The Order of Nature

by Josh Scheinert

  Mr. Touray exuded arrogance that morning. You could see it as he stood erect over the courtroom, surveying his surroundings. Calmly sitting down at his desk, he cast his eyes over Abdou, the young lawyer struggling to cope, furiously jotting down all sorts of notes for purposes unknown. The trial had been going well and today was the day, in his mind, when its fate should be sealed. There would be no doubt in the court’s mind Thomas and Andrew were lovers, and guilty.

  For added effect, or maybe it was genuine, the police officer came across as reluctant to read from the journal, as if its contents were so shocking and awful he was embarrassed to reveal them. The first entry he was asked to read was short.

  I did it, finally. We kissed. Holy shit.

  As Andrew lowered his face in embarrassment, Thomas tried to look over and reassure him. He had this sudden urge to kiss him right then and there. He wasn’t seriously going to do it. But he wanted to show Andrew he needn’t feel ashamed or regret for what he’d written. He hated how their personal memories were now being turned against them, used as proof of something to be spurned instead of celebrated. He wanted to tell Andrew not to let that happen. Don’t let them take them from us.

  The officer was asked to turn the page. “It is an entry,” Mr. Touray explained, “written about a disagreement between Mr. Turner and his sister in America.”

  The officer read:

  I don’t understand why she has such a problem with it, with me being happy. You’d think after seeing me unhappy for so many years, or at least like she says, knowing I wasn’t completely happy, that she’d finally be happy to see me like this. Instead she’s being a bitch about it. It’s kind of unfair actually. No one’s judging the choices she makes. She gets to pick Jeff and because she’s a girl and he’s a guy no one cares. And if he was black and someone did care, they’d know it was wrong so they’d shut up about it. But because we’re both guys, and he’s from here, she has trouble accepting that. It’s not what she envisioned for me, I guess. Well, she doesn’t get to decide.

  “Thank you,” interrupted Mr. Touray. “That’s enough. It seems Andrew’s sister shares Gambia’s disapproval of his lifestyle and he is angry because of it.” His pithy conclusion, made without knowing Andrew and Lindsay’s relationship, almost riled Andrew from his seat to correct the record. It wasn’t about me being gay. She didn’t care about that. It was about me being gay here, he thought to himself. And it was rooted in love.

  Next, the officer read from the entry when Andrew admitted to being in love with Thomas. It was surprisingly early in their relationship – well before they admitted it to each other. But this wasn’t a secret between them. After the relief of saying I love you subsided, the next time they found themselves walking alone they acknowledged how each of them felt that way for a long time already.

  “When did you know?” Andrew asked.

  “When I started sleeping again.”

  “What?”

  “Remember I told you after we met I sometimes had trouble sleeping?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew said, remembering only vaguely.

  “It was because I was in a state of disbelief about what was happening. I was too excited and I kept lying awake, distracted, thinking about my past but also looking into the future, our future. I was jumpy all the time, and in bed especially, because at night when you lie you have only your thoughts, and mine were too excited to let me sleep.”

  “So love put you to bed?” Andrew asked sarcastically.

  Thomas laughed sweetly and teased Andrew with his eyes. He gave him a little shove on his arm. “It did. It relaxed me. Suddenly I realized that despite whatever surrounded us, everything was okay. Somehow it would work out. The most important thing was in order, and I could finally exhale and breathe out all the stresses. It brought peace to me. And it’s when I began sleeping better.” He looked over at Andrew, who seemed satisfied with the answer and then asked, “what about you?”

  “It was at soccer.”

  He’s the only person I really want to see there. And once he shows up, I wish the game would end already so we could leave together and be alone. Other things matter less now. They seem less important.

  “Thank you again,” said Mr. Touray stopping the officer.

  Thomas found himself resisting more and more urges to turn to Andrew as he listened to the journal entries. I felt that way, too, he wanted to say. But with each passing entry, it became more difficult for them to face each other. These public reminders of what the relationship, and each other, had meant to them, made having it torn away from them all the more tragic and unbearable. It was the perfect encapsulation of the cruelty befalling them.

  “And now,” Mr. Touray continued, refusing Thomas or Andrew a desperately-needed break from it all, “if you’ll please turn the page, to the entry for us.”

  Today is Thomas’s birthday.

  Andrew’s jaw dropped. Even though they’d spoken about this with Abdou, he forgot about the entry.

  We had cake on the beach. I remembered it was his birthday from an earlier conversation and he was surprised when I asked him how he planned to celebrate. He said probably nothing because no one knew it was his birthday, not even Suleiman. He was content to let his birthdays pass unacknowledged for the most part, except for his family calling. I said we should do something.

  “What should we do?” Thomas asked Andrew across the bar.

  “I dunno. Let me think of something.”

  In the end it wasn’t anything grand. They met on the beach at night and Andrew brought the cake with fancy frosting and some candles. He thought to ask the staff at the store to write Happy Birthday Thomas on the cake but didn’t in the end. Thomas would have to settle for frosted flowers. He also brought two birthday hats, the cone-shaped ones with pictures of balloons with HAPPY BIRTHDAY!! written on them. He took them out of his bag to Thomas’s laughter, before reaching across and putting one on Thomas’s head and then on his own.

  “Happy birthday!” he said with childlike enthusiasm.

  Thomas, taken by Andrew’s gesture, thanked him. “I haven’t celebrated my birthday since coming to Banjul. My parents call me each year, but that’s it. And now that they’re here, I didn’t want to be in Sheriff’s living room, so I told them I was working late.”

  “Did you get presents when you were younger?”

  “Of course!” he exclaimed. “And my mother used to make a feast of all my favorite foods. We’d have so many people coming to our house. I used to get many presents – toys, clothes. My brothers said I was the most spoiled child on my birthday. I don’t know why, but it’s true. My mother always planned a bigger party for mine. I think the others were jealous.”

  The highlight of the night for Andrew was watching Thomas close his eyes, make a wish, and blow out his candles. The setting was perfect – the two of them sitting alone on the beach, the wind and surf providing a soundtrack in the background. But mostly it was the look on Thomas’s face in those few seconds when his eyes were closed. He was so calm and still, like nothing could disturb him. When he opened his eyes, before blowing out the candles, he turned to Andrew and smiled. It was a grateful smile. The candles glimmered and reflected off his face.

  “Thank you for this,” he said softly.

  And then he blew out the candles. I asked what he wished for but he only smiled back and told me it was a secret, but that maybe one day I’d find out. It was beautiful, but also terrible. Why should it have had to be like that? Why is everything about him done in secret? It made me sad for him, to see him alone with only me to celebrate. It made me hate this place for forcing people to have to live like this. Don’t they understand what they’re doing to him? Don’t they care? They don’t give a shit about people like him. Like us. But we didn’t talk about any of that. We just ate the cake, with our fingers, smacking our lips for emphasis and making a mess with the icing, and silently hoping next year’s birthday would be different. When we finished we threw the leftover cake int
o the water, for the fish.

  It was a decision he wrestled with, but Abdou never shared the journal in its entirety with Thomas or Andrew. Andrew was familiar enough with it, and it wasn’t necessary to get the information he needed from them to try and soften the blow it would cause at trial. He wanted to preserve as much of their strength and spirit as possible and decided that reading it in prison and having them see what it revealed wasn’t what either of them needed to be concerned about. It was his problem now.

  But he never truly appreciated how awful it would be hearing it in court until it actually happened.

  Thomas shrank in his chair as the officer shared the intimacy and privacy of his birthday. That night had meant everything to him, and it was easy to guess what he had wished for. Listening to Andrew’s version of it in their new circumstances, how determined he’d been to create a day where Thomas felt special, and loved, made it especially cruel. That it happened offered no silver lining, at least not then, not there. Seeing Thomas’s defeated expression sent Andrew desperately seeking some measure of reassurance from Abdou. But Abdou’s face, however sympathetic he tried to make it appear, didn’t offer any. There was nothing he could do. It seemed all three of them knew it.

  Mr. Touray instructed the officer to turn to one more entry.

  “Just to leave no doubt with this court that Mr. Turner knew full well what he was doing when he embarked on his homosexual journey with Mr. Sow – that he was engaging in conduct he knew to be in direct violation of the country’s laws, the following excerpt,” he announced, “is from just before Mr. Turner made the decision to transition his relationship with Mr. Sow from one of friends to one of lovers. Please,” he said to the officer, “if you can read for us.”

  This might be a big mistake. I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m most definitely not thinking. Or maybe I am. No one would tell me this is a smart thing to do. But isn’t that the point – that this is the time where I listen to me? I don’t think it’s dangerous. I’ve spent enough time in this country to know there’s a lot of talk and not a lot of action – nothing will happen and it’s easy to keep something quiet. Alex won’t care and Isatou is really the only other person who comes to our compound. And Awa. But neither of them would say anything if they ever saw anything, which they won’t.

  It’s not hard to figure this place out. Sure, people aren’t accepting… No one knows how anything ends. But that doesn’t mean you don’t start.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Touray said. “That is all.” And then he took his seat behind his table, not looking over at Abdou or Thomas or Andrew. No questions were asked of the officer, so Abdou had nothing to cross-examine him on. His attempts to deal with some of the journal entries would come through with his witnesses.

  “Mr. Bojang,” Justice Touray said after excusing the police officer, his voice cutting through the anticipation in the courtroom. “You may make your opening submissions if you wish, or you may proceed directly and call your first witness.”

  “Your Honour,” Abdou said, rising from his chair. “The defense would like to adjourn until the morning to be able to better respond to some of the more recent developments.”

  The extra half day Abdou gained didn’t bring much comfort. In fact, his concerns were exacerbated as soon as he stepped out of the courtroom.

  “Mr. Bojang?” he heard called. Turning around he saw a man, he was big but looked small. He was clearly trying to avoid attracting much attention to himself. Leaning against a wall outside the courtroom, he motioned for Abdou to follow him to a more private area of the foyer before continuing. “Mr. Bojang, I am sorry to disturb you, I know you must be very busy...”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Jalloh, for you I always have time. Are you ready for your testimony tomorrow? It is very important for Andrew and Thomas.”

  “Well... that is the thing, Mr. Bojang.”

  Mr. Jalloh was the main witness for the defense. He had agreed, after much coaxing, to testify on their behalf. It had taken Abdou a week of persistent, polite badgering to convince him, and only after he revealed to him his opinions on homosexuality.

  “I don’t like it either, Mr. Jalloh. Who would?” Abdou said to him, deliberate in his attempt to cast himself as someone Mr. Jalloh could understand. “But under our laws everyone has a right to a proper defense. Even these people, and we mustn’t deny them that. And you’ve said yourself how much you admired Andrew as a volunteer in your school. He’s supported you all year. He needs you now.”

  They had prepared for the testimony on three separate evenings. Mr. Jalloh always went to Abdou’s office – he was too scared to do the sessions in his office for fear colleagues would discover what was going on. He told no one, not even his wives.

  It was going to be simple. Abdou planned to ask whether Andrew was good at his job, to which Mr. Jalloh agreed that he was excellent, so good that he was working to get him a position within the education ministry next year. Also, his students liked and respected him, a feeling that was mutual. This would build up Andrew’s character, something they both expected would have been called into question in the trial. Abdou wanted to re-humanize at least one of his clients.

  But now that wouldn’t happen.

  “Mr. Jalloh,” Abdou pleaded. “Please, you know how critical this is to their case. You backing out now will send a terrible message.”

  He couldn’t, he explained. He was profoundly sorry, but since word had gotten out he was to be a witness on Thomas and Andrew’s behalf he started sensing animosity from his colleagues. His wives too had become insolent. They criticized him for standing up for homosexuality without any regard for the consequences it would have on his home and family. And, though he knew he wasn’t supposed to, he’d learned about the evidence the state put forward and was starting to believe it might be true.

  “I can’t, Mr. Bojang. I can’t do it.”

  Abdou just stood there, struggling. “There’s no one who will stand up for them.”

  It was a truth Mr. Jalloh would’ve preferred not to be reminded of. He was ashamed of himself for backing out, just not enough to change his mind. “Please tell Andrew I’m deeply sorry. I wanted to do everything I could to help him, but this is too much. I can’t put myself and my family at risk like this. And especially if the allegations are true.” He took Abdou’s hand and clasped it in his giant, but soft, grip. “I’m sorry,” he said one last time before he released Abdou’s hand and walked off.

  When Abdou turned around, Mr. Touray was exiting the courtroom. He tried to regain his composure as they caught each other’s glances.

  “Tomorrow is your day, Mr. Bojang,” Mr. Touray said without breaking his stride. “Good luck.”

  Abdou needed a few more minutes to himself before stepping out from the courthouse into a barrage of cameras and microphones only for him to once again refuse to answer any questions, using his arms to protect his face from the thrusting hands of reporters as he tried to make his way back to his office.

  He sat in his solitary office late into the night, until eventually it became morning. He pored over every note he took, from every person he spoke to, trying desperately to find an angle he missed or a piece of evidence he overlooked. His wife called him to make sure he was okay.

  “Yes, Manima, I am fine. There are a few more things I need to do before I come home. You shouldn’t wait up for me. I’ll be home late.”

  “It’s already late,” she responded kindly.

  “I know,” he said. “I just need a little more time. I want to go over my materials again. How are the children?” he said after remembering to ask.

  “They’re fine. Sleeping. They miss you.”

  “Maybe when this is over we’ll take them for a few days to your family in Cassamance. To have a bit of a break.”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Good. The guard is outside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Okay, I have to get back to this.”

  “Make su
re to sleep, Abdou.”

  “I will.”

  He turned back to his notes and began to re-assess all he wrote down during the first three days of the trial, trying to discover any holes in the prosecution’s case he’d yet to catch. He checked them against all the evidence and testimony he collected. Each page he flipped over, each pile he moved to the floor to make room for a new pile, only reinforced that there was nothing else; that he should go home to his wife. But he couldn’t get the image of Thomas from earlier that day out of his mind. He’d never seen him like that before. To be so beaten and know it. And so it was that image that kept him awake tearing through the pages long after he should’ve gone to bed.

  There was a sliver of light stretching across the horizon as he walked up to his home. The guard was sitting outside the gate as he approached. As he walked past him, nodding good morning and leaving the guard surprised to see him out at that hour, Abdou perked up his heavy shoulders and stretched out his slumping chin. He was done with always feeling and looking worn in front of everyone. Manima was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea when he entered.

  “You’re awake?”

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He walked over and sat down next to her. They savored the silence and sat quietly until Manima finally spoke.

  “Here,” she said, raising her chin to the pots on the stovetop, “I made food for you to take to them.”

  30

  The opening submissions Abdou planned were short. He intended to restate the position established by the previous witnesses – how no one so far had been able to point to a time or place where Thomas and Andrew were seen breaking the law. It was going to be largely technical: absent proof of the actus reus there could be no conviction. But when he stood up and looked around at the overflowing courtroom – piercing, judgmental glares from spectators, the impatient gaze of Mr. Touray, the sympathetic gaze of Justice Touray, who clearly understood Abdou’s position, and finally the hopeless but thankful faces of Thomas and Andrew – Abdou had a change of heart. If he was to elicit even a measure of serious consideration for his arguments, he needed to display his local credibility. He couldn’t merely be the deviants’ lawyer.