by Zakes Mda
Rachel is highly hungover as she sits on the bench near the door of Judge Stonebrook’s court. She tries very hard to ignore the ache that wants to split her head into two. She closes her eyes and takes a drink from a water bottle. If only Schuyler were here. But she knows she won’t be. She has her own things to attend to too. She said so last night when they were at the Skull.
Last night. She does not want to think about last night. She was raped by Jason. It was only a flashback but it was as real as if he was raping her again. It was after they had been joking about the case that would resume the next day and Schuyler was berating her for her cowardice in not going through with the abortion. She obviously wanted to be tethered to Jason for the rest of her life, Schuyler said.
It began with the smell. A whiff of Old Spice from one of the brawny guys who rubbed against her when he was passing. The scent overwhelmed her and she couldn’t breathe. And then the rape happened. Right there at the bar counter, surrounded by all those bikers and their tatted-out biker-bitches – as the ladies call themselves. It was a replay of her experience at the Centre in every aspect. Even details she thought she had forgotten. She screamed for help. She was rolling on the floor at the feet of the bikers screaming as if in pain. Schuyler and a biker-bitch helped her to her feet and tried to calm her down.
“What’s the matter, hon?” asked the biker-bitch.
“Nothing,” replied Rachel, trembling. “Just a nightmare.”
The bikers broke out laughing.
“She’s all hooched-up,” one said. “You can’t have no fuckin’ nightmare when you’re awake.”
“You’re losing your fuckin’ mind, Rachel,” said Schuyler as she led her out.
Rachel could have died of embarrassment.
“Hey, Rache!” A shrill voice brings her to the present.
It is a woman she has met at one of the anti-fracking rallies. She doesn’t want to be rude so she doesn’t correct her about the torturous “Rache” nickname. She is with three other anti-frackers and they crowd in front of Rachel’s bench, asking how she has been and why they don’t see her at their meetings any more.
“You in trouble with the law?” asks one of the male anti-frackers jokingly.
“Not me, someone else,” she says, but does not elaborate.
She is surprised that they don’t know about the case. After all, it was in the Athens News three months ago when the lawyers were arguing about plea bargains and shield laws and voir dire this or that. Well, her name was never mentioned. Throughout the newspaper report she was referred to as “the alleged victim”. Perhaps they are not aware she is the “alleged victim”, which is rather amazing because gossip spreads like a forest fire in this county.
They tell Rachel they are attending a pre-trial hearing for one of their members charged with aggravated trespassing after chaining himself in front of an injection well site in Albany. There has been a lot of activity since Rachel deserted them and they believe they are making some headway against fracking companies, they tell her.
“Come back. We need you,” says one of the men as they walk to the courtroom.
“And Skye Riley asks about you whenever he visits,” says the woman.
“He knows my address and my phone number,” says Rachel.
They had to bring up Skye Riley. She does not want to think of Skye Riley. Not since he started featuring in her nightmares. He featured twice actually, and in both instances he just stood there looking at her pitifully. Then he slowly morphed into a smiling Jason. And back into Skye Riley again. No one said anything. Just the images morphing and re-morphing. Since then the very thought of Skye has conjured up images of Jason. They have become the same person.
She is brought back from her reverie by Dylan Holton who tells her that the court is in recess after which she will be taking the stand as the first witness for the prosecution. He has brought her coffee in a Styrofoam cup. He does not say anything about the opening statements that were going on while Rachel waited outside.
After Holton had made his brief opening statement, which focused on the first degree felony charge and the evidence that the state would present, Kayla Trenta went to town insinuating that this was not real rape. Evidence would be presented, she said, that the alleged offender was not a stranger but someone who was known to the alleged victim and had a relationship with her. The two were on a date that Christmas Eve, went for a drive the next morning, had drinks and some pot, and as two consenting adults had sexual relations. This first degree felony charge against her client was unfortunate; a result of a lovers’ quarrel. Holton does not say anything about his own doubts after Trenta’s spirited address that the prosecution’s evidence was so weak that it might not stand the onslaught of her cross-examination.
“Just tell the truth as you remember it,” says Holton. “Don’t try to be smart or anything. If you don’t know or don’t remember don’t guess the answer or invent what you think is an appropriate answer. Say straight-out you don’t know or you don’t remember.”
After the recess Rachel takes the witness stand. As she takes the oath her eyes wander to the jury box. She can identify some of the people, Athens being such a small town. The bailiff takes his place against the wall. Rachel’s eyes wander to the table in front of the bench. Jason is sitting there with Kayla Trenta and another young gentleman, Trenta’s clerk. The two men are in black suits, white shirts and black neckties. Trenta is also in black and white, except for the jacket which is turquoise. You could have sworn all three are lawyers and there is no rapist among them, thought Rachel.
Jason is staring at her unflinchingly. She quickly averts her gaze to the floor where it will remain for most of Dylan Holton’s direct examination.
Holton is gentle and lacks the histrionics that Rachel has seen in television courtroom dramas. She is surprised that the judge asks only one question, even then just to clarify Holton’s question in response to Trenta’s objection that Holton was leading the witness.
Judge Stonebrook seems to be a very mild-mannered man who listens attentively without much to say, unlike her favourite Judge Judy who tells litigants how stupid they are and how smart she is compared to them. She came prepared to be lambasted by the judge for her stupidity in allowing herself to be raped. But here the judge is not even looking at her. He has shut his eyes as he listens. Rachel is slightly agitated as Holton guides her through the events of Christmas Eve and then Christmas morning.
She chokes at the most violent moments of the narrative and casts a defiant look at Jason for the first time as if daring him to contradict her.
“Did you have a relationship with the accused?” asks Holton.
“No, sir,” Rachel responds.
“You are addressing yourself to Your Honour,” says Holton.
“No, Your Honour.”
“Did you consent to have sexual intercourse with him?”
Her cheeks turn red. How dare Holton even suggest it? Was he not listening to the story she just told of how it happened? But she controls herself.
“No, sir, Your Honour.”
Even before he takes his seat Kayla Trenta is on her feet. Rachel can’t help admiring her, while wondering why such a beautiful and classy woman decided to make defending rapists her career. She walks towards the witness stand and smiles sweetly at Rachel. Holton shifts uncomfortably on his chair. He knows her tactics – her softly-softly concession-based cross-examination meant to coax the witness into providing answers that support her case. Because she is allowed to lead the witness Holton fears she will lull the unsophisticated Rachel into supporting the theory she advanced during opening statements that the sex was consensual.
“How long have you known Jason?” she asks.
“Since high school,” says Rachel.
“You dated in high school, didn’t you?”
Rachel denies they ever dated. She is led to admit that they went to the movies together, just the two of them, on a number of occasions, and did what she ca
lls “hanging out” at various places of entertainment and fast-food restaurants.
“And still you say you did not date? How do you define dating?”
“I mean we were not boyfriend and girlfriend.”
Trenta leads her to admit that everyone’s perception, and Jason’s too, was that they were dating. And that after a number of years their friendship resumed when he returned to Athens. Rachel strenuously denies that it was a “relationship” despite Trenta’s persistent line of questioning that is meant to force her to admit that it was. Even to the squirming Holton her denials lack credibility as Trenta leads her to admit they spent a lot of time together, busked together, and she got him a job at the community centre run by her grandmother so that they could be close to each other.
Trenta asks her about the Christmas Eve party, particularly how she was dressed. It didn’t register to her why Trenta wanted her to describe every detail of the attire and even what parts of her body were exposed. She adopts a gossipy demeanour when she asks about the red and white Santa underwear that was visible to all. Holton knew exactly where this was leading.
“I’m sure you got quite a few admiring glances,” she says with a school-girlish giggle. “From the men, that is. What did Jason say about your itsy-bitsy Santa Claus costume?”
“He liked it,” says Rachel.
Trenta giggles again, looking at Rachel with a naughty twinkle in her eyes.
“You were on a date on Christmas Eve,” says Trenta in a matter of fact manner.
“It was not a date. We were just all there partying. He was not with me.”
“And yet you went for an early morning drive with him on Christmas Day?”
“It wasn’t really a drive. We took my friend Schuyler home.”
“Why was Jason driving your car?”
She says she was tired. She admits that when they returned they smoked marijuana together and drank some bourbon. She was not high though, or drunk, because she had only a sip and a toke.
“We’ve heard that before, haven’t we? I didn’t inhale,” says Trenta, obviously not directing that statement to her but to the court. A few people in the gallery chuckle or giggle, and the bailiff demands silence. Holton objects to the line of questioning and the defence counsel’s insinuations, but Stonebrook rules Trenta should continue.
Rachel looks at the jury box and sees nothing but sceptical eyes. She looks at the gallery and sees Genesis and his wife. They are in the midst of men in black suits, elders from his church. She feels so alone; none of her people are here. Schuyler couldn’t make it on this most important day and Nana Moira made it clear right from the beginning that she would not be attending any of these hearings. Not only is she ashamed that her granddaughter cried rape on a family friend, but she does not want Genesis to think she is supporting that. She even tried to make amends to Genesis’ family by visiting Jason in jail. Rachel was angry when Nana Moira told her about the visit.
“You didn’t attend a single day of the court hearings, yet you have time to visit Jason?” she asked.
“I’m an old woman; I can’t be going to no court. Schuyler is there for you.”
And then she told her how well Jason looked, his cheeks filled up and his face round. He just sat there and smiled at Nana Moira and thanked her for coming, and said, “I hope someone is looking after my compost.” That was all he had to say.
Trenta harps on marijuana and bourbon, a combination that would affect even the most hardened sailor.
“And yet you say this didn’t affect you in any way?” she asks, still maintaining her kindly smile.
“I didn’t want to have any of that,” says Rachel desperately. “I just wanted to go home.”
“Now I want to ask you about Skye Riley,” says Trenta.
The prosecutor stands up to object.
“Skye Riley has no relevance in this case,” he says. “Ms Trenta is trying to circumvent the shield laws by bringing him up.”
Judge Stonebrook calls for a recess and demands to meet both counsels in his chambers. He demands that Trenta explain why she thinks Skye Riley is relevant.
“She wants to bring the victim’s past sex history with Riley, and Your Honour already ruled against that,” says Holton before Trenta can answer.
“This has nothing to do with the alleged victim’s sex history, Your Honour.” She is glaring at the prosecutor as she drags and stresses alleged. “It has to do with the fact that the two lovers, Rachel and Jason, had consensual sex, after which they quarrelled about Skye Riley, who was also having a relationship with Rachel. Because neither was in a state of sobriety, they fought. Rachel was on the losing side of that physical altercation and she decided to cry rape to get even. That’s how Skye Riley is relevant in this case. Nothing to do with anybody’s sexual history.”
Back in the courtroom Trenta indeed pursues that line of questioning. To Rachel’s shock her demeanour is now completely different. She is in Rachel’s face, trying to confuse and discredit her. She is bent on showing the jury that what she is saying doesn’t jibe with common sense. Rachel’s denials that there was ever any consensual sex and any quarrel about Skye Riley sound hollow. She was determined to be strong until now. She bursts into tears.
Trenta however is relentless. She wants to know why Rachel didn’t report to the police if she was raped, as she claims. She leads her to admit that she is an intelligent girl with a high school education. Excellent grades. Could have gone to any great college if she had chosen to. In other words, she is not an idiot. And yet she doesn’t call the police after being raped? She doesn’t go to the doctor?
“I went to the doctor. The deputy took me to O’Bleness,” screams Rachel.
“After how long? Was it not after one whole week? Why did you wait that long?”
She is piling these questions on her and Rachel cannot provide the answers. “I don’t know,” is all she can say.
“You’re raped, you don’t go to the police, you don’t go to the doctor, and you don’t know? Huh!”
Rachel hates Kayla Trenta even more than Jason. What gives her the right to stand here judging her? Obviously she has never been raped. She needs one real good rape. She is no longer listening to her questions as she fantasises the rape of Kayla Trenta. The perpetrator is Jason de Klerk. Right there in the consulting room or wherever lawyers meet their clients. He strangles her with his manacles and rapes the daylights out of her. Then we’ll see what she has to say about that, says Rachel to herself.
“Why were you together … just the two of you … at the Centre?”
“I don’t know,” she says. She decides that’s going to be her answer from now on. The best way to deal with this evil woman is to be passive aggressive.
“You told Mr Holton that for days you scrubbed your body. Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t you go for emergency contraceptives? All hospitals are required by law, as a condition of receiving federal funds, to provide emergency contraceptives to raped women,” says Trenta. She is obviously adding this bit of information for the benefit of the jury.
“I don’t know,” says Rachel. When she sees that everyone is looking at her as if she is an idiot, she adds, “I wasn’t thinking right.”
When Kayla Trenta is done with her Rachel is a mess of tears and mucus. She is not sure which was worse: what she experienced with Jason or what she has just gone through with Trenta. Maybe the latter because it replayed the former in public. She was savaged, pillaged and plundered by Trenta in daylight. For all the world to see.
The prosecutor does not see any point of a re-direct. He knows that if he tries to clear up some of the issues that came up in her cross-examination Trenta will re-cross. That’s her style. She will re-cross and break Rachel down altogether. The state’s case has been tremendously weakened as things are.
Judge Stonebrook reminds everyone that the jury will not be sequestered; both counsel have indicated they have no probl
em with that. He then adjourns the court to the next day.
Emergency contraception? Who said anything about pregnancy? There is no pregnancy here. Only the dead weight.
All she wants is sleep. She is in a daze, but she will nurse her trusty Ford Escort on Route 50, and then on county and township roads, until she gets home. Slowly. She hopes the State Highway Patrol won’t stop her for driving far below the regulated speed. They better not fuck with her. She’s in no mood for any more officialdom.
She curses aloud when she sees a strange minivan parked outside her trailer next to Nana Moira’s GMC Suburban. Company is the last thing she needs right now. When she gets closer she notices that it is a Dodge Caravan with Michigan numbers.
Her heart skips a beat when her eyes fall on Genesis and two of the church elders she saw in court sitting on her sofa. Nana Moira has just served them cookies and is brewing coffee for them. The men stand and tip their hats. Rachel says “hi” and then rushes to her room.
Blue is on the floor next to the dressing table. Rachel picks her up and holds her to her bosom. She lies on her bed and shuts her eyes. She does not want to think of the trial. It was a disaster. Kayla Trenta made even her believe she was the slut who cried rape.
She takes refuge in happier times. As far back as her memory can take her. To the days when her pops was up and about playing his guitar and filling the house with booming laughter. Those were the days when he brought her the enduring Amish doll. It is a happy memory. But something mars it. Some vague sadness impinges on it. Not today’s sadness. She knows the source of today’s sadness. Sadness of another time. Perhaps another place. Something about the game she played with her pops. She doesn’t know what game it was exactly. Doesn’t remember. But whatever it was, she didn’t enjoy it. She endured it because she was playing it with her pops. And she loved her pops. He was her protector. She felt safe around him. She dreaded the game, but she missed her pops whenever he was away singing and telling his tall tales. She misses her pops now. If only he were here Jason wouldn’t have done what he did and Genesis wouldn’t be hounding her. She reprimands herself. Who said Genesis’ visit has anything to do with her? He and Nana Moira have always been friends.