Bang (29 page)

The Superintendent, as the (still giggling) workmen
approached the lift, coughed and gesticulated with a half-waving hand that they
halt.

‘I’m waiting,’ said the lift.

A silence, conspiratorial silence, spread through the
courtroom.

‘I know you’re there,’ said the lift. ‘My sensors are
finely tuned. I will count everybody in this room: 1113. Lift overloaded.’

‘Shush,’ said someone.

‘There is no point trying to upset me like this,’ the
lift went on. ‘I don’t feel a thing. I know I’m meant to be upset, feel
rejected, and have registered this, but since I have zero emotional pain in
that department I couldn’t care less. You can cut me up or melt me down and I
would not care. Leave me here and pretend you’ve left the room, what difference
does it make to me? I am a lift, it’s no skin off my nose, I am used to
waiting, that’s what I was built for. If this is a contest of wills, I shall
win, because I do not have a will, I can simply go onto standby.’

‘Oh take the damn thing away,’ shouted the
Superintendent. ‘And put it back where you found it. From now on I’ll use the
stairs. Next witness.’

‘I would like some cake, too,’ said the lift as the
workmen (with heaving shoulders) carried it away. But the lift had had its say,
and was now ignored, now the next witness had taken the stand.

Lawyer Poy Yack said, ‘Yes, this might prove a little
tricky. Given that you cannot talk, please pulse your Life once for yes, two
for no.’

The Superintendent added, ‘Offer the witness his cake
now, as he will not be speaking he can eat instead. Let’s press on, though, I
am mindful of the time. I would not like to overrun.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Poy Yack. ‘There’s not much more to
do here today.’ He turned to the witness. ‘Can you eat cake, without your
tongue, which the surgeon used to beat the defendant with?’

The witness pulsed once – yes – and was handed a
large slice, which, technically as a prisoner he should not have had,
explaining perhaps why he stuffed it in his mouth in one go and began chomping
noisily and breathily.

‘How long have you been agent to the Defendant, agent?
A long time or a short time?’

So, thought Delilah,
this
tongueless person is
my agent.

The agent, a drawn figure, with a neck slack now it
had no tongue rooted in it, did not pulse his Life.

‘My apologies. A short time?’

Two pulses: no.

‘A long time?’

One pulse.

‘Has it, on the whole, been a good working
relationship?’

Two pulses: no.

‘She was unreliable, one would assume, turning up late
for shoots, sometimes weeks, refusing to read scripts, saying she knew them
already, being generally difficult?’

Yes: one pulse. And nodding.

‘Arrogant, this defendant? Refused to acknowledge you?
Ignored you last time you met? Liked to take credit for others’ work?’

Yes.

‘Even now up in Hearing Room 102 an esteemed money man
brokers a language-selling deal likely to be worth an inordinate sum and
suddenly over there the Defendant glows as if she has something to do with
this, something she could take credit for. You found these attempts to steal
the limelight typical, these delusions, in your dealings with her?’

Yes.

‘How trying, I must say. Then you found yourself down
here, is this correct, because she balked on an agreement you had with the
Center of Disinformation for her to provide her services in a Public Body of
Health Education Bulletin they’d hope to do, balked by deliberately getting herself
arrested. Something about a mugging. But
you
took the fall. This is
accurate? Yet you continued to work for her, and find work for her, even while
you were administered injections in your tongue that ultimately caused its collapse
and subsequent loss and was used by the surgeon in his profiling of her?’

Yes. Emphatically, yes: the agent pulsed the Life with
significance, staring down hard at Delilah.

‘Not a good client to have. But you didn’t fire her,
because, try as you might to counter such leanings, you liked her, found
yourself
for
her? Against all your better judgment, you still rooted for
her. You had dedicated yourself to her. You weren’t about to abandon her now.’

Yes again. And tears now.

‘You couldn’t help yourself from helping her. So you
put her forward for the film
The Murderer
. You knew she could play the
part? You knew she was right for it?’

Yes.

‘Why?’

The agent shook his open mouth about and gesticulated
frantically with his arms that Poy Yack ask him a yes-no question.

‘Because you knew she had killed?’

No.

‘I beg your pardon, because you knew she had
murdered
.
Murdered, yes, murdered!’

Yes. Yes, yes, yes, Crying. The agent pulsed out
single yeses and became so overwrought that he had to be carried away, after
he’d jumped down into a stretchy cradle of stripes, a trail of cake crumbs
falling from his mouth. Delilah had no idea who he was and had never seen him
before in her life. She put her hand up to speak but was told she’d be found in
contempt of court if she did not put this hand down, told that to be found in
contempt of court was to risk punishment worse than the punishment likely to be
awarded for the sentence one was in court for, even if it was murder. She
thought of those gardens, gardens they’d let her see purely to torment her,
gardens to double the misery of her incarceration when it came, and it would,
it would come. Ow, she then thought, sucking a shard of eggshell from the
reopened hole in her gum, eggshell that must have been there for a long time. A
desperation in her wondered how she could use this eggshell to help her escape.
It was true what they said, that when you were down, this far down, everything
counted, everything mattered. She wished she’d never seen those fucking
gardens. Her swearing was back again. She spat out the eggshell. She was angry.
The trial went on.

‘And you, Defendant,’ said the Superintendent, ‘now
that you are permitted to – a moment ago you were not – do you have
anything to say?’

Yes she did. She had a case to put. But if she put it,
then what? To defend herself meant admitting she took the violent initiative
that led not indirectly but directly to Gentle’s death – the flat-handed
push that had at the time felt so powerful and utterly intentional (even if she
hadn’t known it was coming until her hand went ahead and did it). To admit
this, in this court, was to admit murder. More, no one seemed to know anything
about it. Other than a couple of allusions to it by now-dead prisoners in
Remand 111, the court was obsessed with some fanciful drowning. She didn’t know
what to do. She could defend herself for everything that led up the push,
everything that led away from it, but the push itself, though fully justified
in her mind and no doubt in others’, surely in this court’s eye would
constitute wilful and indefensible murder – would be all it took to send
her away forever. And the other charges – from traffic violations to
kidnap – these she couldn’t go into, because the law was so vague and hard
to pin down that she’d probably do more harm than good, or anyway commit
another crime in the process – speaking against the Authority for
instance, something she was yet to be charged with, though was consciously
guilty of. Maybe, she decided now, she should keep quiet – not draw attention
to anything. She opened her mouth and answered, ‘No,’ and closed it again and
this seemed to surprise the court and cause from the audience an intake of
breath and Delilah was quite pleased about that, suppressing the smile that
wanted in this desperate moment to spread itself across her face.

Lawyer Poy Yack approached the Superintendent and
whispered up harshly, pointing his legal tie over his shoulder at Delilah. This
caused the Superintendent to nod robustly and bang his fist on the gavel pad and
screw his face up in agreement, and say, ‘I am reminded by my friend Lawyer Poy
Yack that the defendant must speak. If the defendant does not speak the
defendant’s testimony cannot be contested and shown to be utterly wrong and,
what’s more, nonsensical. How can a court of law operate under such adverse
circumstances, girly? Answer me that.’

‘I have nothing to say.’

‘Lawyer Poy Yack has trained and trained over many
years in the art of argument and for you to tender none is to deny the court
and the lawyer their right. Speak!’

Delilah squeezed her lips tight.

‘You’re not helping your cause.’

‘I have no cause. I am simply soon to become a victim
of an injustice. That’s all I have to say. Other than I hope you enjoy your
party.’ She squeezed her lips tight again.

‘Thank you, your sentiment is very kind. Notice over
there the special waitress has just joined us and is taking notes. A splendid
woman, wouldn’t you say. Look how she beautifully sits.’

Delilah looked. A big fat woman sat smiling on a
stool, which suddenly broke.

The Superintendent said, ‘Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ said Poy Yack.

‘Defendant?’

What for? asked Delilah’s eyes.

‘Sentencing. What do you think for? Why else are we
here if not to sentence you? You amaze me with your ignorance. You amaze me also
with your ingenuity, something I admit I was unaware I was unaware or aware of
before today. Still, you do not amaze me overall, and that’s all that really
matters. The sort of person that amazes me is one of those explorers who
travels to the extremities of our environment, is released by guards through a
security valve, then plods off to see what’s left of everything outside and how
they are all doing. If indeed there is any
they
left. With all the
information that doesn’t come out of the Center of Disinformation it is hard to
know what not to believe and whether there is a they at all and if so whether
this they do present a threat or don’t not present a threat, which is not quite
the same thing. I would if I had my way put on trial each and every one of them
for stupidity – not that any ever return. And I can’t exactly try them
before they go or they would be locked up here in the System and never be able
to leave in the first place, to thus display the very stupidity I want to try
them for. Oh, there was one wasn’t there who came back, but he returned because
he got lost and, and, oh I forget the details. He ate his feet, didn’t he? Now,
to the issue in hand, sentencing. I’ve thought about this one long and hard.
Knew the moment I set eyes on you that I’d have trouble with it. That’s why
I’ve been working on it for so many weeks now. And why, of course, we’re here
today.’

Delilah waited – and at this moment experienced
an olfactory hallucination that took her back again to the scents and smells of
the
Gentle Memorial Gardens
. She thought it no accident that this was
the comparison under which she was to learn her future, with dewy fresh grass,
recently mowed, on her nose.

The Superintendent began, ‘For the murder of Officer
Gentle, and for other crimes you’ve asked be taken into consideration –
traffic violation, incitement to kidnap, speaking out against the Authority by
referring to it with the money man as the ‘bloody Authority’ – you are
sentenced to death. Yes, to die. This is not all. This decree is absolute.
However, with this death penalty fully at the forefront of your mind, you will
be allowed bi-yearly appeals, each allowing you the hope that your death
penalty might be overturned, which of course it will not. Understand that this
is part of the punishment, this allowance for hope, and will cause long-term
misery and despair, at times severe, resulting possibly in your taking your own
life, which will save our doing it. This is referred to by the Authority as
Intelligent Punishment. Meanwhile, the System cannot allow itself to be put at
risk from you. So, further, and in addition, you will, for reasons we have
heard in the court today, the surgeon’s, and for others we have not, the Former
Bottle Manufacturer’s, be expelled from the System. However, you will
definitely be reintroduced to the System. Or you definitely will not be
reintroduced. You will definitely not know which, of this you can be quite
sure. Meanwhile, your death penalty will stand and your bi-yearly appeals
continue. For the Authority’s interests you will be utilised’ – the
Superintendent hoicked a thumb in the air – ‘up there, generating crime,
mainly, and helping keep the System going and in turn the Authority. You will
not be free, let me make that
absolutely
clear. You will remain under
sentence, a prisoner. Whether you are aware of this from day to day remains to
be seen. Whether you are aware that you are aware also remains to be seen. The
Authority, for its part, will be aware of you at all times, but will not pay
for your sentence; you will finance it yourself, while also finding a way of
repaying all monies owed the Whipping Boy, who will, and this goes without
saying – I will be able to tell by the look on your face that you knew this
already once you hear it – become your parole officer so soon as he’s
passed his calculus exams.’ The Superintendent began to lower toward the
ground, smoothly but much more swiftly than he had risen on his System Rostrum.
‘You will live with Harry and Shane,’ he said, his words hanging above him in
the air has he descended. ‘You have probably already guessed this, too, by now,
and I am wasting my breath by repeating sentences you have already spoken
inside your head. Harry especially is looking forward to having you back. Thank
you, Shane, for all your hard work in this matter. Sentencing concluded. Now,
if you’ll excuse me,’ and the Superintendent jumped the last metre or so to the
ground, ‘I have a party to go to.’ He tripped and then rushed out, followed by
Poy Yack, his team, JJ Jeffrey, the special waitress, and many others, a
thousand or so, rushing too, who hoped to attend the party but knew full well,
knew unequivocally, that they would not be admitted.