Dada 154

I stood again and tried to explain that it was a culmination because of the sun and water and food and drugs and why I’d woken feeling tired that morning and my mouth bitter, then the fighting and the car ride to the city beneath a wet moon. I pointed at the prosecutor, ‘What about the blood, this lawyer refers to, are we not all mixed on this island?’ I spoke quickly but my words rolled into one another and clashed together like stones. I was conscious that what I was saying sounded like nonsense even though it was true. I heard a gentle laugh come like a breeze across the courtroom and looked up and saw a jury member cover her mouth. She fluttered a handkerchief across her nervous fingers and I thought of Mo holding the silver paper like a grill. The woman in blue looked at me as if to say, ‘I told you so.’ My mother too shuddered again. What I didn’t sing to her nor anyone else was my father’s song. Nor did I point to his absence across the court nor accuse him with his singing lash and the doleful acts of ‘contrition’ .I did not confide in them my terror when I heard his soft footfall on the stairs. I would not demean myself. My lawyer shrugged his shoulders and tugged at his cuffs. He was directed to address the court. All he did was to point out the lateness of the hour. As he pointed to his watch again I was attracted to one of his cuff links that shone a wan gold.it could have been the gold of a European clipper ripe for picking or a Chinese junk waddling like a duck up the straits of Molucca. He asked for an adjournment until the following afternoon. The judge nodded agreement.