Seven at Two Past Five

by Tara Basi

  Before I can react or put into action my first thought, which is to flee this place, Zero has come up behind me and blocked my retreat. Tenderly, he guides me to the bench behind Mary M and Grunge. He gently urges me to sit and then slides in beside me. It is easier to compose myself if I keep my eyes on my lap. Even so, my body is rigid. I feel as if I have been turned to ice. Zero holds my hand and his arm is draped reassuringly around my shoulder. Without his presence, I very much doubt that I could endure.

  I murmur, “Zero, where does all this malevolence come from? Is it all just for one old button maker?”

  Zero whispers, “You’re not just a button maker, Ma.”

  “I am not?”

  “You’re my ma, Ma.”

  I look at Zero. The foolish boy knows how to make me smile even in these dreadful circumstances. For an instant, I regret that I am not his mother and never could be. His hands were the first that have ever touched me, other than my own. Mary M spoils the moment when she leans back and smacks Zero across the head.

  “Shut your face, McKenzie boy, or you’ll get us all beheaded.”

  “All stand to be seated. This tribunal is now in session. Judge No, Judge Definitely No and Judge Oink presiding.”

  I am not sure who exactly has spoken. Then I trace the sound to a slight, brown-gowned figure, sitting to one side of the high counter at a small desk, facing some sort of machine. I follow the others and stand up, and then, unthinkingly, I repeat their actions and sit down again, taking great care not to look at the terrible axemen or the beady-eyed pig.

  “Is counsel ready?” the black-gowned judge on the left asks.

  The Marys and Mary M stand, bow and return to their seats.

  The judge on the left continues, “Very well. The righteous may present their arguments for denying consideration of an appeal by the master criminal and arch-fiend Seven at Two Past Five.”

  The three Marys rise as one, though only one speaks. “My Lords, there’s no appealing these Judgements. Isn’t that right, Mary B and Mary C?”

  “That’ll be absolutely right, Mary J. Seven should be nailed up right now. We shouldn’t be wasting the pig’s valuable time on this appeals malarkey.”

  “I’d like to third that, Mary B, and add that she’s a right pain in the arse. And the shit that comes out of her mouth – like a damn diarrhoeic torrent, so it is. Sorry there, Mary J, a bit of the old Mary M must have rubbed off on me. I’ll get that washed out straight away.”

  Where I was frozen, I am now burning with outrage. The most foul-mouthed and mendacious Mary B and Mary C resume their seats.

  Mary J remains standing and addresses the judges. “Well, my Lords, I think that about … nails it up.”

  I deduce that the left-hand judge is pleased with the Marys by his affirmative nodding, which continued throughout the women’s delivery of their absurd arguments. The right-hand judge has his forehead resting on the countertop and may well be asleep. The pig, as one might expect, says nothing and only stares at me, pointedly. The one judge that has spoken continues to do so. “Excellent presentation, Marys, quite outstanding. We shall take a short breath and announce our decision.”

  What appalling and illogical behaviour. I try to rise and protest, but Zero and Grunge, from his kneeling position on the front bench, both conspire to hold me down and hiss shushes at me, even though I have not managed to open my mouth.

  Mary M casually rises to her feet and coughs loudly.

  “Yes, Mary M, do you have something pointless to say?”

  “Only that I completely agree with my learned friends the Marys. My client is beyond redemption, and every second more that she draws a free breath is an affront to all creation.”

  With all my strength, I struggle against Zero and Grunge. I have a mind to punch Mary M in the back to remind her that she is my counsel and should be speaking on my behalf and not agreeing with the wretched Marys.

  “Well said, Mary M. Now, if everyone has been paid, this tribunal will deliver its foregone conclusion.”

  “Begging your pardon, my Lord, but I think you will find that the appellant has made a substantial lodgement in respect of court fees and extras for holidays and oriental massages. My most righteous and learned friends, the Marys, who abhor the material world and all things monetary, have made no lodgement whatsoever.”

  “Pre-hearing Administrator, is this correct?” the judge asks the small figure at the desk who has been noisily bashing away at its machine.

  “What?”

  “Answer the question. Have the Marys made a lodgement of a substantial nature which would allow for well-deserved extras? Judge Oink, in particular, is in desperate need of an olive oil rub down by a pair of dusky maidens.”

  The pig nods vigorously in agreement before yawning wide and revealing the pink interior of its large maw. It then scratches its snout with a hoof before resuming its scrutiny of my person. I sit as far back in my seat as I am able and turn my gaze elsewhere.

  “And me, I’m so needing of a gentle hand on my tender parts,” adds the judge, who up to now has been silent and, I had thought, sleeping.

  The machine basher replies, “Do you want me to read back the question and then answer it?”

  “If you must, but hurry up.”

  “Question: Where’s the Marys’ dosh? Answer: There isn’t any.”

  The judge slaps his hand on the counter. “Marys, explain.”

  The Marys hesitantly get to their feet. I guess that it is Mary J, their leader, who speaks. “My Lords, this matter before us relates to fundamental issues of justice and the law. Nay, today, in this sacred place, we are concerned with nothing less than rescuing creation from eternal dithering. We cannot concern ourselves with trivial issues of coin and personal reward.”

  “You haven’t got any money, have you?”

  “My Lords, we are rich in spirit.”

  “You could be pickled in medical grade alcohol for all I care. We must uphold the principles that (a) justice is blind to gender, creed, caste, colour, status, guilt or innocence, and (b) justice is to be made available at the point of sentencing to all who can pay, and (c) those who pay more will receive more. Mary J, if you have nothing useful to say and no coin to pay, then this matter is concluded.”

  “My Lords, imagine if you will a hot chip fryer and a house full of babies.”

  “Decapitators, get to decapitating these damn penniless Marys.”

  The Marys throw up their arms and begin flapping them wildly as they fling themselves over the back of their bench and run wailing from the court. The towering axemen follow with surprising speed and smoothness. It is as if they are standing on self-propelled trollies. They move in silence, except for the abominable graveyard clatter of the skulls and teeth hanging on the nets that further despoil their blood-caked gowns. The two executioners raise their enormous axes high over their hoods as they exit the court in pursuit of the Marys. I worry for the poor mad women.

  The judge in charge speaks and calls my attention back to the proceedings. “Mary M, this is all very irregular. Justice has been undervalued. Those penniless Marys have duped the court into judging their case for free.”

  “Indeed, my Lord.”

  “And yet, if we allow the appeal?”

  “My Lord, I absolutely understand. If you allow the appeal, well … that would be unprecedented and could lead anywhere. Justice itself may be thwarted and further belittled, from a valuation perspective.”

  “Exactly so, M. It seems we shall have to take what comfort we can from your lodgement and end this matter.”

  “Unless, my Lord …”

  “I really hate when counsel does that, leave a question hanging, tempting us to ask, ‘Unless what?’ Well, we shall not be tempted. This appeal nonsense has gone on long enough.”

  “Unless?”

  Everyone searches for the questioner, including myself and the main judge. The voice is not one I recognise from the proceedings so far. It is deep and yet
squeaky at the same time. My first thought is that it is the previously sleeping judge, but he has returned to his slumbers and, now that I am paying him attention, I can hear his faint snoring. All eyes, including my own, if somewhat reluctantly, turn to the pig. Its enigmatic expression betrays nothing. If the hog had spoken, it is now silent.

  I am transfixed by the creature. Does it hold my fate in its hoof? There is an ugly bubble of saliva emerging from the side of its mouth, which bursts and becomes a bulbous drip that morphs into an elastic string of mucus. If it breaks, will I be doomed? If the hog sucks it up, will I be saved?

  Mary M asks, “My Lords, if I may?”

  The thin thread of pig saliva snaps and falls to the counter. For the first time, the pig looks away from me and studies the pool of its own making. A long pink tongue slides out, and the pool is no more. Back the pig turns and fixes me with its dead-eyed gaze. I feel a little sick.

  The lead judge is staring intently at the pig and does not answer Mary M, instead waving her on.

  “My Lords, what if the Marys acquired funds and were able to make a lodgement? This court might then claim recompense.”

  The judge abruptly abandons his close scrutiny of the pig. “Really, M? You think they can get their hands on some money?”

  “My Lord, I think it is a distinct possibility.”

  “M, that’s perfect. You have made our day. Appeal denied, and tell those Marys to hurry up.”

  “However, my Lord—”

  “M, you’re this close” – the judge holds up two fingers that are almost touching – “to losing your head.”

  “Payment from a lodgement in retrospect is only permitted if the case is still active.”

  “Pre-hearing Administrator, is that right?”

  The brown-gowned figure looks up while still bashing furiously at her machine. “My Lord, do you want me to read that back?”

  The judge shouts at the woman, “No, you imbecile! Answer the question!”

  She pauses her typing and studies her machine before replying, “No, you imbecile. Answer the question.”

  The judge slams his fist on the counter, stands up and screams, “Cut off her head and get me someone from admin.”

  I gasp in fear for the poor woman. Nothing happens. The pre-hearing administrator continues thumping her machine. Then I remember that the axemen have left to pursue the Marys.

  Zero unexpectedly gets to his feet, causing me to start. “I am a court administrator and can confirm without hesitation that learned counsel is correct. Lodgement can only be claimed for cases which are active.”

  The judge appears to recover his composure and sits back down. “That’s all very well, M, but what is more important, justice or fees? Do not answer that, M. It’s a rhetorical question, and the answer is obvious. If my fellow tribunal members are in agreement, I believe that leave to appeal has been granted. I so say, oink!”

  “Oink!” snorts the pig.

  The third judge similarly concurs. “Oink! Is there still enough for a massage?”

  “Yes, yes, you old fool. Mary M, leave to appeal is granted.”

  Mary M bows low then straightens up. “This is an unfortunate turn of events, my Lord, but we shall endure and continue pointlessly.”

  “Ensure you do, Mary M. It would be more than embarrassing if anything were to come of your appeal.”

  “Fear not, my Lord, I am fully committed to abject failure.”

  The pre-hearing administrator rises from her seat. “All stand and jig in an abstract manner which best represents your undying respect for the judges and this court.”

  Following Mary M and Zero’s lead, I stand up and begin bobbing about aimlessly, rather less so than the others as I am still quite stiff from my fall to the roof. Grunge bangs his blocks to a syncopated beat, which I assume is intended to aid our dancing. Zero’s many buttons click and clack in time to Grunge’s louder percussion. Unconsciously, I find myself gyrating rhythmically in time to Grunge’s drumming. While we jig, the judges, the enormous pink pig and the pre-hearing administrator file out of the courtroom, leaving us alone.

  I am quite confused by the proceedings that I have just witnessed. I ask, “Mary M, were we successful?”

  Grunge leans over and tugs at my gown. “You can’t be asking her legalising questions? I’ve told you already.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “You can ask me.”

  “Very well, answer the question.”

  Grunge does not reply. Instead, he repeats my question to Mary M, who replies, “For now, Grunge. Next time, it won’t be so fecking easy. I wasn’t lying, for once. Them Marys ain’t giving up. You can bet your wheels they’ll be out looking for money. Lots and lots of fecking money.”

  Grunge turns to me and starts to repeat what Mary M has just said.

  I cut him short. “This is ridiculous and enormously wasteful in time, of which I have so little. Let us just assume you have repeated what I ask and that you have relayed Mary M’s answer.”

  “Well, I don’t know. That’s disintermediation. You’ll be doing me out of a job.”

  Impatiently, I rip a handful of buttons off Zero’s gown and throw them at Grunge. Both squeal: one in shock and the other in delight. Grunge scrabbles around collecting up the buttons and stows them away in his chamber pot.

  “Okay, but we gotta observe protocols. You must address your questions to me, and I’ll nod to signify I have performed my professional intermediary role.”

  I see that pointlessness in the justice system runs deep. “Grunge, where will the Marys get their funds, and can the poor women escape the axemen?”

  Grunge nods, and Mary M answers, “Excellent questions, Grunge. Your stupid client is very lucky to have you. Prof offered to buy the Marys’ knickers a while back. Said he’d pay a fortune, especially if they were still warm. That’s where they’ll go. And the decapitators won’t follow the Marys beyond the House of Pointlessness grounds. They’re quick enough to get away with just a bit of light axe damage.”

  I ignore Grunge’s superfluous nodding. “Mary M.”

  Grunge immediately intervenes and waggles his finger sternly at me. “I’m warning you for the last time. Ask me.”

  I bite my lower lip. “Grunge, what is our next course of action?”

  To my surprise, Grunge answers. “We need witnesses. We’ll find them at the Witness Wholesalers Market in the House of Verisimilitudes. Mary M’s going off to write the skeleton.”

  “I assume the skeleton to which you refer is not a human frame of bones onto which Mary M will etch something?”

  “Ma, it’s like a summary of our legal argument against the judgements.”

  I keep forgetting that Zero is well versed in court procedures.

  “Zero, will not Mary M require my help in constructing that argument?”

  Zero does not need to answer. Mary M bursts out laughing, and it is a most sordid laugh laced with great guffaws and grating giggles. She is still hooting loudly as she bounds away at speed. In a flash, she has disappeared from the court.

  Immediately, she is back. “Admin, you’ve got a really sexy voice. You sure we haven’t met before? Never mind, there’s no time now.”

  And then she is gone again. How disturbing.

  “Zero, be very wary of that woman. Ensure you are never alone in her company, and confine yourself to interactions which are strictly necessary and are only in relation to my case.”

  “Yes, Ma.”

  Grunge adds, “Listen to your ma, boy. I’m watching you.”

  Which reminds me that there is still one question that I must ask. “Grunge, however, whenever and why ever is it right that a pig should be my judge?”

  “Impartiality and incorruptibility, unless you’re carrying swill about your person. You’re not, are you?”

  I can find no words.

  Tick.

  It is thirty past six. There is no time left for questions.

  “Grunge, let us be gone
to this House of Verisimilitudes. How will we get there?”

  “Follow me, it’s not far.” And he too races out of the courtroom.

  It is hard to believe. We have triumphed, for now, and against all obstacles, the black and white Marys and that awful, beady-eyed pig. In a brief moment of joy, I give Zero a substantial hug. The poor boy is taken quite by surprise.

  “Thank you, Zero. Whatever happens, I am glad of your strength by my side, without which I do not believe I could persevere.”

  “Gee, Ma, that’s so touching. Like, though, there’s still a way to go, Ma.”

  “I know, Zero. I know. Tell me, Zero, how will I find my true name and that of Mary M? Why do the other Marys think it is of paramount importance that I do not?”

  “Gee, Ma! Tricky one.”

  “That statement is not very helpful, Zero. I know only that my name is Abi and no more. I certainly do not know any other name for Mary M.”

  “I guess you’ll know when you need to know, Ma. It’s all cool.”

  “It will not be ‘cool’, as you say, if I only learn my true name ten thousand nights after I am nailed up, will it?”

  “No, Ma. That wouldn’t be cool. Fingers crossed, right, Ma?”

  Zero has such a cheerful demeanour, and it is quite remarkable that he has maintained such an affirmative outlook in the face of this day’s dreadful happenings. His fortitude is to be admired if not his common sense.

  “Come, Zero, we must follow after Grunge.”

  Chapter Fourteen – The Interview

  Grunge is only a little way along the corridor we followed to the court. It seems he has waited for us. I walk on as quickly as I can. Abruptly, I come to a halt. One wall is lightly sprinkled with flecks of blood, and I see that a trail of red droplets speckles the path ahead.

  “Oh, those poor Marys, Zero. Will they be well?”

  “You’re so kind, Ma, when they’ve been so bad to you.”

  “Zero, I do not think they really know what they are doing or why they are doing it. Often, I have caught them in misery and wailing like lost lambs.”