Away with the Fishes (39 page)

“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 rain 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.

“Order! Order!” he cried out, slamming his gavel. The court went deathly quiet. “In light of the unexpected arrival of the alleged victim,” the judge began, “we must modify our scheduled proceedings and postpone the reading of the verdict. I will instead ask both the Prosecution and the Defense to question the material witness introduced by the Office of Customs and Excise, Miss Rena Baker of Glutton Hill.” He ordered Rena to take the witness stand, and turned to Monday Jones. “Mr. Jones, your witness,” he said.

Monday might be going down, but not without a fight. If this silly girl was to be the only blotch on his perfect record, he planned to give her a public talking-to that she wouldn’t soon forget.

“State your name and domicile for the record, please, Miss.”

“Rena Baker, Glutton Hill,” she replied hesitantly.

“Are you aware, Miss Baker, of the trouble you have caused?”

Rena looked at Raoul, who smiled at her reassuringly. She opened her mouth to try and deliver a response, but before she could, Monday interrupted.

“I’ll take your silence as a ‘no,’” he said. “Allow me to enlighten you. Miss Baker, you have behaved very selfishly. You have brought a tremendous financial burden to the government of Oh, which spared no expense in its efforts to locate you and, failing that, to prosecute the man who murdered you.”

“Objection, Your Honor!” Glynray called out. “Miss Baker has clearly not been murdered, nor did the authorities of Oh devote a dime to finding her. The Prosecution has labored under the assumption of her demise from the moment the case was officially opened.”

“Sustained,” the judge reluctantly grumbled. “The court recognizes that Ms. Baker is very much alive.”

“Very well,” Monday resumed. “Perhaps then you would like to enlighten
me
, Miss Baker. Please inform the court of the circumstances surrounding your disappearance.”

“I didn’t disappear,” she said. “Not exactly. I flew out on a flight to Killig is all.”

“And from there?”

“From there, nothing. That’s where I’ve been all the time.”

“What have you been doing there?” Monday asked her.

“Walking around. Exploring the island. Floating in the sea.”

“You expect this court to believe that you ran away from
one
island, where a fisherman had pledged his love to you, to ‘walk around’
another
island all alone?”

“I got itchy feet,” she explained. “It’s not as though all islands are alike, you know.”

“What about Mr. Fuller?” Monday asked. “Don’t you love him?”

“Yes. I do. That’s why I’m here. I happened to see a copy of Oh’s
Morning Crier
, and when I read that Madison was in trouble, I came right back.”

The
Morning Crier
?! Bruce was tickled. He had gone international without even knowing!

“If you love him as you claim, then why did you leave him in the first place?” Monday snapped. “You would value a pair of itchy feet over a fisherman’s loyal heart?”

“I just wasn’t happy here. On Oh. I know it’s my home, but it’s never
felt
like home.” She paused before continuing, as if unsure whether she should speak her heart. “Mr. Jones,” she finally said, “have you ever heard of island magic?”

The spectators stirred and conferred in hushed tones. Had Oh had something to do with Rena’s running away?

“What nonsense is this?” Monday Jones rebutted. “Your Honor, I ask that you instruct the witness to stick to the facts of the case.”

Before the judge could rule, Glynray was on his feet. “Objection, Your Honor! Magic on Oh is not nonsense!”

“Sustained,” Judge Samuels grumbled again. “The witness may proceed with this line of questioning.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Rena replied. She turned back to Monday and picked up where she had left off. “I’ll take that as a ‘no,’” she mocked him. “Allow me to enlighten you.” The crowd sniggered, and Raoul nearly fainted. What was she saying? How had her testimony got mixed up with island magic?

“Oh is a very special place, Mr. Jones. A little
too
special for
me
, I’m afraid.”

Monday looked at her like she was mad, but Rena kept talking.

“The sun plays tricks on everyone here. The moon, too. The leaves laugh at you, the birds butt into your affairs. Everyone’s used to it. But with me, it’s different. The island doesn’t want me
here, and Madison’s love wasn’t enough to make up for Oh’s torments.” She looked at Madison, begging his forgiveness with her eyes.

“Why on earth would Oh not want you on Oh?” a skeptical Monday Jones inquired.

Rena bowed her head and spoke so softly, she almost couldn’t be heard. “I think it has something to do with my father.”

“Your father? It was my understanding you were raised in an island orphanage.”