The Chef, the Bird and the Blessing

by Andrew Sharp

  The prosecutor stood, and with a lingering and courtly bow of his head said, ‘Your honour, the prosecution’s case is that Mr Du Plessis, the defendant, attempted to murder my client, Mr Vupuma.’ He showed a hand to his client sitting behind him. Mr Vupuma was holding crutches and his face was contorted with the most severe pain.

  ‘My client Mr Vupuma is a man of no means … a humble peasant even … having to collect firewood in the bush to put food on the table for his family.’

  The public nodded and muttered in consideration for the man of little means.

  The prosecutor half turned away from the Justice towards the public. ‘Whilst harmlessly collecting firewood, he saw a discarded net in the shrubs and thought it could be utilised for fishing in the river. A truly providential find. Now he could catch the food to cook on the firewood for his only wife and five children.’

  The public nodded again in sympathy for the harmless man and his toilsome efforts to feed his family but Dorothea leant to me and whispered, ‘Now he just needed to find a filleting knife, a grill and matches lying about in the National Park.’ It was unfortunate that this attempt at cahooting by my wife was so hung over by recent dysfunctions and was at the occasion of the trial of Mr Bin. Otherwise, I would have nodded my agreement.

  ‘And what river?’ added Dorothea. Too true, our flash floods lasted only a day. The waterholes in the park were frequented by elephants and occupied by crocodiles and so not conducive to peaceable Sunday fishing.

  ‘Now imagine this,’ said the prosecution. He turned further to the public.

  The Justice said, ‘Address the bench Mr Karamagonga.’ She loosened the fur over her shoulder and took a sip of water.

  ‘Immediately, your honour.’ He turned to face her and showed her the freshly washed and crisp hair of his apologetic head. ‘As my client, Mr Vupuma, innocently collected the net, the accused approached him on foot with his gun. Your honour, a man approaching another with a gun can have only one intention. To fire it.’ He gestured the firing of a lethal bullet, his beautiful hands enwrapping an imagined stock of polished wood. ‘The defendant did not wish to leave a widow and seven orphans. He ran, terrified of course.’

  The public nodded.

  ‘By good fortune, my client reached his bicycle alive and fled towards the village.’

  The public leant forward.

  ‘About halfway to the safety of the village the defendant caught up with him in his four by four.’ He half turned again to the public. ‘Imagine the destitute family man’s dismay as the accused bore down on him … holding the two weapons of murder. In one hand —the steering wheel of his gigantic and expensive four by four. In the other hand —he brandished his powerful rifle. Either weapon could send a man to his premature grave leaving eight orphans.’ He glanced at his notes. ‘Correction, six. Still too many.’

  The public clasped their hands to their lips.

  ‘He rammed my client at high speed with the rigid steel of the fender of his luxury vehicle.’

  ‘Ohhh!’ the public gasped.

  ‘My client was sent flying.’

  ‘Sheee!’

  ‘Silence in court!’ The Justice wiped her perspiring brow and took more water. Her robes had perhaps been designed for a cooler climate.

  ‘I’d like to present the exhibit, your honour.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Justice, signalling him to get on with it. Her fingers were fat with learning but impatient towards sycophancy.

  The prosecutor lifted half of a bicycle with a cockeyed wheel from behind his desk.

  ‘See, it snapped in half from the speed of the impact.’ He lifted the sad half-bicycle above his head and turned a full three-sixty.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ whispered Dorothea.

  ‘It proves beyond doubt that the defendant’s four by four was travelling at a high velocity at the moment of impact. It’s clear that the accused intended to kill my client.’

  ‘Yees!’ whispered the public, not wishing to wrath the Justice.

  ‘Fortunately … my client suffered only life-changing injuries.’

  He pointed to his client who dropped his head in a side manner as if he was suffering a snapped neck.

  ‘In summary, your honour, I’m looking to the law to protect the poor man against the rich man. The defendant lives in luxury in his country villa. He considers the National Park his own estate, which he prowls with his gun, looking for trouble. The accused is a recluse without friends. He thinks he can act with impunity because he only subscribes to the law of the jungle.’ He clenched a polished fist and brought it down repeatedly as he made his final points. ‘He ignores the law. The laws of this independent country. He did not think twice about running down my client. He valued my client’s life as less than an old net in a shrub.’ He opened his hands to the justice and presented a triumphant and self-congratulating face. ‘I rest my case.’

  He sat. The villagers started to clap. A clerk stared them to stop. The Justice ordered the defence to step forward, but a clerk stated to her that Mr Bin was defending himself.

  ‘Are you sure?’ the Justice asked Mr Bin. ‘You’re on trial for attempted murder. You should have had professional help.’ I believed she thought herself to be in the midst of fools.

  Mr Bin said nothing until Mr Bambatiwe prodded him with an oily finger. ‘I should’ve been more organised, I guess, your honour, but I’ve been stuck in jail. I’m defending myself.’

  I was aghast-hearted. Surely Mr Bin could not be acquitted. It was his useless-self against the eager and professional prosecutor and indeed against the court of public opinion —which the Justice would no doubt have to take into account.

  ‘Stand then and present your defence,’ said the Justice. She pulled the edge of her robes from the collar of her neck. Sweat oozed from her brow.

  Mr Bin complied and spoke in a quiet voice without theatrics. ‘I was on my way to the village in my bakkie —my vehicle— to buy food.’

  A public member shouted, ‘Lie!’ Mr Bin did not counter. A clerk with a strong arm escorted the public out of the court. The other public members sunk their heads down into their necks. No one wished to miss out on the guilty verdict.

  ‘I saw bicycle tracks leading off the road into the bush. There’s been poaching in the National Park, your honour, so I left my bakkie and followed the tracks on foot. I found the bicycle leaning on a tree. Then shoe prints leading further. I saw my accuser pulling at a thin net strung up near a nesting site of the brackish akalat.’

  The Justice interrupted. ‘Explain this brackish akalat to the court.’

  ‘It’s a bird. An endangered small bird.’

  ‘Dangerous? Speak up,’ said the Justice.

  ‘Endangered.’

  ‘But only small. Continue.’

  ‘If only it had been a rhino or an elephant,’ whispered Dorothea. Her soft breath on my ear made me wish for past times.

  ‘I challenged the man,’ said Mr Bin. ‘He ran to his bicycle, leaving the net. I found a brackish akalat in the net. It was exhausted … trying to set itself free. It was nearly dead. I was upset.’

  Mr Bin stopped talking and I believed he was about to tear.

  ‘You’re telling us that the small bird was tired. Continue,’ said the Justice.

  She fanned her face with a paper. I feared she was becoming impatient. Mr Bin was weeping over a weary bird whilst the prosecutor’s client was severely injured.

  ‘I believed my accuser was a poacher … I ran after him. But he’d already reached the road. He was cycling away. I followed him in my bakkie. I wanted to overtake him and stop him … find out whether he was acting on his own or if he was part of a gang. I was close behind him when we reached a gully. The road was rough. He lost his balance and fell. I swerved and only just missed him.’ Mr Bin trembled as if gripped in the memory of the
near miss.

  The public shook their heads.

  ‘That concludes my defence.’

  ‘You have nothing more to say?’

  ‘No, your honour.’

  She raised her eyebrows. She said to the prosecuting lawyer, ‘You may now cross-examine the accused.’

  ‘With pleasure, your honour.’ He jumped up, eager. ‘I’ll not take the court’s precious time or insult your honour’s patience. It’s a hot day. I have just one question for the accused. That’s all that’s needed to prove his guilt. The accused says he did not impact my client.’

  The prosecutor signalled with his arms his almost fatally injured client and the broken bicycle. ‘Mr Du Plessis, does my client and his transport look like they were just missed?’

  He picked up the other half of the bicycle and raised it over his head, turning it about with its cockeyed wheel so that the whole court could examine it from every angle. He looked disrespectfully at Mr Bin. ‘Just missed?’

  The prosecutor could not prevent himself joining the laughter. Even the justice permitted a little respite of amusement to escape her judicial face.

  ‘Is that the only argument he has?’ said Dorothea in my ear. ‘Why doesn’t he give us a medical report to back up the man’s injuries? Pitiful.’

  ‘Stand and answer,’ said the Justice to Mr Bin.

  ‘I deny I made contact with him.’

  The public groaned and threw their hands towards the injured man.

  ‘I stopped to check he was alright after his fall. He had a graze but he scrambled up and rode off again. I didn’t follow him … I was shaken by having to swerve so suddenly.’

  The prosecutor shook his head wearily. ‘On which half of his bicycle did my client ride away on?’ The public laughed without restraint, slapping their hands on their thighs. ‘That’s all I need to ask the defendant. He’s condemned himself … but I’d like to call a witness.’

  A man, grinning whitely and with a low-placed black brim hat, a sharp-cut dark jacket and a crimson shirt for the occasion, stood up behind the prosecutor. He said that he was a cousin of the client and that he could vouch for the client’s impeccable character, sad poverty, devoted fathership of nine children and that the client went to church on Sundays —always twice. He also stated that the client should receive high compensation, certainly in six figures.

  The Justice told him not to instruct the court. The Justice called on the defendant to present witnesses.

  ‘I have no one,’ Mr Bin said.

  The Justice frowned. ‘So that concludes your defence?’

  ‘I guess, your honour.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ She wiped her brow with a silky handkerchief. I detected both exasperation and relief behind her words. ‘Very well, the court is adjourned whilst I consider my verdict.’

  I stood. ‘Your most honourable, venerated and exalted honour. I’m a witness for the defence.’

  Mr Bin turned surprise-faced to see me there behind him. Dorothea tugged at my shirt to sit me down, but I stayed. I was in nerves to stand in front of the Justice and the court of the law, but I could do no other. There I stood. I had been following the case in every respect and there was fishy business.

  The Justice looked askance at me, but said, ‘Proceed.’

  ‘I am Mr Savalamuratichimimozi Mlantushi … formerly the defendant’s chef for his safari business. I was able to observe my employer’s character at close hand. I can tell you that my employer was most desultory in his habits. He does not care to order his possessions or his time and his business skills are rock bottom.’

  The public amused.

  ‘I can confirm to you that he has no friends. I can tell you that he’s running from his wife —a woman of impeccable modernity, wealth and good dress sense.’

  Mr Bin hung his head, but the public chuckled again. This was surely a very fine day in court.

  The Justice said, ‘Are you speaking for the prosecution or for the defence?’

  ‘The defence, honourable Justice.’

  The public he-hawed again. The justice did not admonish them this time. Had she given up?

  ‘I confess to the court the defendant’s human failings only to demonstrate that I’m a fully honest and reliable witness. You can trust my word. I have principles. You should believe me therefore when I state that the defendant is not a violent man. In contrast, he’s placid to the extent of gently treating the smallest of the animal kingdom … even tired birds. As to his weapon? It’s regulation to carry a gun in the National Park when running a safari business. He’s therefore merely abiding by the law of the land. As to his purported riches? His business was failing. Many times, I had to push-start his broken-down vehicle. I believe my own bicycle was worth more.’

  The public were silent.

  ‘He’s so poor that he couldn’t even afford to have his garden cleared and swept.’

  The public exchanged shocked glances with each other.

  ‘Despite such he gave me, a man of insubstantial means myself, a good living, sacrificing his own comforts for my sake. I was even able to purchase a magnificent pink sofa. As to his so-called country mansion? It’s a shack that’s falling down. There are cracks all over in which all manner of pests live, the roof is made of grass, the posts are rotting.’

  I had the public’s quiet attention, but the Justice was looking at her papers as if they held more interest than my statement, truly as if waiting for the idiot defence witness to stop droning and to shut-mouth. She sipped at her water and dabbed her brow again with her silky handkerchief.

  ‘True he has had difficulty in relationship with his wife. Let’s not judge him on that basis. Who’s going to cast the first stone? Not me. Especially not me.’

  Behind me, I felt Dorothea’s eyes on me and the silence of the crowd. Only the tock of the clock sounded.

  ‘He should be considered like us all, in that regard.’

  The Justice said, ‘Address the bench, Mr Mlantushi, and make your point or I’ll instruct you to sit down.’

  ‘Forgive me, your honour. My exact point is this. It’s only because the accused was hiding from his wife that he had no friends. I declare that Mr Bin … Mr Du Plessis … made effort to be friendly to me, notwithstanding that I did not encourage that myself … being his employee. I have regret … in that respect.’

  Mr Bin turned his head a little to me.

  ‘You’re still straying.’ said the Justice. ‘The court is not convened to judge on a marriage dispute or to listen to your personal regrets. Have you finished?’ She blew out her cheeks, not caring any longer for judicial decorum.

  ‘One last argument for the defence, if I may, your honour. With dutiful respect to the prosecutor, I wish to politely disagree. That broken bicycle does not belong to the injured party and has never been ridden by the injured party.’

  The court’s eyes were fixated on me. The tock of the clock sounded louder and louder, like a drumstick beating out the lead-in to a grand finale.

  ‘It’s mine.’

  The public made a great commotion in their surprise.

  The Justice said, ‘Order, order in court.’ A clerk stared the public hard again.

  ‘Yes, it’s mine. I myself saw it destroyed by a buffalo in the National Park. I narrowly escaped with my life. You can see the bell’s torn off. It’s the buffalo that should be prosecuted for wrecking my bicycle. He’ll be easily identified. The bell is on his horn.’

  A public member laughed loud, but short.

  ‘I’ve delivered my witness statement your honour.’

  ‘Is the … so-called … defence all concluded?’ the Justice asked Mr Bin. She showed no indication in her law-upholding face that she had recognised the decisive status of the information that I had given the court. The evidence of Mr Bin’s humanity.

  ‘I guess, your h
onour.’

  I sat.

  ‘The court is adjourned.’

  Dorothea stood up. ‘Your honour. I’m the other witness for the defence.’

  Mr Bin turned, wide-eyed like me. The Justice put her hands down hard, annoyed-faced. ‘Very well then, since this is a trial for attempted murder, proceed. And make your point.’

  ‘I’m Dorothea Mlantushi, well known in my village for my piety and charity work. I recognise the prosecution’s client. I saw him two days after the date of the reported collision. He was at a Pastor Cain’s house in Romaji and looked in good health, skipping from the property after receiving an envelope, which I have reason to believe to be a regular payment from Pastor Cain. He showed no signs of injury.’

  ‘Ohhh!’ said the public.

  Dorothea sat down.

  ‘You’ve finished?’

  Dorothea nodded.

  ‘The court is adjourned,’ said the Justice. I saw her trying to suppress a sigh.

  The prosecutor stood. ‘Point of order. Mistaken identity. Look at my client!’

  Mr Vupuma lolled his tongue as if stupefied by a brain bruise.

  But the justice was already moving. She departed in a procession of herself and her two law officers and we all stood in reverence for the robes of her office.

  The public argued amongst themselves. Their noise became louder and louder, men stood and faced off each other, chests were pushed forward. Two policemen removed a fisty man and shouted to all to sit down.

  I tried to reach Mr Bin, but Mr Bambatiwe told me not to speak to the ‘guilty party’. Mr Bin turned and leant towards myself and Dorothea. ‘I have your help, thank you.’

  Mr Bambatiwe popped a can and said, ‘It’ll not be enough, the court will wish to defend the poor man, the father with dependent kids, however many. Perhaps you can appeal before sentence is enacted in full.’ He made a pulling motion on an imagined rope about his neck.