Rachel's Blue

by Zakes Mda

  The sound of shackles interrupted this train of thought. It was Jason being led out of the courtroom to the elevator. He made a point of looking at Rachel and smiling. She quickly looked away. Genesis soon followed and walked straight to the elevator without even a glance at her. After some time Dylan Holton came out and told her she could go home. Lawyers were arguing about things she shouldn’t bother herself about. She wondered why she was required to be here in the first place if this was lawyers’ business and not hers.

  That was the first occasion she had waited here for hours and she had left livid. The second occasion was a week later. She went straight to her bench like a homing pigeon. This time Schuyler was with her, so things were slightly better. She talked incessantly, commenting on the fellow waiters or hazarding a guess as to the crimes of manacled prisoners in orange coveralls. At one time an officer shushed her, but after only thirty minutes or so she was back with her running commentary.

  The panic hit Rachel again when they brought Jason in, and then there was the parade of the usual characters: Genesis in his dungarees and plaid shirt and muddy boots, Kayla Trenta looking like she walked out of a fashion magazine, and Dylan Holton traipsing about as if the floor would crack. They walked into the courtroom leaving her out there like before.

  Holton and Trenta went into Judge Stonebrook’s chambers while Jason, Genesis and the police officers remained in the courtroom.

  This time Rachel’s wait was not that long. The judge was only a few minutes with counsel, informing them that he was denying Trenta’s pre-trial motions. There would be no individual voir dire questioning of Rachel or any other witnesses on whether the Sheriff’s office had an undue influence when Rachel wanted to withdraw the case. Also, the shield law would be observed and the defence was barred from using any evidence of the alleged victim’s sexual history. The prosecutor told Rachel and Schuyler that they could go home. Once more Rachel wondered why she had been asked to be there in the first place.

  This third occasion she hopes things will be different; the case will proceed and she will be done with waiting here with all the hostile and curious eyes stinging her. The stomach cramps and dizziness have returned and she wishes she were at home sleeping on her bed, which is what she does most of the time these days. Since she returned from her brief exile at Schuyler’s home she spends most of the days in her room with only Blue for company. Until Schuyler comes every other day or so for a visit. Rarely does she visit Schuyler because she finds her brothers annoying.

  The chatterbox prisoner in orange coveralls is still entertaining his guests. Rachel reckons the older woman is his mother and the younger one his sister. Or perhaps his wife? He looks rather young to have a wife. She wonders what he has been charged with and why he doesn’t seem to be concerned. Why his relatives seem to be unconcerned too. Perhaps he is such a habitual criminal that these environs have become home to him and his family.

  Her speculations are interrupted by Genesis who walks out of the elevator. This time he is with his wife. They enter the courtroom. So does the Athens News journalist and a few other people who are obviously spectators. Schuyler indicates to Rachel that they must also go in. They take a seat in the back row where Rachel hopes they will not be conspicuous.

  She has never been inside a court before and her eyes explore the room, from the Great Seal of the State of Ohio in the centre of the wall she is facing, with the American flag on the left and the state flag on the right, to the stained glass windows to the left and right of the judge’s bench. One window portrays Lady Justice holding her golden scales and the other a woman taking an oath on the Bible. On the walls there are black and white photographs of Athens County Bar Association members for various years.

  Soon Jason and his lawyer enter. One could easily mistake him for a lawyer himself in his black suit, white shirt, black tie and black shoes. He is betrayed only by the manacles on his hands and feet. He walks with difficulty; every step accompanied by the clink of chains. He is clean-shaven both on the face and the head. Kayla Trenta is glamorous in a black pants suit, a white blouse and strings of pearls around her neck. Schuyler whispers to Rachel that the colour coordination of lawyer and client is a deliberate attempt to sway the jury. She does not provide the answer when Rachel asks how this is supposed to sway the jury and why there is no jury in the jury box to sway anyway.

  The people all rise when Judge Alexander Stonebrook enters, and only sit when he has taken his seat at the bench. He announces that the accused, Jason de Klerk, also known as Revelation de Klerk, was scheduled to take a plea bargain today but he was informed at the last minute this morning that the deal was off. A few days ago the attorney for the accused and the prosecutor had informed the judge that they had worked out a deal and that Jason was prepared to take a plea and probably be sentenced today. One party is accusing the other of reneging on the terms of the plea, although he does not say which party that is. It would seem there is new evidence that makes it impossible for one party to proceed with the previous terms.

  All this is a mystery to Rachel. She had not even known that there were any negotiations for a plea bargain going on, and does not understand what that would have entailed. She is puzzled as to the nature of the new evidence that has been discovered. Is it in Jason’s favour or in hers? Well, not quite in hers since she is just a bystander in this matter. Is it in favour of the state’s case? She has learned to accept that she is the last person who counts in this trial.

  “We’ve been working very hard to get ready for this case,” says the judge. “It will have to proceed to trial. Because of scheduling conflicts, this trial can’t start for three months at the very least. The trial can’t proceed even presuming we can get a jury this month.”

  Dylan Holton addresses the court.

  “I just want to declare in open court that the state is withdrawing all plea offers,” he says.

  “That is understood, Mr Holton,” the judge responds. “It is what I have been saying.”

  “I just want it to be on record, Your Honour.”

  There is not much that the women can say to each other as Rachel drives Schuyler to Rome Township. She is totally drained and annoyed with herself for allowing Schuyler to bully her into pursuing this case. She should have listened to Nana Moira instead. Now she is going to carry this weight for another three months. She had hoped that today was the last day she would ever have to deal with this matter. She had been convinced that from today everything would be behind her and she would start on a new page.

  Another three months of torture and nightmares.

  Nana Moira and Rachel are relaxing on the couch watching the auditions of American Idol on television. Rachel is laughing so much at the antics of aspirant competitors that her belly is sore. Nana Moira occasionally cackles, but generally thinks it is cruel to put these people through all this ridicule. Instead she is looking intently at Rachel who is laughing so heartily that Nana Moira can see the cornmeal cheese puffs in her mouth.

  “Something is growing in you, Rachel,” says Nana Moira out of the blue.

  “Whatever you mean, Nana Moira, that’s ridiculous.”

  “I’m a grown-ass woman, Rachel, and I see it all over you. Somebody done knock you up; unless you think am friggin’ stupid.”

  For three months she missed her period. She ignored that. Then she began to throw up. She ignored that too. After all she had been throwing up a lot from the day she was raped. Any sort of anxiety made her throw up. Then she began to crave Cheetos. The Xxtra Flamin’ Hot Crunchy type. Something she never cared about before. She has hated hot spices all her life. But here she was crunching them like nobody’s business. Schuyler told her she was pregnant. She said Schuyler was talking crap.

  And here is Nana Moira also talking the same crap.

  6

  There is nothing there. Dead. Whatever was implanted in her womb is dead. It’s been dead for months. Now it’s just lying there in her belly, dead. One day the dead weight
will just ooze out when she pees and that will be the end of the story. She will forget it ever happened. Ooze out with her period even. Yes, the period will return with all its inconveniences and cramps, and she will be normal again. Until then she will carry on with her life as if nothing has happened.

  She carries the dead weight with her everywhere she goes, though she does not give it a second thought. Until either Nana Moira or Schuyler, the only two people who know about it, bring it up. She hates them when they do.

  The old enemies; it is strange how they were on the same side when she discovered she was pregnant. They both wanted her to have an abortion.

  The first time Schuyler brought the matter up was three months ago. They were at their haunt, the Skull and Bones Bistro, which is not really a bistro but a bar that’s painted black and white inside and serves regular pub grub rather than the French home-style cooking that one expects at an establishment that labels itself a bistro. When Schuyler’s stoner-biker boyfriend was still alive this used to be their trysting place.

  Rachel was still in her first trimester when Schuyler raised the matter. Perhaps towards the end of it. One can only guess because she had not gone to a doctor nor taken a pregnancy test of any kind. But both Nana Moira and Schuyler were certain of it just by looking at her, and by observing all the funny things she had developed, like morning sickness and irrational cravings. She, of course, fluctuated between denial and resignation.

  “Keeping the baby is like continuing the rape,” said Schuyler. “It’s gonna remind you of it all the time.”

  This clicked with Rachel. Also, the baby would chain her to Jason for the rest of her life. It made sense to get rid of it. Provided there was a baby. Provided it was Jason’s. She took a swig from a beer mug and put it back on the counter.

  “What if it’s not Jason’s? What if it’s Skye’s?”

  “You know that’s wishful thinking, Rachel,” said Schuyler, careful not to call her Rache because for some reason that irritates Rachel. “You told me he used a condom.”

  “Since when is it hundred per cent?”

  “Plus you had periods for … two months, maybe? … after Skye.”

  She hated Schuyler for knowing so much about her, including her menstrual cycles. She took another gulp. Schuyler did likewise.

  “You don’t have to carry a product of rape, Rachel.”

  She understood that too. The first thing that came to her mind when Nana Moira and Schuyler voiced their suspicion that she was pregnant was oh my gosh, now Jason owns me lock, stock and barrel! So, Schuyler was preaching to the choir. But why did she continue to argue against it?

  “It will be like being raped over and over again every time you see that kid.”

  “I don’t need convincing,” she said as they were leaving the Skull with all those tatted up and leather-jacketed bikers piercing them with their eyes. None had the guts to hit on them because at that time of the morning they had not accumulated enough pot-valour. Despite hobbling on a crutch Schuyler still turned heads, as of course did the willowy Rachel.

  They drove away in their separate cars.

  Rachel was on Route 50 to Jensen Township when her cellphone buzzed. It was Nana Moira. She wanted to discuss something important with her and was demanding she meet her at the Centre. The mere mention of the Centre produced palpitations in Rachel. She yelled into the handpiece that she would not go to the Centre for anything. Nana Moira knew that, Rachel added, and yet she wanted to mess with her head.

  “If Methuselah won’t come to the mountain then the mountain will come to her.”

  Rachel couldn’t help chuckling. “Something doesn’t sound right somewhere there.”

  “Of course something ain’t right when you think you’re the mountain and I gotta leave my work and come to you.”

  “You’re the one who wants to talk.” She hung up on her.

  Nana Moira did come to the mountain, bringing with her baked goodies. She set them on the coffee table and invited Rachel to snack while they talked. The same talk Schuyler had with Rachel only an hour or so before. She would have sworn there had been some collusion between the two if they were not such enemies. Rachel was surprised because she had thought her grandma was a pro-lifer. Not that the topic ever arose; she just assumed that everyone of her generation would cringe at the very mention of abortion.

  “Motherhood is awful sacred, but only when the young-un is legitimate,” said Nana Moira.

  As with Schuyler, Rachel did not need any convincing. She told her grandma that it was something she had been considering in any case. She didn’t want her to think she was going to do it because of her. Or because of Schuyler. She had been feeling like the puppet of these two women lately, each one pulling the strings in an opposite direction. She would like to assert the fact that she did have a mind of her own.

  The next morning she drove to the Planned Parenthood office on East State Street. She was glad that Schuyler had to see the physio and then after that another job interview, otherwise she would have insisted on coming with her. She was determined to see this through herself on her own terms.

  She was worried about the money but the receptionist assured her a person of her low income qualified for free services. She didn’t have an appointment. Fortunately she didn’t have long to wait because the health centre was not very busy that morning. After dipping strips in her pee a chirpy nurse told her she was indeed pregnant – as if she had not known that. And then another clinician dated her pregnancy from the ultrasound; she was about to begin the second trimester.

  Rachel told the clinician that she wanted an abortion.

  “We don’t provide abortion services here,” said the clinician, “but we’ll still help you. We’ll give you a referral list of health providers in Athens who offer such services.”

  She then referred her to a counsellor, a kindly middle-aged woman who did more listening than talking. She laid out various options for her, while emphasising that the choice was solely hers. It was important to learn all the facts about abortion though, to help her make an informed decision. It was also important for her to learn more about parenting and also about adoption in case she decided against abortion.

  “I don’t want anything to do with that,” shrieked Rachel as if the counsellor was suggesting she should not go through with the abortion. “This baby is my enemy!”

  When she heard that Rachel had been raped she immediately took it for granted that she would automatically want an abortion, and there was no longer any discussion about other options. Instead she explored with her how the procedure could be facilitated with the least inconvenience to her. First it needed to be done soon, before it was too late. The counsellor said the law allowed her to use Medicaid for her abortion, which would otherwise have been illegal had she not been raped.

  Rachel felt bouncy when she left the building. It was as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. As soon as the mandatory waiting period of twenty hours was over she would go to one of the health providers on the list and get rid of the enemy within. The next day would be the day.

  It was not the day. Instead she drove to the city, parked her car at the city parking garage, and went from one Court Street bar to the next. In some establishments she was one of only two or three people in the bar, it being weekday and daytime the regular patrons were either in class at the university or at work. She drank a lot of beer. When she was drunk she texted Schuyler to join her, even though she had sworn to stay away from her because she knew she would be bugging her about the abortion and the dangers of drinking while pregnant and such nonsense. Schuyler could not come. It was late in the evening when Rachel staggered to her car in the city garage. She was too inebriated to drive so she just slept in the car until the cold woke her at dawn.

  The following day was not the day either. She repeated the pattern of the previous day. But she crowned it by hooking up with a desperate student in the back seat of her car. If beer didn’t kill
the enemy within, then his dick would. The following morning she was remorseful and felt filthy. She scrubbed her body to remove the memory.

  That was three months ago. Today she would have been six months pregnant. Well, technically she is six months pregnant. But the baby died a long time ago. Just by itself. Maybe it had never lived in the first place. It is just dead weight in her belly. Dead weight. Dead weight.

  Dylan Holton tells her she is lucky her case is proceeding after only six months. Normally cases are not on the roll for up to nine months. But to Rachel the six months was like a lifetime of torture – what with the dead weight in her belly and the load of impending doom on her shoulders and the woozy state she finds herself in almost every morning and the shame of a random hook-up and the embarrassment of her financial crisis. She has had no income since she stopped busking. She has to ask for gas money from Nana Moira. And for sanitary pad money. She continues to buy them every month at the time she estimates she would be having her period. She was never one for tampons. She buys pads because she knows that as soon as the dead weight decides to vacate her body, rivers of blood will flow. And she’d better be ready.

  Nana Moira also feeds her drinking habit, though she is not aware that’s what she does with the money she gives her. She cannot deny her granddaughter a few dollars because Rachel used to share her money liberally when she still had some. However, Nana Moira’s meagre contribution cannot quench her thirst. Occasionally she gets wasted and stoned, paid for by a random hook-up. These men will poke the dead weight out of her body. They will hasten its departure, and she will be normal again.