Dada 150

‘I have described to you the series of events which led this man to kill his victims when he was fully aware of what he was doing. He has even admitted to you himself, the effect of drugs was wearing off and that it was mere irritation rather than threat that led him to this action. ‘This man was fully aware of what he was doing ‘he repeated. ‘We are not concerned here with an act of homicide committed on a sudden impulse and with one single and fatal stab which might serve as an extenuation of the circumstances but a sustained and prolonged assault along a path he had already chosen and which confirmed his intention.’ The prosecutor wiped his brow. ‘We know the prisoner is a criminal, but we also know he was educated at the High school, until he chose to leave. He is not without some education. You will have observed the way he answered my questions. He is intelligent enough and he knows the power of words. It is quite impossible to believe that he committed these crimes without being aware of what he was doing.’ The intelligence that i supposedly possessed was being used against me; any solidarity with my Dada a construction in the use of narrative to show the overwhelming manner of my guilt. I missed what he said next except that when I looked up I heard him exclaim in a manner of exaltation, the way tourists sometimes greet the sunsets over the river after the rain, a sort of hallelujah of righteous indignation yet it came with almost a whisper. ‘Gentlemen and Ladies, not once in these proceedings has this man once uttered the least act of contrition.’ Muddied blood, I thought. ‘We know what sort of man his Dada was, the prosecutor continued’. Turning towards the dock he pointed a finger at me and went on in the same strain. I really couldn’t understand why he harped on so much about this point, Of course he was right. I was so tired, I didn’t feel much regret for what I had done. What had happened , happened . But I own the prosecutor had tapped into a certain history. The court room was electric. Dada was no plaster saint. He had frequented his own time, his ships and his women. He was not a pirate but he could have been. I was being hauled up high before my history. Would I kill again? No I certainly would not but that was not the issue, what was missing was the situation, the place that chance had led me into.