The Hearing

by James Mills

  “You were around for all this?”

  “I lived there. I helped.”

  “You helped?”

  “Opened the door, said hello, hung up coats.”

  “What did you think?”

  “Sometimes they’d want something to drink and I’d give them drinks. I thought it was kind of fun. Like a party. Everyone was nice to me. And then when I was eight it seemed like the girls were getting younger, or maybe I was just getting older, but they were almost like my age. And some of the guys would try to play around with me. Just like playing around, you know, slapping me on the butt and stuff like that, but then they got a little more—it wasn’t just kidding around anymore. And I told my mom about it and she said it was just my imagination, that they were all nice people.

  “And then one of the guys—a young guy, a nice guy, I liked him—we were sort of playing around, he was chasing me, and I’d chase him, just playing, and the next thing I knew we were in my mom’s bedroom and the door was closed and he was on the bed and he wanted me to come on the bed with him, and boy I just turned around got out of there. And I told my mom. I thought she’d be really mad and kick him out, but all she said was—like it was nothing, like the whole thing was just nothing—she said, ‘Well, why’d you run away? He wasn’t going to hurt you. He just wanted to play a little.’ And I knew what she meant by that because that was what the girls would say to the men, like, ‘You wanna play a little?’ And I knew what that meant.”

  She stopped. Gus waited for her to continue, but she turned toward the window in silence. Finally he said, “Then what happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  “Okay.”

  Her mood had changed. What had happened? She swiveled her head toward him, and he could see she was crying. She said, “I really hate to tell you this.”

  “Then don’t tell me.”

  “Even my mother, Doreen, she never talked about it to me, it’s the only thing she never used to hurt me. She mentioned it once and I threw the TV through the window. It was just a little TV, a portable. There’s a lot of stuff and after a while there’s just too much. Do you know what I mean?”

  “I know very well what you mean, Samantha. You don’t have to tell me.”

  “I want you to know.”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “One day early in the morning there was only this one guy in the house, maybe he’d spent the night, or he’d come over real early, I don’t know, but he was an older guy I didn’t know very well, a fat guy, with a big belly, not one of the guys who would always talk to me and kid around with me, and the house was like empty, Dorothy and Janine were still sleeping because they were always up real late, and I think my mom was out shopping, so it was really just me and this fat guy, who I didn’t really know that well, he’d only been around a few times.

  “And he was sitting in the kitchen, at this kitchen table we had, and I just walked by, I was still in my pajamas, like on my way to get some milk from the refrigerator for my corn flakes, and out of the blue, he didn’t say anything, just like that, Bam!, real suddenly, this arm came out and grabbed me. And the next thing I knew I was on his lap and I didn’t realize till then but he had his pants open, I hadn’t noticed that, maybe because he was sitting at the table, but his pants were open and his, you know, his thing was out, and he had me on his lap and he was tearing at my pajamas and he had my pajama bottoms like in shreds where it was like I didn’t have anything on at all, and I was—I knew what he was going to do, and I was terrified, and I screamed, and he put his hand over my mouth.

  “And the kitchen table—the kitchen table was always a real mess, because there were always so many people in the house, and Dorothy and Janine never cleaned up anything, so there were always plates and pots and glasses and knives and forks and stuff all over the table. And there was this knife, about a foot long, with a serrated edge, for cutting bread but we used it for everything, meat, vegetables, wood, wires, anything, it was sort of the all-purpose knife. And it was on the table, with all the other mess, and I grabbed it and I just stuck him with it. I didn’t even think. I just had the handle in my hand and I stuck it in his stomach, and it went in real easy, he was so fat, I didn’t even feel it going in, it was like he was made of butter.

  “I didn’t even know that it had gone all the way in, because he just kind of jerked and slouched, but I thought that was just him going on trying to get his thing in me, because he’d been squirming and fighting even before I had the knife, and then I felt something really wet and sticky on my hand and I looked and everything was covered with blood. I don’t think he’d even felt anything or seen anything, he was so busy trying to do what he wanted to do, but about the time I saw the blood he saw it too and his hand came off my mouth and he grabbed his belly and he screamed like I never heard anyone scream before, and then I screamed, and he let go of me and fell on the floor, and there was all this blood, I mean it was just gushing out, and then I heard the door, and my mom came in and she screamed, and the next I knew the ambulance was there and Dorothy had me in the bathroom cleaning the blood off me.

  “And the guy died. They said he died on the operating table.”

  She stopped.

  Gus wished she couldn’t see his face. Shock and grief and horror were all over it. Six years old, living in a brothel. Eight years old, attempted rape. Killed a man. As a judge, he’d heard a lot of horrifying stories, but this was his daughter.

  She turned away.

  “Samantha …”

  Silent, perfectly still.

  “Samantha …”

  She tilted her head, just enough to get an eye on him.

  “Samantha …”

  She looked so fragile, an ash ready to crumble at the sound of his voice.

  “Michelle and I love you, Samantha.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and in a sudden lurch she fell against him and pressed her face into his shoulder.

  Gus hugged her. It was almost three months since he had first seen the video of Samantha, and there were times when he still had trouble believing that she was really alive, that she had been given back. Years ago, as a prosecutor, he had often been reminded of how easy it was to deal with other people’s crimes. He had tried to convince himself that the death of his own child hadn’t really been a crime, but he knew deep in his heart that that was just a ploy, an ideological or political hoax. He also knew that he could be forgiven, but he was less sure about theological procedures for obtaining pardon than he was about the judicial procedures in the Middle District of Alabama. It was even more difficult to accept—as Michelle’s family would have told him—that forgiveness could be his for free, that he need not, could not, do anything to earn or deserve it.

  19

  The phone call had come after lunch, an hour before the explosives dog alerted on the Mercedes.

  Louisa said, “Mrs. Parham, it’s for you. A Mrs. Young.”

  “Mrs. Young—I’ll take it.”

  She was in the bedroom. She waited for Louisa to leave, then took a deep breath. “Hello.”

  “Is this Mrs. Parham?”

  The voice was fresh and friendly.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “This is Mrs. Young. Larry’s wife?”

  “Yes, of course.” How did she get this number? “How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I’m calling because I thought it might be a good idea if we met each other.”

  “I think that would be a wonderful idea.”

  “Can you meet me at the Four Seasons Hotel?”

  “When?”

  “Whenever you like. I’m free right now, if that’s convenient.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I’m wearing a white suit, I have blonde hair, and I’ll be near the reception desk. In about an hour?”

  Cordial. Warm even.

  “That’s fine. See you then.”

  Michelle changed her clothes and wrote a quick note for G
us (Gone to meet Doreen Young at the Four Seasons! See you later.). She signed it with a happy face, left it on the dresser, and told Louisa, “I’m going out. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  Todd saw her leaving and asked if she wanted a ride. It was his way of finding out where she was going.

  “No, thanks. I need the exercise. I’ll catch a cab if I get tired.”

  “Mr. Rothman said—”

  Mr. Rothman had said she shouldn’t go anywhere alone, but Mr. Rothman said a lot of things. She was getting a little tired of Mr. Rothman. She’d been in this house since the beginning of the summer, and about every ten minutes someone was telling her what to do “just for the security.”

  She left the house, turned right at the corner, walked briskly to the shopping center at the end of the block, and waved down a taxi.

  The lobby of the Four Seasons was blissfully cool. She saw Doreen immediately. White suit, blonde, late thirties, at tractive, working at it, a little too attractive, in a way Michelle’s mother would not have approved of.

  Their eyes met, and Michelle immediately went on red alert. In high school, all the girls her brothers didn’t have the nerve to bring home had eyes like that, filled with calculated charm, pouring out promises too bad to be true. This was the woman who had raised Samantha?

  “Mrs. Parham?”

  “Please call me Michelle. It’s nice to meet you.”

  They shook hands. Doreen was so warm and radiant you could get a tan just standing next to her. She said, “Would you like a drink?”

  “I’d love one. It’s sweltering.”

  Walking across the lobby, Michelle realized her clothes were sweaty and her hair a mess. Doreen looked as if she’d never sweated in her life.

  In the bar, Michelle ordered orange juice. Doreen said, “I’ll have the same, please.”

  When they were settled, Michelle said, “There’s so much I want to ask you.”

  “Me too. You can’t imagine how much I miss Samantha. It’s been almost four years since I saw her. I’m so happy you’ve brought her back.”

  Michelle wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. She sensed peril, an awareness of a jungle beast showing up for the kill.

  The orange juice arrived.

  Michelle, feeling the need to speak, said, “She’s a wonderful girl.”

  “When can I see her?”

  The eyes hadn’t changed, and the charm hadn’t dimin ished, but inhabiting those words was a clear, deliberate threat.

  Michelle said, “May I ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “How did you know where to call me?”

  “I just—well, I don’t want to betray a confidence. I’m sure you understand.”

  “I was just curious. I was told no one had the number.”

  “I guess in Washington everyone has everyone’s number.”

  “You can say that again.”

  They laughed.

  Doreen said, “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Michelle didn’t know how to deal with this. What should she say?

  Doreen repeated the question. “When can I see Samantha?”

  “I don’t know.”

  She could practically smell the beast’s breath. She wished Gus were here.

  “I really want to see her.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “So?”

  “I just don’t know.”

  “I’m the child’s mother. Speaking legally. And a few other ways, too.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t answer your question, Doreen. I just don’t know.”

  “I’m afraid someone’s going to have to answer it. I’m Samantha’s legal mother. I have a right to see her. I’ve come to Washington to see her, and—putting my cards on the table—I’m going to take her back to Milwaukee where she belongs, where she lived before her father kidnapped her.”

  From the top of her bleached hair down to her spike-heeled shoes, this woman was giving Michelle a lot not to like. The knife-blade tone of her voice, the phony-friendly eyes, the arrogant get-out-of-my-way attitude—Samantha had grown up with this, survived this. Right at that moment, over the orange juice, staring hard into those nasty, phony eyes, Michelle made a vow. Samantha would never, never go back to this woman.

  “Well, I—”

  “I know you want me to be frank.” She paused for Michelle to agree, but Michelle was silent. “I saw an attorney before I came here and he told me that if you don’t return Samantha to me immediately I can have you all charged with kidnapping. My husband kidnapped Samantha four years ago and now you and your husband and possibly others, as well as the government, are conspiring to assist that kidnapping and to deprive me and Samantha of each other’s company. I’m sure no one wants to go to court over this, and certainly no one would want to see it all dragged out on television, so let me give you this”—she fished in her handbag for a small sheet of notepaper—”this is a phone number where you can reach me. Please let me hear from you by tomorrow morning. I’m sure we can work this all out.”

  Through none of this had her expression lost any of its warmth and cordiality. It was as if she threatened people every day and never failed to find the experience refreshing.

  She went back into her purse for a ten-dollar bill, left it on the table, and stood.

  “I hope you’ll excuse me, but I have another appointment. It was wonderful meeting you.”

  Michelle got up, and took the hand that was offered to her. It was cold and damp.

  Doreen said, “I look forward to seeing you again. Please give my love to Samantha and tell her I can’t wait to have her back.”

  She left the bar, taking her smile with her.

  Samantha sat up straight and wiped her tears with her sleeve. “Don’t you want a drink? You look like maybe you need something to drink. It’s really hot in here.”

  She turned to Gus in the half-light.

  He said, “What happened next?”

  “You still sure you want to hear?”

  “Still sure. More than ever.”

  “Well, the police came, and they took me to this place for kids who do things, commit crimes. And I saw this judge, and after two days they put me in another home—like a regular house with a man and woman who look after kids who’re in trouble. And then a lawyer my mom hired got me put back with her. And I saw a lot of lawyers and judges, and finally they let me stay with my mom, but I had to go to these juvenile probation people every day, and it seemed like I was always going places.

  “The guy who died, it turned out no one really knew him, he didn’t have a wife or family or anything. One of the girls just met him in some bar and invited him over. He was from Wyoming someplace, and it was really like, you know, nobody really cared that much, that he had died. I mean, the police and the district attorney cared, but I was only eight, and he’d been trying to rape me, and one of the cops even said I’d done everybody a favor.

  “No one knew anything about how I was living in this whorehouse. None of that came out. No one suspected that. No one was going to say anything, right? It was just like here’s this little eight-year-old and some guy no one really knows who’s just invited over for a drink and he tries to rape her and she sticks him with a knife and he dies. I don’t think anyone cared that much about him, except me. No one knew him, no one cared about him. I mean, he tried to rape me, but he’s a human being, right? Was a human being until—I’m telling too much. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

  He took her hand. “Samantha.”

  She said, “I told you it’d change everything.”

  “It hasn’t.”

  Had she seen doctors? The court must have had her evaluated. What had happened? What was Michelle going to say?

  “Nothing has changed, Samantha. I told you, nothing is going to change my feeling for you, or Michelle’s.”

  He wanted to tell everything to Michelle, be alone with
her and Samantha, let Samantha tell it all to Michelle.

  He said, “Do you believe that?”

  “That nothing has changed? I killed someone. I don’t know how that can’t change things.”

  She was right, of course.

  “I’ll tell you what it’s changed, Samantha. It’s made me … I just took for granted that you were … well, I guess I thought all thirteen-year-old girls were pretty much alike. I’ve never really known one before.”

  “I don’t think many of them have killed people.”

  “Not many have had the experiences you’ve had. The important thing, Samantha, is to know, really believe, that Michelle and I love you. We are your parents. We’ve found you, and every day our love for you grows. And nothing that happened is going to change that. Do you understand?”

  “Even if I killed someone else?”

  “That’s not going to happen, Samantha. But yes, even if you killed someone else.”

  “Well, I didn’t.”

  She opened a little cabinet under the fax machine and took out a bottle opener, an unopened deck of cards, a lemon, a paring knife, and a shot glass.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”

  “I’m sure, thank you.”

  She held up the cards. “Poker?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “You want to hear the rest of the story?”

  There’s more? “Of course. I want to hear it all, Samantha. We should have had this conversation when we first got to Washington, and I’m sorry we didn’t.”

  She put the things back in the cabinet and snapped it closed.

  “My dad took me away. When all this happened with killing the man and the court and all that I guess he decided he’d better stop drinking so much. You know, start paying attention. And he and my mom had big arguments about what was happening in the house, all the girls and men. He wanted all that to stop. And my mom said it couldn’t stop because he didn’t make enough money to support the family. So he stopped drinking and got a job in a nightclub. But my mom still wouldn’t get rid of the girls, and he wasn’t strong enough to make her get rid of them.