by Tara Basi
“Do you know nothing of this La Deux, Dis?”
“It’s all a bit vague, Abi. La Deux’s arrival’s supposed to signify something, something important. After La Deux, everything will be different.”
“What will be different, Dis?”
“Well, we’ll be nailed up for starters and that’s very different and definitely something important as far as me and Ges are concerned. Right, Ges?”
“Yeah Dis, too right. And then there’s that other thing.”
“What other thing, Ges?”
“Wasn’t it about the Rapture?”
My shoulders jump. That word again. I shake away darkening thoughts. “Then you must be most relieved that I am not La Deux. Though, in truth, I have been told by many today that my true name is not Abi. Although I am unaware of any other and La Deux does not sound at all familiar to my ears.”
“Kinda relieved and not really. Truth is, Abi, we’re fed up with this waiting. Ain’t that right, Ges?”
“Yeah, Dis, this cell is nice, great view an’ all, but I’m ready to move on, see what’s on the other side.”
“Like to have them buttons, though, to ease the passage. It’ll be hard without. But we’ll be okay. Don’t you worry about us.”
If I stop conversing, despair is waiting to overwhelm me. “How is it that you occupy your time in these dreary cells?”
“Mainly, me and Ges do a bit of cage dancing, play fantasy thievery and philosophise. Don’t we, Ges?”
“Yeah, Dis, I like the philosophising. What was we talking about yesterday? Oh yeah, I remember, Absurdism. That’s my favourite.”
“Well it would be, wouldn’t it, Ges.”
“You both seem content with your lot, as I once was and will be again if my appeal is granted.”
“What time did you say your appeal was, Abi?”
Tick.
It is forty past seven. Little knives prick at my chest. “I do not think there will be one, Dis. It was something I imagined more in hope than with any real conviction. My last hearing was not successful.” The words have escaped, and I can no longer hide from the truth. My efforts to dampen my sobs are ineffective. I grip the bars as tightly as I can, till my hands hurt, and then I grip even harder.
“It’ll be alright, Abi. Maybe Ges and me can cheer you up with a bit of philosophising?”
I drink down my tears and, from somewhere, conjure up a tiny smile. There is something that would bring me a little cheer. “Dis, may I ask you a very indiscrete question?”
“Sounds like fun. Sure.”
I hesitate and almost relent before the pressure in my lower body reminds me that I cannot for very much longer. “Am I to assume that the hole in the floor serves the same purpose as a chamber pot?”
“You desperate?”
It is not a question I feel able to answer vocally. I nod.
“Me and Ges, we’ll look away. You go ahead. Let us know when you’re done.”
Even if Ges and Dis, as they’ve kindly suggested, avert their eyes, I would not be entirely comfortable. “Perhaps, if Ges could also give me some example of his thoughts on Absurdism while you look away?”
“Sure. You can do that, Ges, right?”
Ges and Dis turn their backs to me, and Ges begins speaking. “Well, Abi. It’s interesting you ask because our piggy conversation got me thinking about that very thing.”
As Ges begins, I lower myself over the crudely cut hole in the wooden floor and release such a torrent that I wonder if I might extinguish the sea of flames below us. It is a sweet relief, and I feel so warmly embraced by Ges’s tender voice that I am becalmed by this moment of peace.
“It’s like this, Abi. You found meaning, significant meaning, in my pig stealing. We’re good at finding meaning. Almost like we have to. Life can’t be meaningless. Things that happen to us, around us, can’t just be random nonsense. So, even though I told you – and who should know best? – that my pig stealing was just that, a bit of random nonsense, you turned it into something meaningful. Now, Abi, don’t get me wrong. It might not have been nonsense. But that don’t mean we can always find or know the true meaning of anything, and making stuff up isn’t really knowing.”
I had finished relieving myself some seconds past and had become so enthralled by Ges’s words that I find I am still squatting. As Ges finishes, I hurriedly tidy myself and stand upright. “Ges, are you saying that the events of my day may be meaningless? And, by the way, I am now … decent.”
“No, Abi. All I’m saying is that everybody, I mean everybody, even me and Dis, will find meaning in what’s happened to you. But it’s your day, Abi. You have to find your own meaning.”
“Didn’t I tell you he was a daft bugger?”
“No, Dis, Ges’s words are very comforting. Thank you, Ges.”
Tick.
Little seconds are turning into minutes faster than I would like. It is nearly fifty past seven, and very soon all hope will be gone. If there is no hope, then at least there will only be the waiting, and I shall take comfort from my companions and try and find peace.
A horrible squealing and squeaking cuts through the low rumble of the bubbling magma far below.
“Dinner!” Ges shouts.
“What is that noise, Dis? It is coming ever closer.”
“It’s the bastard guard bringing our food. It’s usually okay. We’ll eat and then maybe we’ll show you some cage dancing. Teach you a few steps, swing styles. It’s fun.”
Curious, I press my face against the bars and look up. In a jerky manner, I can see the wooden floor of another cage is falling slowly towards us, and I estimate it will pass close by. It is as wide as the span of our three cages but only half the width of one. From my restricted view, I cannot discern what or who might be approaching. Nourishment is not appealing. The thought of cage dancing away my last hour is somehow attractive, even though I have never danced and am unsure exactly what might be involved. I would welcome a glass of water. I move back from the bars, while still facing in the direction of the increasingly loud screeching, and slump down against the rearmost part of my cage.
As the bottom of the approaching structure closes, I see its bars and a gown hem pressed against them. I cannot struggle to my feet fast enough, and, before I am fully erect, I dash across my cage to grab at the rods and shout up, “Zero!”
The buttons, my buttons, on his robe have announced him.
“Ma?” Zero’s pointed hood slides down towards the floor of his cage as he kneels in search of me. “Ma!”
I cry happy tears and jump up and down. It is very unbecoming, but I am beyond caring. “Oh, Zero! Zero!”
As he gets ever closer, his gloved hand slips through his bars, and he stretches out to wrap his fingers around my hand. It is so wonderful to feel his touch again. I cannot speak, only cry and cry. Gradually, his cage aligns with mine, and the ear-splitting scraping stops. Zero is accompanied by a smaller figure in a plain brown gown, carrying a wicker basket and a large bunch of keys. This person opens a gate in the newly arrived cage and then a previously unnoticed opening in my bars. Zero steps across and lifts me clear off the floor in a great embrace. For a wonderful, quiet moment, there is nothing but that embrace, and I would be happy if there were never another moment.
“Ma, we have to go. Quick!”
Zero literally carries me across the little gap to his cage and sets me down. The brown figure has moved between Ges and Dis, handing out napkins of food and glasses of milk from its basket.
Zero calls to his companion: “Hurry, man! Time’s a ticking!”
The guard, whom I assume it must be, finishes his delivery duties and returns to the centre of the long, narrow enclosure and reaches towards a lever in the roof.
“Stop!” I shout.
“Ma?”
I grab at Zero’s gown and fill both hands with buttons and run to Ges and throw them through his bars. All land safely inside. Running back to Zero, I snatch two more handfuls. “Ma! We don
’t have time. We must go!”
The guard pulls the lever, and the cage immediately starts to ascend. Running as fast as I can, I throw myself towards Dis and toss him the buttons. Thankfully, those he does not catch mostly land in his cage. In another second, their cage roof has fallen below my new floor.
They are wildly waving through their bars, and, with voices wobbly with giggles, they call up to me: “You’re a marvel, Abi. This many buttons gonna buy us a quick, sweet nailing up when the time comes.”
“Good meaning-hunting, Abi! And thanks for the buttons!”
Kneeling and with my hood pressed against the bars, I call down, “Dis! Ges! If I can save myself, then I shall attempt to save you, too.”
A cheerful response that I had not anticipated floats up from Dis: “No, Abi, we’re content.”
“Then I shall come when La Deux arrives. In which bunk-bed-tower are you to be nailed up?”
“What’s a bunk-bed-tower?”
It is an answer which I find difficult to understand, and I am about to ask for clarification when I see that Dis and Ges have started running back and forth inside their cages. Slowly, their pens begin to swing. The amplification quickly increases till they are climbing so high they are almost level with my rising floor.
I shout down, “What are you doing?”
“Cage dancing, Abi! We’re doing a little dance just for you.”
I cannot speak. There is something in my throat. I can only wave and clap excitedly as I stare in amazement at the wildly swinging cages of Dis and Ges.
“Damn idiots! If they break them chains they’re gonna be in serious trouble, Judgement-wise.”
I turn. It is the brown-gowned guard who has spoken. I can think of nothing pleasant to say to him, so I turn back to watch the beautiful dance in my honour.
The ascent in the cage with Zero and the brown-gowned guard is slow and noisy. The chains creak and groan, and our oblong, metal-barred box rattles and shakes. Zero jiggles about and sighs impatiently. The brown-gowned guard is still and silent. I spend the time on my knees with the point of my hood protruding between the bars as I observe, with ever greater fascination, Ges and Dis’s wild gyrations below me. Their direction of swing and their degree of synchronisation and syncopation is constantly changing. At times, I fear they might crash together, or their chains will become horribly entangled or that they will collide with my now-empty cage. None of this happens. Their mastery of their movements is astonishing, and it occurs to me they must indeed have been incarcerated for a very long time to have reached such artistic heights.
All the while, I keep a tight hold of Zero’s hand and fire questions at him without averting my gaze from the cage-dancing display that is slowly receding.
“Explain the current situation to me immediately, Zero. Is this, perchance, plan B?”
“Well, Ma. Think we’re still on the Justice track. Plan A. I’m a bit confused myself.”
“How so? Have you not kept abreast of developments?”
“Yeah, sure, absolutely, Ma!”
“Then please tell me what is happening. Where are we rushing to?”
“Supreme Court, Ma.”
“That is wonderful news.”
“Yeah, Ma, you’d think so.”
“I most certainly do think so. Why would I not?”
“Absolutely, Ma. Yeah, must be. Right?”
“You are babbling, Zero. That does not bode well.”
“Grunge was a bit vague. Sure, it’ll all be cool.”
If Dis and Ges can dance in the face of their fate, then I too can hold onto my defiance for the single hour and a little more that is left to me.
“Zero, it will not be enough for only my appeal to succeed. We must also save Dis and Ges and do so before La Deux arrives. Zero, have you any knowledge of this La Deux?”
“Sounds like fuzzy familiar, Ma, in a trippy kinda way. I’ll get back to you on that one, Ma.”
It is obvious that further interrogation of Zero on the identity of La Deux or matters legal will likely be fruitless. He either does not know or wishes to spare me the horrors that are to come. There are always other questions.
“Zero, who is Liberté?”
“Liberté? Sorry, Ma, don’t know the dude.”
“Do you not remember Sapphria and the ridiculous pantomime regarding the shoes?”
“She was nice.”
“Nice? Zero, Sapphria is Liberté. The Liberté who is tormenting me with puzzles and strange threats.”
“She’s a he? Is that like a transgender thing, Ma? Anyways, Sapphria’s really cool. She wouldn’t do anything bad. Not her. Ticky tocky, Ma! Chit chat later.”
Unexpectedly, we are bathed in electric light, and the view of my still-dancing cage dancers is abruptly curtailed. Our compartment has slotted inside a larger space. It is a bare room lined with well-worn boards and lit with naked bulbs precariously suspended on threadbare wires. The brown-gowned guard opens the gate, and Zero dashes forward, pulling me after him like an old button hanging by a thread. He bursts through the only door out into a corridor and, without any loss of momentum, races on. Try as I might, I cannot keep up.
Zero spins around. “Sorry, Ma.”
He bodily lifts me off the ground and sprints ahead as if my weight were nothing at all. Zero is indefatigable. I feel that I should protest and very loudly. I open my mouth, but not a sound emerges. The corridor walls speed by. This feeling of flying along reminds me of my bat trips across the Inns of Court. While I would never admit it to Zero, lest he embarrass me when others are about, this experience is quite enjoyable.
A set of ornate and heavy double doors are rapidly approaching.
I doubt my enjoyment of the moment will persist for much longer.
Chapter Eighteen – The Trial – The Prosecution
We burst through the doors. Inside is the by-now familiar court layout. Benches to the left and right and raised platform directly ahead. There is a large box to the right of the judge’s platform and a standing machinist over to the left. A line of six short figures in brown gowns are standing stiffly to attention in front of the judge’s platform as though they might be guarding it. The Marys, Mary M, Grunge and the witnesses are in their customary place.
Remembering my situation with a start, I whisper, “Zero, set me down immediately before anyone observes my inappropriate state.”
Zero complies and leads the way. I step forward with more outward confidence than fills my insides and take my customary place in the second row of benches adjacent to Zero. Looking back, I almost jump up again. A line of burly figures in grey gowns lines the curved wall to my rear. They are holding long black clubs. Looking around, I notice that they encircle the entire court, and the court is circular and not the square shape I have grown accustomed to. There is something else that is different about this court, the Supreme Court, though I am not immediately able to say what it is. As my fast-beating heart slows, the difference becomes obvious. There is a loud background hubbub of whispered conversations showering my ears from every direction, and yet there is no obvious source. All in the courtroom fall silent. The mysterious murmurings also cease.
Tick.
It is exactly nothing past eight.
“All rise for the Chief Judge and Master, Pilot.”
The machinist’s declaration brings my attention back to the platform, and I rise with the others. All around, the noise of a multitude standing buffets the small court like a thunderstorm. It is immediately obvious that the ubiquitous noise is coming from on high. Cautiously, I track the curved ebony boards of the court wall behind the judge, upward, higher and higher. I spin slowly on the spot, amazement creeping across my face as if it were being hastily de-gowned.
Our little court is set in a deep, circular depression that is surrounded by banked benches that disappear away and up into the far distance, like the petals of an impossibly large flower. Unimaginably, the enormous stadium is completely full and, in clear sections, de
fined by the colours and gowns of the notaries I have encountered during this day’s long search for justice. To my rear are rows upon rows of constables. To the left, an uncountable number of doctors stretching endlessly upward. To the right, the academicals, some on their poles, are equally numerous. Ahead, a multitude of Marlons and, next to them, an endless sea of priests.
“You! Seven! Are you looking for another Judgement? Sit down. I won’t tell you again. Sit down!”
The mention of my alias breaks my paralysis. I had not been listening or paying attention, only spinning around and around, unable to accept what my eyes assured me they beheld. I fall into my seat and face forward. It is a relief to find that the judge is entirely normal. Neither a pig nor multi-headed. The judge’s gown is a very dark purple, and his wig has such expansive curls that most of his hood is submerged beneath the frothy, white hair-storm.
Judge Pilot looks out over the court and then up at the masses sitting in the arena. “Our purpose here is very clear. An enormous lodgement was going to waste, which Mary M was good enough to alert us to. For all our sakes, this lodgement must be depleted before sentence is carried out, or the unused funds will be squandered on a charity for dyslexic kittens.”
Can it be that Ges was right? The justice system is only interested in dragging matters out till my lodgement is exhausted?
“At Priest’s insistence, we have assembled an exceptionally large jury, numbering one hundred and forty-four thousand. However, the total daily stipend allowed for twelve jurors will not be increased.”
A hurricane of jeers, boos and hisses erupts from the vast crowd. I clap my hands to my hood. The avalanche of noise threatens to puncture my eardrums. Pilot jumps to his feet and starts banging a little wooden hammer vigorously on a small wooden block. I note his actions, but no sound can be heard above the angry protests of the jurors. A much louder drumming punctures the crowd’s noisy mayhem and, gradually, they quieten. The pounding noise comes from the burly figures ringing the courtroom, who are banging their clubs against the boards of the curved court walls.
