, yet… I don't think I can bear to listen to its call anymore. I can't let myself be tied down by something that wasn't even hers to begin with, but I just… want you to promise me you'll take care of it. That it won't end up in the wrong hands, because only God knows what this wretched thing can do.
Thank you. As for now, I'm… about to be heading out into a new voyage with my husband, in fact. Back to America, again. Perhaps all of this, the memories flooding back in inspired me to make this statement in the first place. Thank you for letting me speak my mind, and— and for taking this Heart for yourself to have. You've helped more than you could imagine.
It's almost time. I'll be back onto the water that beckons me so much. Maybe this time it can soothe the whispers in my mind once and for all.
ARCHIVIST
Statement ends.
(Deep inhale and exhale.)
Right. The Titanic. The infamous largest ship of our lives, sinking April 15th, 1912 at 2:20 AM in the North Atlantic Ocean about 650 kilometers south of Newfoundland, Canada. Sidesweeping an iceberg, the collide led to the killing of more than two thousand people on that luxury ship. Suppose that's where the strife for greatness gets you… The ocean does not see it, and laughs in your face. It wants to consume, to have you lose yourself in its boundless waters, and so it very much did, breaking the liner in two equal halves and leaving it to lay at the bottom of the ocean together with the thousands of unanswered hopes, cries, and fears.
(Sighs.) The Heart of the Ocean, a necklace made-to-order from the famous lost 45-carat Hope Diamond that was stolen from Louis XVI after his execution, recut into a shape of a heart. Incredibly ironic name for the original gemstone to have. I… racked through the storage, and I… did manage to find records of the Heart of the Ocean being kept at the Institute at some point in 1951. Documents of how… looking into it made them think of the depths of the ocean, calling them to it. Records that one wasn't able to stop thinking of crawling into the waters ever since they had the displeasure of looking into it. That being said, however, the nature of its current location is unbeknowst to me. Perhaps it returned back to its rigthful owner at the bottom of the ocean, or maybe it somehow made its way out to plague someone else just as most uncanny paranormal antiques somehow do.
As for Jack Dawson, records of him peacefully buried back in Wisconsin, the state he was born in, were found. Beside him resides his then-new husband, the first and last person he'd ever married. It's always nice to see a happy resolution to a story of grief such as this. Having passed away in 1979, Jack Dawson lived a long 87 years. He would have been 113 today.
I suppose there isn't much else left to investigate, except… excerpts from interviews with other Titanic survivors that were found in media archives. Gathering their words from recordings and newspapers, neither one of them reported seeing a man like Jack Dawson togethed with them on any rescue ship, whether lifeboat or the one real ship that managed to come, RMS Carpathia. At the same time, however… another survivor named Kate, who bore a striking resemblance to the described portrait of the Rose in Mr. Dawson's statement, was mentioned multiple times, together with the necklace she was so keen on hiding.
…Strange. Death… the way it takes you is so peculiar, isn't it? Perhaps Mr. Dawson's words about his own detachment from life have more weight than initially suspected.
End recording.
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