What Becomes of the Broken Hearted? (26 page)

T
HEY WERE COMING
into the court room like big jugs of humans being poured, each from a different container, with the formally dressed ones, the court officials, and the lawyers, already with their permanently reserved places in Two Lakes’ newly opened High Court, but the rest of quite different flavour.

Jake telling himself to stick to Rita’s instructions now that the gang arseholes started their sunglass-wearin’ dark oozing through the side door. She’d said, give ’em an even stare, Jake, like this, not this, showing him what he looked like when he was giving the meanies. But it was hard seein’ ’em in the flesh, they riled a man instantly, made ’im want to fight the bastards, but no, an
instruction
is a instruction, and there was a lot more than the old-day pride at stake here. Now there was.

So he gave back a steady stare, keeping his blinks near to an eye-hurtin’ minimum. (I have to. I just have to.) But so hard to keep up the act with the way they swaggered in, fucken big galoot kids hidin’ behind their shades and numbers and bullshit reps. Fuckem. No, don’t even be thinking like that, he told himself, or it’ll be you losing it, the only thing that’ll count in this trial: dignity. And courage (guts).

Rita hadn’t arrived yet; he wondered if she was putting him to the test, of leavin’ him on his own to face this like she’d persuaded him to face all the other things. Not that he was through with that. But progress had been made.

The lawyers he thought wore wigs like you see on teevee, but these ones didn’t. He got quite a startle to see Beth when she walked in, how she’d changed, how damn good she looked, how smartly dressed she was, like the man with her, whatshisname, the welfare fulla, Bennett, that’s right. Big fulla but kinda paunchy. Had to tell himself don’t be lookin’ at the man like that: he’s the one ended up with Beth not you, and fathered your kids how they shoulda been fathered. Got even more of a start when she saw him and nodded. Ever so formally he felt. (Oh, well, what’s past is past. I don’t feel so ashamed now.) He gave a little nod back that woulda been a little smile if he didn’t have the gang cunts in front ofim.

The kids with Beth and her man, well he didn’t see them at first. And when he did as they took their seats up there in the higher public gallery he didn’t at first recognise them. Was that Polly? Why, she’d turned into a very fine-looking young woman. And talk about confident. Guilt then forced him to look at the other. Hu? Is that Huata? Kid was fucken near a man’s size now And he’d be what, twelve, thirteen, fourteen at most? Truth was, Jake didn’t know not to even a couple of years how old his kids were. They did look well, though. Someone looking like Boogie was nowhere to be seen. (Hell, what if he’s died, been killed, too?)

He averted his eyes, couldn’t bear to get cold blank stares, he was lucky Beth’d even nodded his way. (Got to find my own sources of strength. Love, too.) Which is the feeling he got when he saw another file-in through the same side door as the gang cunts: it was love he felt. Kohi, Gary, Jason, Hepa, Haki Douglas, and a few others he didn’t know, a whole bunch ofem, walked in and each man giving gesture to Jake, and eyes at the gang cunts sitting with tattooed arms folded trying to look tough, wearin’ their shades inside. Oh, how the Douglas brothers and cousins were giving them arseholes the unshaded eye. And about the same as Rita had told him he should give, with not too much aggression, just with all your fearless heart, Jake Heke. Tha’s all you have to give those bastards.

So he did. He looked over at ’em and felt his head lift and he didn’t move a muscle on his face and knew the Douglas’s wouldn’t be either, hard men that they were. And he could feel that humming coming from their direction, like they were trying to send it out to him, lettim know they were withim all the way.

Then an official voice toldem all quiet please and be standing for his honour the learned judge. So they all stood, even the
gangies
knew to or they’d be ordered from the court-room. And this old fulla, white of course, comes in but looking very dignified but in a different way to Jake Heke’s unnerstandin’ of dignity. The judge took his seat, nodded to the beautifully timbered room of a mix of the town’s, the world’s, inhabitants, from the fullas who would’ve felled the trees to those who’d read those thick books lining the shelves behind the judge made from the trees. (It’s all kind of the same.)

They sat down, everyone but the gangies who slumped and dropped their sullen, burning weights down. And names were called and charges read. Murder. Which made Jake Heke shudder, but not enough to move him one inch in staring still at the gangies in a bunch on their own, several spaces around them cleared. He shuddered but differently at hearing the name — his name — Heke amongst the droning by the court official, as spoken by a whiteman which was different to a Maori voice sayin’ it.

And he wanted more than anything in this moment for that face to just look his way seeing he’d shifted his defiant but
dignified
gaze from the gangies to him (my son, whether he
acknowledges
or not). Just to know is all a man asks. Inside, no different to a silent prayer: Just look at me once, boy.

(He’s frightened. Don’t be frightened, son. Jakey’s here. One look is all I ask.) Your honour, the crown’s witness will be, as just declared, Abraham Jacob Heke. (Tha’s right, we named him Jacob his middle name.) Your honour will appreciate the stringent
security
measures to protect this witness giving evidence against the defendant Montgomery on the gravest of all criminal charges, murder, and the other defendant … (blah-blah-blah, just look at me, Abe. So you know I’m here. Like I shoulda been.)

Beth’s eyes caught Jake as he shot a glance at her, asking with his eyes what next, what next? (I never knew what was best in this life, I just didn’t. But I’m willing to learn. Gimme a sign, Beth, of what to do about our son.) But her eyes went to that son without giving Jake any sign.

Proceedings were some way on, the name of the woman those two in the dock’d murdered, or one had and the other was charged with being an accessory, had been mentioned several times: Tania Martins. Age twenty-six. Jurors were warned that photographs of the murdered woman’s body would be — well, whatever the word they use for very bad to look at (poor kid). And those Hawk filth trying to intimidate Jake Heke’s son Abe but getting plenty of looks from him and the Douglas brothers. Plenty.

But he did look my way. Got a shock to see me. Looked away I was desperate. But leas’ I’d done my best. Then his eyes started coming back to me, not all the way, but part. Eventually he gave them to me. And I just nodded. No smile. No nothing but the look — of
support though — and the nod. My son inclined his head back. And then it lifted and never dropped again not for the whole days and days of giving his evidence against that murdering bastard whose name Abe called Apeman but was Montgomery, of all the names, a war general Jake’s old pub mates used to talk about they called Monty.

I
WAS GONNA
shoot them. Or I would’ve shot him, the driver. I was waiting for them at the side of the house. With this choir music going that woulda really got to me if it wasn’t for the, uh,
circumstances
. Their car came ghosting in, engine off, and the doors open and two people get out, walking fast for the front door where under the light I see they’ve got balaclavas, like we wear out hunting when it’s cold. ’Cept one was a woman. A woman.

I would’ve shot him because he wasn’t Jimmy Bad Horse he was the driver whose crazy eyes I’d seen for a man who doesn’t talk, he fights, and he fights dirtier than dirty. I would’ve shot him because a part of me, maybe of a lot of men, would like to do it, to the bad guy most of us would. But then who’d believe me if I said I did it because he was burgling the home of a rich white family where my daughter had hung herself?

So I just stepped out where they could see me in the spillover of light: You get the fuck outta here. Then I saw he had a carpet knife. So I lifted my rifle at his head, angry. You were gonna use that on them in there? He didn’t say no, nor did he look so surprised it took away any of that murderous look in his eyes in that opening of woollen head-covering. As for you, a woman, you’re lucky I don’t make you take those things off. (In fact, it then came to me, I better. Case I had to identify them. Might give me an advantage if they were thinking of backing up on me. Because I toldem, I’m Jake Heke. Case you didn’t know.) Now rip them things off your fucken heads. (Or else.)

I could still hear that sad chorus singing faintly. So the Tramberts’d never know, not if these two pieces of shit now exposed to me didn’t do sumpthin’ stupid. Oh, he was a hardnut the fulla was alright. A murder waitin’ to happen for sure. Her, she was no surprise, a slut who looked like she was a bit old for this sorta carry-on; and her mouth opening and closing as though she recognised me. Maybe she did. It didn’t matter.

Now you get in that car of yours and don’t you ever come back. I was about to say about the tree what it meant to me. But it was like telling my own, old self: it wouldn’t mean nothin’. When you’re deaf, when you’re blind, with no ears eyes to your own life, then that’s what you are.

Walked behind ’em to their car. Told her to get in and steer it, him to push. A bullet up your arse you try anything smart, mista. I didn’t want the engine starting to warn the Tramberts. They’d known about me without my knowing. Now it was my turn. Made the bastard push it way clear of the gates, till he asked how far I was gonna make ’im do this. I thought of Rita and how she pushed me. Way to go yet, kid. So shuddup and keep pushing.

I stood on the Trambert private driveway watching the gang car disappear its red eyes into the night. I thought if a visitor happened along to catch me in its headlights standing there
holding
a gun, be me for the high-jump. So I scrammed back to the van and drove, unnannounced, to Rita’s, telling myself that if I found her with a man I was to accept it and walk. But she was pleased to see me. And naturally very surprised but proud of me what I’d done, as I told her of it finishing with me hearing that music even when I was so far away I couldn’t have heard it. In your freed heart, she said, that’s where it was coming from. I think I unnerstood what she meant, that I did.

M
Y SON
A
BE’S
evidence the way he told that girl’s life, of her kid brothers and li’l sister burning in the house after their mother left ’em with no money, took it for herself and went boozing, and when they found the five bucks down the back of the sofa, the li’l brother did, the older sister Tania went to buy fish and chips and when she came back the, uh, the house was burning, it had the court-room in tears, women crying, men, too. And even some of those gang cunts had lowered heads in shame that such a life lived should end up murdered by one of their own. I realised he’d told that part of her life story to get the jurors even more against that Apeman piece of filth. (My) Abe never wavered, not even when Apeman at the jury finding them guilty as charged screamed out The Family’s gonna get you! It had no punch in it, not with us big fullas, me and the Douglas real family staring our contempt at the arseholes who
didn’t look they could get ’emselves home after this. Oh, not that I had anything to boast about. And what I did who’d believe it, that I’d stopped two of the other gang from doing what they mighta done to the Tramberts. Nothing else to boast about. Nothin’.

Rita didn’t come near me, not the court-room, till it was all over. We heard there’d been another gang killing while Abe was giving his evidence. Apparently, a Brown Fist cut the throat of Jimmy Bad Horse and had shot himself. Did the deed with a Stanley knife so the lawyers and court officials were reading and
whispering
about in their newspapers.

I shook Abe’s hand after it was over. But that was all. We didn’t have anything to say to each other, I understood that. But at least my other kids, Huata and Polly, came up and shook my hand and said thanks for supporting Abe and were those my friends in support, too? Polly wanted to know that. Yeah, they’re my friends. I thought she looked a lot like Grace her smile. But then again what would I’ve remembered of Grace? I asked Polly where was Boog these days. Nearly fell over when she said university. A kid of mine, a common ole Heke, at a university? I just had to ask, studying what? But she was turned and walking and prob’ly didn’t hear.

I had a dream one night, of that strange, unified humming. It was the Douglas family, and in another smaller (reduced) group was my kids with Beth and their real father, Charlie Bennett. Humming the same tuneless note that held ’em together. I had thought, I remember thinking it, at my son Nig’s funeral, in my shamed state concealed in the bushes, that Nig and me’d showem in the next life. In the next life we’d showem. Well, in this dream it was showing me it could be this life. Yeah.

Well, Jake Heke’s sorry. I am sorry to all of you. Rita who I live with keeps telling me, It’s alright, Jake. Now it is. Now it is. But, you know, it needn’t have been.