Ultimate Justice (34 page)

***

Making their way along the pavement lit by street lights, Jack explained where the pub was and Bandi took his father's arm. The street was familiar to Jack, the sounds, the smells and the feel of the autumn air were very much like he remembered. But this same place was utterly strange and foreign to his son who marvelled at his dad's ability to remember.

“I think it's the pub on the corner of the High Street and Hope Street,” explained Jack. “It's not far.”

“It's right what you said. Kids should have equal opportunities.”

“I didn't say ‘equal',” said Jack. “A blind person can never have an equal opportunity in life. They can never drive a car, for example, or climb mountains. And some sighted people find it hard to read through no fault of their own. The universe is not a place of equal anything. It's about giving kids a chance to make as much of the opportunities that come their way, developing what they've got.”

“Growing their own gifts.”

“Exactly. But that takes imagination when it comes to the ones on the margins of our attention. And it's not just about kids who are blind or deaf but everyone who's not mainstream. Society puts the emphasis on the majority, or to suit those in control. We can run away with the idea that giving people the
same
opportunities is fair. But if you have to be something you are
not
to take advantage of those opportunities, then that is
not
fair.”

“Like, you could say that all kids have the right to be taught how to read and write but for blind kids that means teaching touch script which we don't in mainstream schools.”

“Yes. But it goes beyond provision for disabled kids. It goes across the
whole
of society. For example, expecting women to turn away from their own feminine insights and become like men to succeed in life.”

“That sounds feminist, Dad.”

“I suppose it is. Haven't you noticed I
am
a feminist. Why should women have to stop being themselves to get on in society? I would much prefer Aphra Behn to Margaret Thatcher.”

“Er, Dad?”

“Yes, Bandi”

“You're talking in riddles.”

“Oh, sorry. It's British history. Planet Earth. Aphra Behn lived just over three hundred years ago and was a playwright, novelist and poet. She said it how it was. She did not flinch to write from the woman's point of view, saying how it feels like to be a woman. She has often been dismissed as outspoken and even bawdy – but she was not. She was feminine
and
strong. She stood up to men who expected women to be weak, meek, quiet and frivolous, but succeeded in doing it in a feminine way. Margaret Thatcher was a British prime minister in the 1980s who certainly was not weak or quiet, but she downplayed the feminine side of things. She stood up to men like a
man
. Some believe she sold out to male domination.”

“Like Kakko is not girly-fantastic but yet is still feminine.”

“Something like that, Bandi.”

“Dad. Do you miss Britain? I mean, you grew up here.”

“I can't deny the smell of this place feels like home. But as you have heard this evening, I was not a happy child. For most of my time here I wanted to get out. And I still do. If the gate is not there tomorrow, I shall scream. I can't be doing with being trapped here again!”

“Right. You
really were
not happy. That's sad. I don't think I want to live anywhere else than on Joh… but I liked meeting Abby.”

They walked a few more steps in silence then Jack said, “So now, Bandi, you know what a sad dad you have. A cheat, a liar, a rat, a prig and… what else did he say?”

“A shit-head.”

“Yeah. I really was all those things.”

“I knew you weren't always an ‘easy child', as Nan puts it. But I hadn't realised you lied and cheated so much.”

“Well, Jim did rather overstate his case, and he wasn't actually wanting the special teaching either. What he was really sour about was that I got to be with Dawn White instead of him. Little Jimmy Carter (we used to call him ‘little' to distinguish him from the American president of that name) was not noted for his application at school. He had only tried on that occasion to get to sit with Dawn. And, don't tell him I told you this,” laughed Jack, “
he
cheated too! He copied my work and other people's. If he had got into sixth place instead of me it would not have been because he was an honest, able scholar.”

“So he was lying in that meeting?”

“I doubt if he remembers what he did that day because he did it all the time. What he remembers is being cheated at the final hurdle when he thought he had won. I regret cheating – that was wrong, but I don't think Jim Carter's problems stem from my dishonesty. All we have to do tonight is listen to his story. He will tell us how the whole of life has cheated him at every turn. It will make him feel better. Then we can discover some of the good things he has done despite all that and congratulate him.”

“Can't he get on a catch up education course for adults?”

“Of course. That's one good thing about Britain, it's never too late to take up your opportunities. But, you watch, he'll have every excuse why that wouldn't work for him – unless he has changed a lot from when we were teenagers, which I doubt.”

***

Leaving the Pig and Whistle an hour later, father and son took a taxi back to the hotel.

“Dad, you're clever.”

“How come?”

“You knew
exactly
how that would go. It was as if Jim was reading your script.”

“It's not rocket science, Bandi. It comes with years of listening. All he really wanted was a bit of attention. We all do.”

***

The following morning it was grey and damp. The pavement slabs glistened, the moss glowed green in the cracks and the yellow lichen on the roofs and walls took on a dull greyish tinge. The chirping birds didn't seem put off in the park to their right, however, as the little group walked up to the school on the hill. Jack, Matilda and Bandi had been joined by Abby and her father who were coming to see them off. Secretly, Abby and Bandi were both hoping Abby would see the gate too, but neither said anything.

“I lived here for forty years,” sighed Matilda. “It was good to see it again. But I'm glad I'm going home.”

“Home is where the heart is,” observed Jack.

“Indeed. And my heart is where you belong. The only sadness is that Momori is no longer there.”

“You've got
us
,” said Bandi.

“I have. And my very good friends on Joh. Ada and I and the others are going on a bus trip the day after tomorrow into the mountains.”

“Sounds lovely,” said Jack.

Matilda and Bandi saw the white gate glowing in the dullness of the day from some distance away. Jack sensed it too. “Home!” he sighed. Bandi looked at Abby as they walked up to the gate, but it was not there for her. She turned and looked at Bandi and, despite her resolve, a tiny tear formed in the corner of one eye.

“Here we are,” declared Matilda. Dave stared at the middle school boundary; it was unchanged and uninterrupted. Abby stifled a snuffle in a tissue.

“It's not fair!” she exclaimed quietly.

“Abby,” said Jack, “if you could have the past few days over again knowing that they could not last would you still have them? Would it have been fair if you and Bandi had never met?”

“No. I wouldn't change any of that. I just don't want it to end.”

“But Bandi has his school to go to and his mother is waiting for him,” said Dave putting his arm around his daughter's shoulders. “It's time to let them go.”

“Thanks for the book,” said Bandi, “I want to be a philosopher when I finish school. Thanks for taking me to Oxford.”

“Yes. Thank you for all your hospitality,” Jack added as he sought Dave's hand.

Bandi caught up Abby in a cuddle. “You never know,” he smiled, “this may not be good-bye for ever.”

“Come on you,” cajoled his father. “Your mum's waiting for you.”

“Bye Abby,” said Bandi with as light a face as he could muster.

“Bye,” said everyone together. Matilda turned and stepped through the gate. Jack pushed Bandi forward and followed.

The father and daughter just stared as their new friends disappeared from their sight. “'
Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.”
Dave quoted Tennyson's famous line to himself. But he didn't say it out loud as he led his tear-stained daughter back home across the park.

“It's been difficult,” said Jalli that evening when she was cuddled up to her Jack in their bed. “Kakko missed you all more than I did. Shaun got on with his things. He had work to do for school and then a match in which he was once more on the winning side. But Kakko was unsettled. She tries hard but she's not made for studying, that girl.”

“Bandi has found his calling,” explained Jack. “He found himself in long discussions with the vicar there about philosophy.”

“Phil who?”

“Philosophy. It's the Earthly name for the discipline that involves asking questions about life. Like, ‘How do I know I exist?' and, ‘Can I prove the existence of the Creator?' or, ‘Is this right or wrong just for now, or for the whole of the universe in every dimension'?”

“What we call ‘ultimates'?”

“Exactly.”

“He was always that way inclined. He always wanted to know why.”

“Well, he's right into it now. Says he wants to combine it with computing at college.”

“Is there such a course?”

“Don't know. But he has to get his preliminaries first, then we can think about it. He also met this young girl called Abby. She's only fourteen too, but they were really into each other.”

“That's probably why he's been a bit quiet, even for Bandi.”

“The parting was hard with her saying it wasn't really fair. But
he
knew the score from the beginning – although he's still cut up about it.”

“What was she like?”

“Vivacious in a thoughtful way, if that makes sense – intelligent, caring and polite… Mum says she's pretty – long blonde hair – not tall. It's difficult to know what she is like when she has to just get on with everyday school because life was rather exciting for her with Bandi and us around.”

***

The following day when Bandi began to open up about some of the things he had done – without, of course, letting on how he felt about Abby – Kakko couldn't help showing her frustration. She wanted to know every detail of the punting but was not so interested in the book that Bandi was treasuring.
Is my sister stuck in Plato's cave?
he asked himself. He concluded she wasn't. Kakko would never be stuck anywhere. She
did
think, she
did
care about things, but in fitful bursts. She did not have his gift of concentration. Perhaps in some ways Kakko was far more ‘normal' than he was, he decided. Kakko had been disappointed not to have been invited but actually she would have found it very dull – there had been a lot of sitting down and listening. He hoped she would get over her frustration soon.

***

As it happened he didn't have to wait long. Less than a week later, Kakko came bounding in to say there was a white gate on the other side of the road beyond the cottage hedge where the one to the cliff-top had been. It was excitement all round. Everyone rushed out to see, but only Kakko could make it out. Tam was sent for. He said good-bye to his parents ready to accompany his girlfriend into regions unknown. But despite studying the place carefully, he too had to conclude that it was not for him this time. This gate was for Kakko, and for Kakko alone.

Beside it was a shoulder bag and a small carrier which again only she could see until she touched them. They contained a sophisticated looking video camera and Shaun uttered a cry of delight.

“It's the latest model,” he explained. “It is so easy to use. You can do all the settings manually if you want, but if you just put it on automatic… here, he indicated a green button, it does everything for you. Just point and shoot. It's got the long life batteries too so you should have hours of filming.”

“And some spares,” said Kakko pulling out a packet of more batteries. “So I have to take pictures. How cool.”

Also inside the carrier bag was a long colourful skirt with an elasticated waistband and an old straw hat – that was all. She was wearing a loose top and shorts so she just pulled the skirt on over the shorts and donned the hat and she was ready. The family stood in the road and said the usual things about taking care. Kakko was excited but then realised that for the first time she was about to have an adventure all on her own, and became more serious. Her leave taking was reassuring for her parents.

“Don't forget to listen, and pray. Remember to just pass things through your brain occasionally before you act,” said her mother.

“I will, Mum. I promise. I won't have anyone to rescue me this time will I?”

“No. But God gets into every corner of this universe. Don't forget to call on Him.”

“She's calling on me now, isn't She?”

“I guess She is Kakko,” said Jack. “We'll be looking forward to getting you back. Now, you had better go before we all start getting emotional.” He could sense Jalli tightening up.

“Bye!” said Kakko and then, shouldering the camera bag, turned and stepped carefully through the white gate.

***

Kakko found herself standing in a cleft between huge, red boulders. She could see a streak of blue sky above her and made out the unmistakable sound of children playing. It was hot. Kakko emerged from the cleft and put on her straw hat against the sun. The long skirt was ideal in this heat, but there was no way to be cool. Below, the children's voices stuttered to a halt and all she could hear was the sound of a cicada and a bird somewhere behind her. The children stood stock-still and stared. Kakko waved to them and smiled. Then, suddenly, there was a crescendo of noise and a dozen screaming children, most clad only in a few rags, some entirely naked, rushed towards her. “Khawaja! Khawaja!” they shouted. “Khawaja!” The first children took her hands, her arms and then she was being gently touched all over. They spoke in a language she did not understand. They dragged at her, propelling her forward. One of the older children spoke in English. “Khawaja, you come. You take pictures. You come.”

The excited children led Kakko over a short patch of open ground that still bore the marks of recent careful sweeping with a broom, to a couple of circular thatched huts with mud walls. Outside the first, a young woman nursing a baby sat cross-legged behind a cooking pot on a charcoal burner. She was staring at the gaggle of children and rose to her feet as Kakko approached. Soon other adult women appeared. Kakko introduced herself. It was clear her words had been translated into English because one of the women asked, “You from America?”

“No,” Kakko replied.

“From UK?”

“No. I am from neither. I come from Joh.”

The woman nodded. She could not have known anything about Joh but the answer seemed to satisfy her. Kakko gathered from their questions that she must be somewhere on Planet Earth.

“You come to take pictures? You come to tell the world about our suffering? That is good. We don't see anyone for many months. The bombing, it is very bad!”

Kakko noticed that there didn't appear to be any men-folk or older people, just these mothers and their children. “Where are your husbands?” she asked.

“In the bush,” said the woman who spoke nodding over her shoulder. “They have gone to fight.”

“So you are here on your own?”

“We wait until the harvest. Three, maybe four weeks. Then we go.”

“Where?”

“Over the border. Safe place.”

“Have soldiers come here?”

“Not yet. Just planes with bombs. You want to take pictures of the bombs?” She barked at three of the older girls to pick up some empty water jars to bring with them and then led Kakko off to a clump of trees about a mile away. It was hot and Kakko was glad of her straw hat but the girls wore nothing on their heads – they just balanced the pots on them. Kakko asked if she could try. She was amazed at how heavy they were, despite being empty! Even with two hands she couldn't balance it herself. The girls laughed.

They came in sight of what looked at first sight like a pile of rubble behind some spindly trees. But when Kakko got closer she realised it wasn't just any old rubble but four or five broken mud huts similar to the ones she had just seen. They were battered and torn. Pieces of light blue tarpaulin were scattered among the burnt remains indicating, she later learnt, that United Nations relief supplies had got this far sometime in the past. There were patches of ash where charcoal burners had been not too long ago. In among the scorched wood and mud there appeared to be pieces of broken furniture and torn clothing. The children went over to a water pump that was still working. A series of mounds looking like graves lined the edge of the site. Kakko held her hand out towards them.

“Twenty-two people, all dead. Some straight away, others over days. No medicine.” The woman began to weep. “My mother,” she said, pointing to the first. “My son,” indicating a second. “My baby too. He was holding her to protect her but they both killed.”

Kakko stood in shock. Then remembered she was supposed to take pictures. She pulled the camera out of its bag and set it on automatic. She panned the scene and then pointed the camera at the woman and asked, “What is your name?”

“My name Miriam. I am Miriam Ishmael.”

“Miriam, tell me what happened?”

“Two weeks ago an Antonov came from the west. He went round and round and then went away. We thought he had gone, but then he came back suddenly and dropped three bombs. Bomb, bomb, bomb. Twelve people dead. Some in many pieces. Ten injured. These tukls all destroyed. We sent one for help. She not came back. You meet her?”

“No,” replied Kakko.

Kakko was surveying the scene. It was not till then that she realised that all the bits of twisted metal strewn about over a large area must be shrapnel from the bombs.

“I am sorry,” admitted Kakko. “I have no food, no medicine.”

“But you have camera. You can tell the world what is happening to us.”

“I will! I will tell the world and everyone. I promise,” said Kakko vehemently.

“UN don't come. They are frightened to come.”

“I don't understand.”

“UN have soldiers but they don't fight for us. They run away. Now the enemy plane has come our enemies they think we are all dead. Maybe they won't come again. When we have food,” she indicated a few storks of some kind of grain, still green, growing on the periphery of the destruction, “we will leave. We will go south over the mountain.” Kakko panned over to the crop and then the mountain. “This is what they want, the people with the planes, they want us out. They want to take our land. They want to kill our children. We are not like them. Our ancestors are not theirs. They have been our enemies a very long time – long before my grandparents were born.
Then
they didn't have planes – not like now. But our husbands are fighting them. They will attack the places where the planes come from. We will not give up our land – it belongs to our children… come you must eat with us.”

“What? Oh no. I can't eat your food. You don't have enough.”

“You have come to us. You care. You do not have
arabia
– car – you have walked many miles. You are our guest. You eat.”

The girls reappeared with the jars now full of water. They helped each other lift them onto their heads. Kakko could see, despite their smiles, that they were in pain. They were doing permanent damage to themselves she thought. She could imagine her gym mistress gasping in horror. Nevertheless the girls carried the jars back the mile they had walked.

Kakko couldn't explain successfully that she hadn't been dropped off by a car somewhere over the hill. How could she eat these people's food? The water she was given to drink was not bad. But when she thought about the pain it took to bring it, she appreciated every drop. It was more valuable to these people than the most expensive bottle of special drink that Joh had ever produced. This was indeed the elixir of life. Without water in this hot place they would all be dead within hours.

She soon learned that if she didn't eat or drink neither would they, as long as she was there, so she did her best. The children showed her how to eat and laughed when she struggled to put the rough diet into her mouth. She couldn't imagine how long she could possibly survive eating so little of what she sensed had very little nutritional value. She could see that the children, for all their childish glee, were malnourished. The food tasted a bit like she imagined sawdust might.

Kakko got out her camera and panned the children eating and giggling and then she gave the camera to Miriam to take a shot of her as she tried to eat. It was a relaxed time. The food, no matter how coarse, gave them all hope.

Just then, a child stiffened. His keen ears had detected the sound of a plane. Then he spotted a dark dot coming low from the north-west. “Antonov!” he screamed. In an instant the children took to their heels and ran towards the rocks. Kakko pointed the camera in the direction of the plane. “Kakko come, come quick!” She ran to the rocks trying to keep filming. When they reached the rocks the children squeezed themselves into the narrowest of crannies, fully aware that they were also favoured by snakes and scorpions, but these represented far less a danger than the plane that was even now screaming overhead searching out its targets. It circled and re-approached. Kakko kept filming.

“Anna! Anna!” a young mother began sobbing beside Kakko. “Her baby, she is in the hut,” explained Miriam. The plane flew low and Kakko spotted a little black blob fall from it. It was a bomb and it fell very near the tukl. Boom! Dirt and vegetation shot into the air. The mother sobbed – her home was being targeted.

What Kakko instinctively wanted to do next was rush out and rescue the baby. She lunged forward but then stopped herself.
Think, Kakko, think!
she shouted to herself inside her head.
Don't be impetuous!
The sound of the plane was increasing; it was coming back. “Oh, damn it!” said Kakko out loud. “Sorry, Mum, I can't!” As the plane passed overhead and began to circle for another run, she leapt from her hiding place and dashed for the hut.