Noah's Law (2 page)

Anyway, if you looked at the whole situation in terms of the law of causation, as I argued with my dad, it really was Mr Kenard's fault. You see, the real and active cause of the act committed was not that I changed the marks, but that Mr Kenard supplied the bait. You don't blame a fish for eating the worm, do you? That poor sucker is just acting on instinct. It's not stupid for the fish to eat the worm; it's only natural. But the fisherman has set it all up. And as far as I'm concerned, the cause of the fish getting caught is not his eating of the worm, but the fact that the fisherman put a fat, juicy worm on the hook.

My dad's a lawyer so whenever we argue he likes to throw all this legal jargon at me because he thinks it will intimidate me into backing down. He doesn't get that I don't back down. Ever.

He mouthed off at me for the better part of an hour (
‘Why do I bother sending you to one of Sydney's top schools where a semester of fees could feed ten families for a year?'
) in front of a tut-tutting Mr Kenard, and then pulled out the Latin stuff. ‘
Causa sine qua non
,' he said and Mr Kenard grinned, pretending to understand even though he teaches biology. ‘ “Cause without which”, otherwise known as the “but for” test. And I'm afraid your argument cannot be sustained according to this test.'

‘Oh yeah? And why is that?'

‘Because
but for
your conduct, those essay results would not have been changed. It's a question of apportioning legal responsibility for a given occurrence . . .'

Blah blah blah.

‘The High Court, in its infamous case on causation, has held that the law does not accept John Stuart Mill's philosophical definition of cause as the sum of the conditions which are jointly sufficient to produce it . . .'

Blah blah blah.

‘Thus, at law, a person may be responsible for damage when his or her wrongful conduct is one of a number of conditions sufficient to produce that damage . . .'

BLAH BLAH BLAH.

‘Despite Mr Kenard leaving the essays within reach of a student, your conduct was one such condition which produced the damage, namely, the fabricated marks . . .'

Mr Kenard, looking bewildered, was probably wishing he was back in his lab dissecting a frog.

I paused. ‘Well,' I said, staring my dad in the eye, ‘if it's about sharing the blame, and my act was only one of many conditions that caused the . . . er . . . changed results, Mr Kenard is also guilty. He should cop some punishment too. Or my sentence should be reduced. That's only fair.'

My argument didn't go down too well. With either my dad or Mr Kenard.

My dad was ‘fed up'. He had ‘had enough'. Mr Kenard's assurance that I would be on lunchtime detention until the end of year, which was two weeks away, wasn't enough.

So my dad called my Aunt Nirvine and asked her for a favour. How could she refuse? She'd be getting six weeks of free labour.

I was going to be stuck working nine to five, five days a week, at Aunt Nirvine's law firm for my entire summer holidays. Do I need to spell out what that meant? I wouldn't be sleeping in, watching movies, clocking the Xbox, riding my bike, hanging out with Amit or checking out the unapproachable girls in the food hall at Westfield. Instead, as Aunt Nirvine informed me, I would become good friends with the photocopier and coffee machine.

My dad informed me that I'd be learning responsibility and fixing up my attitude.

I could think of plenty of foreign words, Latin included, I would have liked to throw at him in response.

 

It was the Sunday night before I was due to start at the law firm. I'd just put in a DVD, an episode of
Law & Order: SVU
. I was humming to the music during the opening credits when Dad walked in.

‘Our scheduled disciplinary hearing starts in five minutes,' he said.

I gave him a blank stare and then, holding his gaze, repeated the opening voiceover.

‘
In the criminal justice system, sexually based offences are considered especially heinous. In New York City the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the special victims unit. These are their stories.
'

‘Riveting,' he said in a tone drier than a towel that's been left out for a week on a washing line in Alice Springs. ‘Court will be in session in five minutes. Penalties apply for late appearances.'

He walked out.

I waited six minutes and then shuffled into the dining room. It was a family affair, absent my mum, given my parents had been divorced for seven years and nearly faced multiple criminal charges the last time they were in a room together.

Mary, my youngest sister, was already sitting at the table, drumming her long fluoro-pink painted fingernails on her black and red notebook. She always used the same brand and had them stacked on her shelf in chronological order.

My other sister, Nadine, was drawing love hearts on the yellow legal pad she'd nicked from Dad's office.

My dad was at the head of the table, holding a meat tenderiser (which he used as a gavel) and wearing his barrister's wig and black robe. The robe was dishevelled and creased. According to a judge's associate I met once at one of Dad's dinner parties, the sloppier you look in court, the more senior you are. He wasn't able to explain the significance of dandruff on a black lapel though.

The disciplinary hearings had been going on for about four years. They started when I substituted cooking chocolate for chocolate laxatives in a home economics class. Then there was the time I snuck into the coordinator's office and wrapped her desk in foil. Or the time I hacked into the student newspaper and deleted the word ‘and' every time it appeared, right before the paper went to print.

So Dad decided to bring the law home. He'd been making us suffer his courtroom dramas in the dining room ever since. It put a totally different perspective on the idea of ‘family meetings'.

I slumped down into the chair directly opposite Nadine. Dad slammed the meat tenderiser down onto the small wooden chopping board he'd bought especially for these hearings.

‘Right, this court is now in session,' he declared. ‘Appearances, please. Loudly and clearly so that Mary is able to record them.'

We knew the drill. Mary started first.

‘I appear as the court reporter,' she said, and then transcribed her own words. I'd told her countless times that she might as well write out her appearance and photocopy a stack of copies since she already knew what she was going to say. But she's like Dad. A major nerd.

‘Next appearance, please,' Dad said.

‘Nadine. Appearing for the defendant.' Because I was the defendant at the hearing I wouldn't formally appear. I had to sit there and let my lawyer, Nadine, do all the talking for me. I hated it when I was the defendant. Dad's disciplinary hearings were only bearable when Nadine was the one in trouble and I was the one defending her.

‘Thank you,' Dad said in a solemn voice. ‘Now would counsel for the defendant please explain why I received the affidavit in support of the defendant's application for a reduced sentence one day late? On the last occasion we met, I gave strict instructions that any affidavit material should be filed in the right-hand drawer of the hallway table forty-eight hours prior to the next disciplinary hearing, scheduled for today. If you are to survive in the big wide world, you must learn how to follow instructions, respect rules and adhere to timetables. Do I need to remind you that this courtroom will prepare you for the world? Please explain the delay. I'm happy to consider any extenuating circumstances.'

Nadine stood up.

‘Permission is granted to remain seated.'

‘Thank you, Your Honour. I much prefer to sit after those two noodle boxes I had for dinner. The defendant respectfully requests permission to give—'

‘The correct term is
tender
. Language is important. Only those who master their vocabulary excel in this world.'

‘Oh yeah, right. I respectfully request permission to tender the affidavit late 'cause I wasn't talking to my client all week after he told his friend Amit that I think Amit's hot. I'm sure you'd agree this was cruel and that my silent treatment was justified and within the terms of my agreement with my client, which specifically says that any low-life sibling activity from either of us temporarily wipes out our duties to act for each other. So I wasn't able to get instructions from my client and then when he apologised, after he found out that Amit and his other friend, Luke, who isn't as hot, are going to Terrigal from Friday to Sunday, 30 January to 1 February, the second last week of school holidays, and he wanted me to—'

‘Would counsel for the defendant kindly construct concise sentences?' Dad said wearily.

Nadine let out a long sigh. ‘The defendant wants to go to Terrigal with his mates
full stop
. But he can't go if he's stuck at Aunt Nirvine's for the entire holiday
full stop
. My affidavit outlines all the details of the Terrigal trip, including dates, times, parties involved, both in the human-being sense and the music/girls he can't get/dorky-dancing sense
full stop
. So he seeks your permission to reduce his sentence so he can go to Terrigal
full stop
.'

Mary was writing furiously. She had a gift for speed writing and had developed her own shorthand. I wanted to say something but I knew I'd blow my chances if I spoke without permission. Usually, I would have had no problem getting Dad worked up with the meat tenderiser, but there was too much at stake. I needed my sentence reduced or I'd miss out on the best holiday with my mates.

‘Thank you, counsel,' Dad said. I have considered your explanation for the delay and concur that your client engaged in inappropriate behaviour warranting a temporary severance of your retainer agreement. Noah, in future you are ordered not to embarrass your sisters in front of your mates.

‘I have read the affidavit and have reached a decision. My reasons follow. Would Mary please note that these are my
reasons
, and not my orders, as there was some confusion between the two in the last transcript of proceedings.'

‘Noted, Your Honour!' That singsong voice of my little sister just killed me.

‘First, given the defendant's ongoing outrageous conduct at school, I consider his sentence to be perfectly proportionate to the offences committed. Second, in deciding on the sentence, I have given consideration to the social utility in requiring the defendant to work on a voluntary basis in a law firm. I am confident he will learn responsibility and accountability, qualities which will not only be of value to him, but be of value to the wider community in the long term. I am not convinced that a reduced sentence for the purpose of attending a beach party at Terrigal is consistent with the message I am trying to convey to the defendant and the community in applying the maximum sentence. The defendant is a remarkably intelligent human being with enormous potential. That potential has so far been an untapped resource. His intelligence has been misapplied.

‘However, I am not a cruel judge. I am fair and just.' He stopped and took out his BlackBerry. ‘I am just consulting my calendar. Hmm . . . yes.' He cleared his throat and continued.

‘On Wednesday 28 January I will convene a further hearing. The defendant will have been working at Saleh & Co Lawyers for approximately six weeks by then. If, at the hearing, the defendant is able to demonstrate that he has become a responsible human being who has
changed his attitude
, I will permit him to cease his work at Aunt Nirvine's law firm and go on his beach holiday to Terrigal. Therefore, these are my orders . . .' He looked at Mary, who nodded.

‘One: the defendant's application for a reduced sentence is denied.

‘Two: the defendant's sentence may be reduced and permission granted to cease his work at Aunt Nirvine's law firm and go on his beach holiday to Terrigal if, and only if, he satisfies the court that he is a changed man at the hearing listed for 28 January.

‘For the sake of clearing up any misunderstanding, teenagers can be men, and any arguments to the contrary, which have been aired by the defendant before, are not valid. Those are my orders. Court is now adjourned.'

Dad slammed the meat tenderiser down on the wooden chopping board, placed his wig in its round steel box and stretched.

‘Nadine, is there any ice-cream cake left over from yesterday?' he asked.

Honestly, the man had no conscience.

I was furious. Dad was known for his excessive sentencing. I was used to being grounded for weeks on end. I'd been on dishwasher duties for what seemed like forever. Even an Xbox ban was manageable. But this was criminal. He'd never gone this far before. It was child labour. I was being made to work against my will. There had to be legal consequences for that kind of sadism. Maybe I could hire an important barrister to take on my case for free. Convince them to see the bigger picture: parental abuse; children's welfare; the right of a teenager to their school holidays. Human rights observers would come along to take notes on the trial.