Dada 126

The journalist had a kindly face, not like the prosecuting judge who terrified me with his cap beneath his arm almost like a hood and his large book. He shook the policeman’s hand very warmly and again, I noticed that everyone was talking in little groups, calling out to each other and chatting like in a club where everyone is happy to meet other people that they have something in common with. It was like one of those bars that only serve coffee after the football because no one would dare to talk or drink anything else in between.

I could not explain the circumstances that I felt totally alone, that everyone knew someone except me, that they all had something together that I was the intruder. Nevertheless the journalist spoke to me and smiled. He said it he hoped it would go well for me. I thanked him and he added,

‘you know we’ve written about your case, it has exercised the imagination and duress of the nation’

I didn’t understand what he meant. He said the trial would not last long. The turn of the seasons after May is the only time when the judges can get away. They never fail to have a rest after the major trials and then come back refreshed for the slow season and the winter monsoon.

‘I wouldn’t worry ‘ the journalist said. Then he pointed out another  small Malayan man who was standing with the group that he had just left. He was wearing enormous glasses that looked like those artificial ones with wobbly eyes you can buy at the fairground; one of the  places  where old Srino took his old parrot. He looked like he had not missed many meals.

The policeman told me that the man was a special correspondent from Kuala Lumpur and had come especially for my case. It was important that Malaysian justice was seen as incorruptible to the rest of the world.

‘They have asked him to send in your story in double quick time.’ He said.

 I was about to thank him but that seemed ridiculous. If Dada had been here, he would know just what to do. The journalist gave me a friendly little wave and walked away. We waited for a few more minutes in the stifling heat.

He was a little like my father who messed away those years of my growing in his own way. My studies were good; my citizenship was flowering .I was a bright young fellow, my father’s friends, teachers and other managers all said it but the issue was the boy’s grandfather. To even discuss him was enough to give countenance to the traitorous manner in which the lawless treated our island.

My lawyer arrived, flowing in his robes and surrounded by several of his colleagues. Straight away he went over to the journalists and started to shake their hands, even those of the foreign correspondents who previously, if they had noticed me at all, had only glared. They exchanged pleasantries and were laughing together, completely at ease. Then the bell rang in the court room and everyone took his place.

My lawyer came over, shook my hand and advised me to reply to any questions as briefly as possible. He asked me not to offer any additional information and to count on him to do the rest.

To my left I heard the sound of a chair being scraped across the floor a and I saw a tall fat man, dressed all in red and with steel rimmed spectacles, which he constantly removed and replaced from his nose with a hand bearing a heavy gold ring on its final finger. Swag for the pirates I thought or my turn on the boats of a Dayak imagination.

Below and to the right side of the presiding judge, the chief prosecuting lawyer sat down carefully folding his robes beneath him as if he was sitting on a cushion.  I struggled to remember any of the previous conversations with the detective. He definitely would not wear that sort of ring for show. He was far too courteous. He would not mock you with his power.