Away with the Fishes

by Stephanie Siciarz

  “It doesn’t look good for Madison, does it?” Branson asked.

  “No, it doesn’t,” Trevor sighed.

  “I thought for sure when the second ad came out that Madison was as good as freed,” Branson said, pounding the counter with his fist. “Man!” He turned his back to Trevor and looked out the bakery window into the dusk. In the glass of the door, Trevor saw Branson’s reflection. His face, which Trevor could read like a book from Ms. Lila’s library, looked odd. Trevor opened his mouth, wanting to ask Branson if he had had anything to do with the second lonely hearts ad, but stopped himself. Trevor wasn’t convinced that his friend would tell him the truth. Nor was he convinced that he could stand another truth that day if he did.

  Across town from the bakery, at the Buddha’s Belly Bar and Lounge in the Sincero Hotel, Bruce and Raoul commiserated over fruity, multi-colored cocktails Cougar Zanne was testing for his Rainbow Fair menu. (Cougar was unbothered by matters of justice or truth, and no island event—Rainbow Fair, Marimba Competition, Harvest Football Tournament—was spared a signature Cougar cocktail.)

  “Did you hear that bastard? Calling me the Devil?” Bruce complained to Raoul, sipping a green sample from a tiny paper cup.

  “Forget that, Bruce! An innocent kid is probably going to jail for the rest of his life,” Raoul said.

  “You never know,” Bruce shrugged. “Maybe someone on the jury will see sense.”

  “I know one thing.” Raoul let out a sigh. “And that’s that Rena Baker and Karen Arbe are one and the same. Rena Baker went to Killig. I don’t know how, or if she stayed, but she went.”

  “I think so, too,” Bruce said. “But the police told you Karen Arbe was inadmissible.”

  “Come on, you two, cheer up!” Cougar said, arriving with more cocktails to sample. “The Rainbow Fair is almost upon us,” he added with a wink.

  “Cougar, knock it off, will you?” Raoul said. “We’re trying to talk business here.”

  “Okay. But first try these red ones,” he said, leaving the cups on the table.

  Raoul continued talking. “Rena could have easily slipped through Customs with her own passport, even if she signed Karen Arbe’s name. It’s not like in my day, when a man took his stamp and his inkpad seriously.”

  Bruce didn’t answer, because he didn’t know what to say. Though neither Bruce nor Raoul knew it, the two men were sharing the same thought, that somehow they had failed. Bruce was a reporter and should have blown the lid off the case long before Madison faced a life sentence. And Raoul, well, the Bicycle Trial was his baby, though he hardly recognized it now. How had it turned out so differently from what he had pictured?

  Raoul tapped his temples with two fingers, as if to loosen from his brain the solution to his problems. Where could that stupid girl be? he wondered. Where would she have gone off to?

  “Wow, this one’s not too bad,” Bruce said, swishing a mouthful of Cougar’s red concoction.

  Could he initiate an international search for Karen Arbe without involving the police? Raoul asked himself.

  “Sangria and…vodka, is it?” Bruce said, studying his cup.

  Was there any chance Rena might change her mind and come back on her own? Did she have any idea of the danger that Madison faced?

  Raoul had a horrible thought: What if Rena had heard about Madison and just didn’t care?

  “You gotta try this one, Raoul.” Bruce nudged him with his elbow. “It starts off sweet and fresh, then it really cuts loose and coldcocks you.”

  49

  What the island of Oh wants, the island of Oh gets. There’s no way around it. If it wants you to suffer, you will. No amount of precautions or safety-nets will protect your hand or your heart, if either is meant to break. Likewise, when island fortune favors you, you’d be hard-pressed to duplicate the warmth of Oh’s sun on your back, or the sweetness of its fruit on your lips, no matter how far and wide you travel. If you do travel, if you go away, you will never really be gone, never free of Oh’s magic. Your mind will forever return to Oh’s wind and its rains, to its shady mangroves and its yielding sands. You’ll still feel the heat of its passions, should you bury yourself deep in Alpine snow.

  You’ll remember Oh’s cool reggae groove and its icy juices, even as you sweat in some other palm-tree’d locale, perhaps as close as Killig (which, at first glance, might appear to mimic Oh’s wonders).

  If you can relegate your returns to Oh to the back of your mind, to your daydreams and your fantasies, then pat yourself on the back. More often than not, Oh won’t let you off so easily. It will blow its breezes through your head and confound you, fool you into thinking that you want to go back, that you need to. It will trick you into believing that you have unfinished business there, a mystery to solve perhaps; or will guilt you into accepting that a life needs saved and only you can save it. It will knock on your door or send a letter, and you will hop on a boat or a plane.

  If Oh wants a murder trial, it gets one of those, too; and if it wants newspaper coverage, it fashions it. Just ask Bruce Kandele, who knows better than any. By Wednesday of Trial Week Four, as the jury continued its deliberations and the official verdict loomed, Bruce was waging an all-out press campaign to discredit Oh’s legal authorities and lay the ground for Glynray’s appeal. The Rainbow Fair, which was to start on Friday night, had been all but forgotten, except in Chanterelle, where organizers worked day and night to get everything ready. They feared, this year, that the Bicycle Trial might overshadow the town’s annual to-do.

  What luck that, as Bruce typeset the Thursday edition on Wednesday afternoon, through the grimy-windowed office of the Morning Crier his eye was drawn to a newsworthy sparkle.

  “Damn,” he sighed, grabbing his camera and rushing outside. He needed a rainbow like a fish needs a bicycle. “This one really will have to go on the front page, now won’t it?”

  *

  Rare Sun Halo Rings In The Fair

  Rainbow City gears up for annual festival

  At approximately 4:57 p.m. yesterday afternoon a rare weather occurrence was cited in the skies over Port-St. Luke. A circular rainbow, also known as a halo, was visible around the entirety of the sun’s circumference. The phenomenon, which differs in shape from the traditional arc or semi-circular rainbows more common to Oh, was last witnessed on the island some eleven years ago in the northern parish of St. Charles, on the cusp between the dry and rainy seasons. The halo’s appearance is especially fitting in light of the annual Rainbow Fair in Chanterelle, which opens tomorrow night and runs through Sunday. According to island belief, sun halos herald major meteorological events, though none was documented subsequent to the St. Charles halo. There is no official record of halos on Oh prior to that; unofficially, local history confirms them as portents of drought or flooding. Organizers of this year’s Fair see the unusual rainbow as an auspicious sign for the event, which has been overshadowed by the Bicycle Trial murder case, recently turned over to the jury. The officials of Chanterelle have sent a formal plea to jury members, who have been in deliberation for over six working days, requesting that a verdict be reached by tomorrow; they have also petitioned Judge Maxted Samuels to reconvene the trial immediately for the delivery of the verdict, should it be reached before the end of the week. They hope to avoid that islanders, wishing to partake of Rainbow Fair offerings over the weekend, might feel shame in doing so while a man’s fate remains undecided. Although the run-up to the Rainbow Fair has been lackluster compared to that of previous years, as public attention focused almost exclusively on the trial, the Rainbow City authorities remain confident that actual attendance figures will outdo expectations by far. It would be negligent and irresponsible of this reporter not to suggest that the unusual halo phenomenon might also be a portent of a major judicial event, with the Bicycle Trial verdict expected at any time. What will the halo signify for the defendant, Madison Fuller, and for us, the citizens of Oh, as we look to our leaders in hope, and with faith in their ability to ov
ersee the fair and reasoned judgment of one of our own? Will they embrace this challenge like the halo embraced the island sun? Or will they blind us with science, and dazzle us with an empty ruling wrapped in layers of colored and bent legality?

  *

  50

  “Raoul, hurry! You’ll be late!” Lila called to him as he washed and dressed for what was setting itself up to be a very busy Friday. Early that morning Raoul had been alerted that the jury was back and that Judge Samuels had reconvened the court for ten a.m. There was likely to be a real ruckus when the verdict was read, and Raoul would have to be ready for anything. He prayed that Madison would be acquitted, in which case Rena’s whereabouts would no longer matter, and Raoul could get back to the business of painting his house.

  It was nearly nine o’clock as his wife yelled out to him from the kitchen. Normally an hour would be plenty of time to down a cup of tea and head to trial. On this particular Friday, however, Raoul’s judicial duties had been superseded by a Customs emergency that meant he had to rush. Not five minutes after getting the call from the courthouse in town, Raoul had got another from the airport. It seemed there was a problem there that only he could resolve. He hoped to do so quickly, and get back to the outdoor court before the session began. If Raoul wasn’t present for the ruling, there was no telling what mayhem the crowd might get up to.

  “Can’t someone else handle the airport?” his wife protested. “You can’t miss the most important day of the Bicycle Trial so far!”

  “That’s the problem,” Raoul explained to her, annoyed with his Customs colleagues. “Everyone’s excited and off to the trial. There’s a skeleton crew at the airport—and everywhere else.” He kissed her on the cheek, grabbed his megaphone, and promised to meet her at court as soon as he could.

  Raoul’s absence went unnoticed as the Trial prepared to resume. Though a ruckus might be in the making, as the spectators and key players took their places on the benches and the dais respectively, the mood was one of somber anticipation. Few dared even speak, and those who did, did so in a manner more befitting morning mass than mayhem. Despite the relative silence, there was excitement in the air. It was a beautiful day on Oh. The sky was a vibrant blue, and the hills strangely lush and green, considering there had been no rain since the night of the hit-and-run over a month before. On either side of the dais, flamboyant trees and jacarandas framed the judge and jury in red, orange, and violet.

  The islanders were anxious. The suspense of awaiting a verdict had come to an end, and the Rainbow Fair was about to start. The timing was perfect. The fact, though, that a man might be sent to prison for life, guilty or not, was a prospect worthy of a respectful hush, so they filed in and filled the benches calmly and quietly. Behind his own bench the judge fidgeted, and Glynray was nervous at his table. Madison appeared indifferent, though he had lost weight from worry that Rena might have willingly run off. He cared little what happened to him now, since a life with her seemed to be out of the question. (His attitude galled Glynray, who needed his client’s full participation if he was to appeal a guilty verdict and win.)

  Branson, Trevor, and Patience were all as nervous as if they were about to be sentenced themselves. They had managed to sit in the front row, together with May. The ladies clutched their handbags with white knuckles, while Branson and Trevor looked at each other, at Madison, and back again, shaking their heads and unable to say a word. Randolph was too agitated to sit still, so he hovered at the outskirts of the court, his hands clenched into fists that he hid in his pockets. Only Raoul missed out, thick in the midst of his airport problem. Although he was angry not to be present at court, he was glad they had called him. The problem was delicate, and no one could have handled it more logically or expeditiously than he. Still, he had to hurry, if he was to arrive at the outdoor court before the verdict was delivered. Ms. Lila, who had already taken her place in the crowd, looked over her shoulder nervously, wishing her husband there in time.

  The temperature was very high. From the dais, as Glynray looked out at the crowd, he saw it speckled with fluttering kerchiefs and fans and newspapers, as the onlookers tried to keep cool. Ten o’clock had come and gone, albeit not by much, and there was no sign of prosecutor Monday Jones. The judge had ordered that they wait for his arrival before proceeding.

  At ten-thirty, Monday at last showed up. He offered no explanation for his delay, but made a show of hurrying to his place on the dais, leaving the islanders to assume that some very important and urgent business, which only the likes of Monday could appreciate, must have made him inevitably tardy.

  Finally! the judge said under his breath. He hit his gavel twice and turned on the microphone. “Order! Court is now in session!”

  Quiet came over the already hushed crowd. The judge continued: “We are here today for the reading of the verdict in the case of Oh versus Madison Fuller, on the charges of the vehicular homicide of Rena Baker of Glutton Hill and the disposal of the victim’s remains. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a unanimous verdict?”

  “We have, Your Honor,” said a petite, resolute woman who had served as the jury’s foreperson.

  The judge then asked her to state her name and domicile for the record, but before she could, literally in a flash, the sky cracked with lightning, and rain poured where before there wasn’t a single cloud in sight. The spectators, at least those without a direct relationship to Madison, jumped up screaming and ran for cover. Those related to him looked at the judge pleadingly, unbothered by the shower that drenched them. The judge, who feared he might be electrocuted by his microphone, ran from the dais waving his arms and shouted, “Recess! Rain recess!” The jurors scattered like mice.

  Ms. Lila looked around, worried, for Raoul. This was precisely the sort of development that he had planned for, but only he knew what plans to deploy. He was nowhere to be spotted. Meanwhile, the crowd ran helter skelter, seeking cover under the narrow canopies of the chicken vendors and fresh-juice stalls. Bruce, who had been lurking at the back of the crowd, had the good sense to climb onto the dais, disconnect the sound system, and cover the giant speakers with their plastic casings that lay nearby. “Next thing you know they’d be arresting Raoul for damaged property!” he said to himself.

  Raoul was frantic. His airport problem was solved and he was en route to the trial in a taxi. He couldn’t get there fast enough. He had been nervously tapping his feet, as though he might propel the vehicle farther with the sheer force of his will, when the rain came so hard and so suddenly that the driver was forced to slow down. Raoul was nearly mad with frustration. He imagined the confusion at the outdoor court, with no one there to direct the setting up of the tents and the tarps he had laid in for just such an occasion. He stuck his head out the window and cursed the rain. “Now?” he yelled up to the sky. “A man’s life is at stake!”

  Slowly and surely the driver made his way to the court, stopping his vehicle as close to its perimeter as he could. “Wait for me right here!” Raoul ordered, as he jumped out into the pouring rain.

  With his megaphone in one hand and an umbrella snatched from the taxi in the other, Raoul rounded up the team of officers providing security and started giving orders to erect poles and tarps. Bruce saw him and came running.

  “Raoul! Where the hell were you? I disconnected the sound system for you, and I covered the speakers. Everything okay?” Bruce asked.

  Raoul wanted very much to tell Bruce about the morning he had had at the airport, but it wasn’t the time for that, and besides, it was way too noisy to talk. The rain was loud and growing louder as its fall was stopped by the tarpaulins being stretched high over the outdoor venue.

  “See if you can round up the judge and the jury, will you? And get Madison and the lawyers back on stage, so we can get this over and done with!” Raoul shouted.

  It took over an hour, but Raoul managed to get most of the court and the entire dais covered, and the sound equipment dried and safely situated. The ra
in never ceased, but it slowed considerably, and gradually the court filled up again, though muddied and damper for the wear. Raoul had hoped to share a private word of encouragement with May and Branson, and the rest of the bakery crowd, before the session, but without waiting for Raoul’s thumbs up, Judge Samuels had resumed the proceedings. As if there had been no interruption, he again asked the petite, resolute Madame Foreperson to state her name and domicile for the record.

  “Your Honor! Wait!” Raoul shouted into his megaphone from the back of the court.

  “Mr. Orlean, what is the meaning of this?” Judge Samuels snapped into the microphone.

  “Your Honor, the Office of Customs and Excise has some new information relevant to this case,” Raoul said, again into the megaphone.

  “This is highly irregular, Orlean! Approach the bench!”

  Under the tented court, it was hotter and steamier than ever and the crowd, which now wanted only to get home and to get cleaned up, fanned itself impatiently and grumbled at Raoul, who, they figured, was only prolonging the inevitable.

  “With all due respect, Your Honor,” his voice boomed, “might I first present Exhibit R.” As Raoul said “Exhibit R,” he opened the door of the taxi, parked just a few steps away. A young woman emerged, dressed in bright yellow, and slowly walked toward the dais. The onlookers were confused, until Madison caught sight of her and stood up.

  “Rena!” he exclaimed.

  She ran to Madison and embraced him. Not with unbridled passion, but with genuine-enough affection. While Rena and Madison spoke to each other in soft voices, Raoul reached the dais and approached the bench. There he explained to the judge, and to Glynray and Monday, who had approached it as well, that Rena Baker had returned to the island that morning by plane and had been detained at the airport as a material witness. Raoul reported that she had learned of Madison’s predicament and had come back to Oh to save him from a life in prison. The judge looked from Raoul to Rena to Madison and back again, not knowing what to do. Clearly, there was no murder to try, but he couldn’t just up and adjourn the Bicycle Trial without official rhyme or reason. The court was in a frenzy, if a somewhat feeble one, due to the heat and humidity. Monday Jones was miffed; he had never before lost a case, and he was beginning to think not even his rhetoric could fix this one. Glynray was too stunned to speak and mutely awaited the judge’s ruling with fingers crossed. Finally, Judge Samuels motioned with his hand for Monday, Glynray, and Raoul to move away from the bench, and he called the court to order.