Rachel's Blue

by Zakes Mda

  “Revelation can’t rape nobody,” says Genesis.

  “Sweet grief, what kinda god-awful name is that?” says Nana Moira. “Just call the boy Jason and get it over with.”

  “It don’t matter about the name, Nana Moira. My boy is in the pen.”

  Genesis sits on one of the car seats, his head resting in his hands. Nana Moira puts her cane and the mug of coffee on the floor and sits next to him. They are lost in contemplation for a while.

  “I’ve learned the boy many things about life, but raping women ain’t one of them,” Genesis finally says.

  After Genesis leaves Nana Moira reaches for her bookkeeping records and tries to tally figures on some vouchers. But her mind wanders to Rachel, wherever she might be. And to Jason in a jail cell. Things wouldn’t have come to this if only Rachel had confided in her. She would have advised her differently. Genesis is like family. Stuff like this should be handled within the family, without bringing the law into it. Whatever happened between them was a misunderstanding, a result of Christmas inebriation. She can no longer focus on the ledgers and journals. She will not be able to focus on anything until she finds Rachel and gives her a long hug and then talks some sense into her. She will swallow her pride and drive to Schuyler’s and return with her granddaughter. She regrets that she involved Schuyler in the first place. She should have handled things herself right from the beginning.

  “We gonna lock up early today, it being our first day and all,” she tells the two women. They are not putting in much work anyway.

  Nana Moira is a bit exercised when she gets home and finds a beat-up pick-up truck parked on her spot. She parks right behind it and waddles to the trailer, intent on telling off whoever has the nerve to park in her space. She stands at the door and emits a loud sigh of relief: there are Rachel and Schuyler sitting on the couch and giggling like schoolgirls.

  “Thank you, sweet Jesus, you are back!”

  “Nana Moira!” Rachel jumps up, rushes to her grandma and gives her a big hug.

  Nana Moira is amazed to see the change in Rachel. She is still emaciated but colour has returned to her cheeks and her eyes have some brightness in them. They are less hollow than they were when she left three days ago. Obviously she has been eating some.

  There is another thing too that is strange. The room. Not only has the furniture been rearranged, but the couch is completely different. It is now a sofa in bright red faux leather. Rachel flings herself on the sofa and she and Schuyler huddle together drinking diet soda.

  “How do you like it, Nana Moira?”

  “You done change everthing without telling me nothing.”

  “It’s my house, Nana Moira. I do what I like with it.”

  Technically she is correct. Nana Moira only came to live with Rachel and her parents when her truck farm was foreclosed. Rachel is known to occasionally throw that in Nana Moira’s face whenever they have a disagreement on how things should be done in the house.

  Rachel giggles some more and gestures to her grandma to join them on the three-seater. Nana Moira hesitates, but before she moves to take the seat Schuyler says, “Come on, Nana Moira, don’t be such a downer.”

  She shouldn’t have spoken. Nana Moira gives her the evil eye, and walks to her bedroom. She remains there until Rachel comes to ask for the keys of her GMC Suburban to move it out of the way of Schuyler’s pick-up truck.

  “You should see it, Nana Moira,” says Rachel. “It’s so cool.”

  “It’s all beat-up and ugly,” says Nana Moira, handing her the keys and turning her back to her. Rachel doesn’t seem to notice her gesture; she is bubbling all over the place.

  “You should see it inside,” she says. “Everything is hand-controlled: the breaking, steering and acceleration systems.”

  “I ain’t never seen no steering that’s foot-controlled, no-ways.”

  “She was lucky the Fed did it for her. It costs a fortune to adapt a car for the disabled, you know?”

  “You gonna be crippled like her too if you keep that kinda company.”

  Rachel ignores the remark and goes to remove the car. Then she goes to her bedroom. She retrieves Blue from the floor and sits on the bed caressing her. Soon Nana Moira taps at her door with her cane. Without waiting for her response she enters and sits on the bed next to her. She holds her in her arms.

  “I’m glad to see you’re so happy,” she says.

  “I’m done with not being happy,” says Rachel.

  Even though her grandma treats Schuyler so rudely, she says, it helped staying with her for a couple of days. She could have stayed longer but it is too crowded and chaotic there. Schuyler’s mom, dad and three brothers just hang around the house, drinking and yelling at one another and strewing stuff all over the floor. None of them is working and they all depend on SNAP, soup kitchens and food pantries for their survival. It didn’t help that Rachel had mood swings most of the time. She would be happy and smiling one moment, and then in tears the next. She slept with Schuyler in her bedroom, and because she didn’t have Blue with her she sometimes woke up screaming from the nightmares. And when that happened the whole household woke up. Although Schuyler was patient and understanding, her folks couldn’t cope with her. They were dismissive of her experience and didn’t think it was any big deal. She overheard the brothers laughing about it. “I can’t imaginate Jason doing it right with his foolish hippy dick,” said one brother. “Hippies got dicks too?” asked another brother. The third one would not be outdone. “Floppy hippy prick,” he said, and they all broke out laughing. They didn’t even seem embarrassed when they saw her standing there. As far as they were concerned it was not about her, but about Jason. They didn’t reckon she would feel that her rape was being reduced to a joke.

  She knew it was time to leave.

  She missed her Nana Moira. And she missed her home. But she couldn’t face it the way it was. She wanted a change in the house that would suit the change that has come over her. She took advantage of Schuyler’s pick-up and transported the old couch to Goodwill in Athens, and bought another used one there. With Schuyler’s help, though limited by her mobility problems, she rearranged the furniture. As soon as she had accomplished that she was overwhelmed by an effervescent joy that continues till now.

  “That couch was still good, Rachel. You just wanna spend money for nothing.”

  Rachel laughs and says Nana Moira is famous for her miserly ways. She doesn’t like to spend money for anything. Even the women at the Centre always tease her that she holds to the nickel until Thomas Jefferson squeals.

  Nana Moira wants Rachel’s happiness to last. She observes that she hasn’t touched her guitar for a long time. Maybe she should start playing and busking and everything will be normal again.

  “I’m never going to be playing again, Nana Moira. Everybody knows that I suck. I’m not going to be anything ever.”

  “You can go to Hocking. Learn the thing you wanted to learn and be somebody like you always wanted to be. If it ain’t music it can be something else.”

  “I don’t wanna be anything. I don’t deserve to be anything.”

  Then she breaks out laughing. She looks so happy Nana Moira thinks it is unnatural. Her Rachel has always been the brooding type. But now she is so wide-eyed and carefree.

  “I’m afeared for you, you know that, my baby?” says Nana Moira.

  “Why would you be scared for me, Nana Moira? We gonna be fine.”

  “We ain’t gonna be fine, Rachel. As long as Genesis’ boy is in the pokey we ain’t gonna be fine. He’s like family to us.”

  Rachel continues to be bubbly.

  “Well, I’m gonna be fine regardless.”

  “This is gonna haunt us for ever. You must withdraw that case.”

  “No,” says Rachel firmly, and then stands up to glare at her grandma.

  “What if he gets right? You ain’t gonna forgive him?”

  “If you’re going to harp on that, I’m gonna leave again.”


  Nana Moira loses her patience with her and stamps her feet.

  “You don’t wanna do nothing I tell you, Rachel. I’m your grandma and I love you.”

  Rachel laughs and sits on the bed next to Nana Moira and embraces her.

  “Okay, Nana Moira, I’ll go to the Sheriff to withdraw the case. I’m gonna tell them I was mistaken, it didn’t happen the way I said it did. Anyways, I’ve come to realise it was my fault. Whatever happened was my fault.”

  Nana Moira hugs her back. They are locked in each other’s arms for a long time. She then leaves after kissing her granddaughter on the cheek.

  She is at the stove frying pork which she is going to pile on tortilla chips with cheddar – a treat for Rachel – when she hears a piercing scream from Rachel’s bedroom. She rushes in and finds Rachel tearing into things like a raging bull. Her bedding is on the floor and she is screaming as she rips posters of country singers from the wall. As Nana Moira appeals to her to calm down she grabs the lamp from the nightstand and smashes it on the floor. She reaches for Blue on the floor and tries to tear her apart, but Blue is too strong. She flings her across the room. Nana Moira reaches for Rachel and tries to restrain her. Rachel doesn’t resist. Nana Moira staggers with her to the bed and they sit. She melts in her grandma’s arms. She is gasping and sobbing as her grandma rocks her as she used to when she was a baby.

  “It’s gonna be all right, baby; it’s gonna be fine,” Nana Moira keeps on repeating.

  She parks her car at the City Parking Garage and contemplates the meter. She is not sure how many quarters she should insert because she has no idea how long her business will be. She inserts four hours’ worth of quarters and walks out of the garage, along Washington Street. She then crosses Court Street and walks into the Athens County Court House. She places her handbag on the conveyor belt and walks through the security checkpoint. She takes the elevator to the third floor.

  Schuyler is already waiting on a bench near the door of Judge Alexander Stonebrook’s court. They exchange greetings and huddle together quietly, watching people as they go in and out of the offices and courtrooms that open to the foyer. Occasionally the elevator opens and people trickle out and take the other benches. They all look serious, which is understandable since most of them are parties to some litigation or witnesses or relatives of accused persons. They all wait quietly.

  “There is a lot of waiting here,” Schuyler whispers to Rachel. “You’ll get used to it.”

  She is talking from experience. She spent days and even weeks waiting on these benches when she was on trial for stealing the ashes of her boyfriend. Rachel knows what she is talking about. She has waited on two occasions before. But she does not respond; she is trying to deal with her dread.

  A prisoner in an orange coverall and manacles on his hands and feet walks out of the elevator followed by a police officer. His face brightens when he recognises two women sitting on the opposite bench. They smile back at him. The prisoner is led to a bench next to the door of another judge’s court. The two women are allowed to join him there.

  A tall lean man in a dirty fawn striped suit enters and perches himself on the far end of Rachel’s bench without so much as giving anyone a glance. He is so comfortable and sure of himself that everyone can see that these are his haunts. He takes out a book from his pocket and reads. From time to time an attorney comes looking for his client and chit-chats with the man before dashing into the courtroom or the elevator.

  “He’s a journalist from the Athens News,” whispers Schuyler.

  This piece of information unsettles Rachel.

  “He’s going to write about this case? It’s going to be in the newspaper?”

  “If he thinks it’s interesting enough.”

  “I don’t want to be in the newspaper. People are going to talk.”

  “They’re going to talk anyways. No big deal.”

  The prisoner is quite a chatterbox. The two women are laughing at some yarn he is narrating animatedly despite the shackles. You could have sworn they are chilling in their own living room without a care in the world. None of them seems to be apprehensive of the proceedings that will be taking place involving them today. The officer guarding the man sits on a nearby bench and occasionally laughs along with the prisoner and the women.

  Rachel looks at them enviously. If only she could be as relaxed. This is the third occasion she has had to come to this court, and every time she has sat here she has endured stomach cramps and dizziness and nausea and sweaty palms and a fast heartbeat.

  It was worst on the first occasion. She was by herself because Schuyler had a job interview. She whiled away time by observing people getting out of the elevator and imagining what they could be here for. She wondered why some of them could be so cheery in a gloomy wood-panelled place like this. Some of them were workers – young law graduates clerking for some judge, secretaries and attorneys. She could never imagine herself being happy working here.

  Her anxiety worsened when Genesis walked out of the elevator with a beautiful middle-aged woman. She had a sophisticated and confident look. She was so impeccably dressed and groomed that Rachel concluded she was not from Athens. She was right. The woman was Kayla Trenta from Columbus, regarded as the foremost sexual offences lawyer in the state. She prides herself on putting together the best courtroom defence and for winning some of the toughest cases in the various county courts throughout Ohio. She is well-beloved by alleged felons because the first thing she says on the initial consultation is that she never passes any moral judgment as to the circumstances of the case and therefore the client should talk freely. She is also in great demand and therefore very expensive.

  Kayla Trenta walked into the courtroom and Genesis sat on one of the benches. Although he was almost opposite Rachel he didn’t give her so much as a glance. She felt very bad for putting Genesis through all this pain. He has always been such a nice man. And very generous too. Often he donated the extra produce from his garden to the Centre. And now he has to sit here for hours on end all because of her. She felt pangs of guilt. She wanted to go to him, kneel before him, apologise, and tell him that she was sorry that she called the Sheriff in the first place. It was all Schuyler’s fault. Okay, it was her fault because she went along with that. She wanted to tell him that she had wanted to withdraw the case; she had been determined to do so after promising Nana Moira. But again Schuyler had intervened. She had stubbornly driven to the Sheriff’s office regardless. Schuyler had chased her in her pick-up truck. As she breathlessly told the deputy at the desk that she wanted to withdraw the case Schuyler had hobbled in and told the deputy that Rachel was out of her mind; what she went through had made her unstable. She would regret it later if she withdrew the case. The deputy had sided with Schuyler and tried to persuade her to proceed. In any event, the deputy had added, the matter was with the prosecuting authorities and Rachel did not have the power to withdraw it if they thought the accused had a case to answer. It was no longer Rachel’s case, but the State of Ohio versus Jason de Klerk.

  She wanted to confess all this to Genesis, like a penitent hoping for absolution. She stole a glance at him; his pained expression disabused her at once of any notion of seeking release from him. So, she just sat there and waited and fought any urge to take another glance at him.

  The elevator opened and out walked two police officers with Jason in orange coveralls and manacles on hands and feet. A brief moment of panic as their eyes locked. She buried her head in her hands, trying very hard to stop the urge to take to her heels. But not before she noticed that Jason had gained a lot of weight in the three months since the incident. It couldn’t just be the oversized coveralls. His face was puffy.

  Jason was led into the courtroom and Genesis followed. As no one bothered to tell Rachel what was happening she stood up and looked through the glass door. There was no one else in the court except Jason sitting by himself on a bench and Genesis sitting behind him. The police officers were sitting a dis
tance away. Rachel was pleased that they were at least giving father and son the opportunity to talk.

  She went back to sit on the bench.

  No one informed her that at that very moment Judge Alexander Stonebrook was listening to heated arguments from Kayla Trenta and the prosecutor, Dylan Holton, in a closed hearing. Trenta had submitted a motion that the defence be allowed to introduce evidence about Rachel’s previous sex life. She also wanted to be allowed to question Rachel and any other witnesses individually before the trial to determine whether the Sheriff’s office had placed undue influence on Rachel to proceed with the case when she wanted to withdraw it. Trenta submitted that the alleged victim wanted to withdraw the case because she knew that the count of rape against her client, a first degree felony that could land a poor innocent man in jail for life, was false. The prosecutor, on the other hand, was arguing that Ohio’s rape shield laws prohibited an accused rapist from presenting evidence about the alleged victim’s previous sex life unless it had direct bearing on the alleged rape. Trenta argued that the evidence that the defence would present about sexual relations between Rachel and one Skye Riley, a coal miner from West Virginia, had direct bearing. She did not elaborate, but Holton knew how wily Trenta was, and how easily and logically she could connect the dots on unrelated incidents and convince the jury that one was a result of the other.

  As these arguments were going on in the judge’s chambers Rachel sat there waiting. She pulled out a mobile phone from her handbag, hoping to play a game or text Schuyler, but the darn thing was dead. She forgot to charge the battery this morning. Perhaps she should have brought a book, she thought, though she was not much of a reader. Perhaps a magazine. Or a newspaper. All boring stuff, but it would have helped to while away the time. If only she had her guitar. That would have done it. On second thoughts, no. It would not have done it. She didn’t ever want to touch that guitar again. Or any guitar. She hated everything about it. About music. About her whiny voice which she didn’t even know was whiny until Skye Riley told her so. Skye Riley. She had not thought of him all this time. Three months since the thing happened and she had not thought of Skye Riley once.