Zoe left the courtroom and met Sister Irina on the courthouse steps. The St. Francis van was idling at the curb, Sister Anica behind the wheel.
“How is she?” Zoe inquired, looking at Kuyeya through the window.
“She wet the bed last night,” Sister Irina said. “And this morning she was disoriented. But she is happy now. She is listening to your music.”
“We need to get another opinion about her health. I’ll talk to Joy Herald about scheduling an appointment at a private clinic. Do you have the doll?”
The nun lifted the bag she was carrying. “I also brought a wheelchair. I’m concerned about her falling again.”
“Good idea,” Zoe responded, opening the van door. She greeted Kuyeya and helped her out of the seat, taking care not to tangle her headphones. As soon as the girl was situated in the wheelchair, Zoe pushed her up the ramp and down the arcade to the courtroom.
A hush fell upon the gallery when they entered. From the satisfied look on Sarge’s face, Zoe knew that Dr. Mbao’s affidavit had opened the door to Kuyeya’s testimony. Zoe maneuvered the wheelchair to a spot beside the witness stand and gently removed the headphones. She took off the girl’s glasses, too, handing everything to Sarge. It was a move they had prearranged. They didn’t want Kuyeya to see Darious too soon.
“Your Worship,” Sarge said, “for the child’s comfort, I ask that you permit her principal caretaker, Sister Irina, to sit beside her.”
“I will allow that,” said the judge. “Come forward, Sister.”
After the nun took her seat, Sarge moved his chair close to the stand. “Hello there,” he said to Kuyeya. “You’re wearing a pretty dress today. Can you tell me your name?”
The girl rocked a bit and then said, “Kuyeya.”
Zoe let out the breath she was holding. In the past month, she and Sarge had visited Kuyeya three times to prepare her for trial. The girl had been distant at first, unwilling to look at Sarge or answer his questions. Over time, and with urging from Dr. Mbao, she had opened up to him. But a courtroom full of strangers was a world away from the garden at St. Francis. Zoe had feared she would freeze.
“That’s a nice name,” Sarge said softly. “What is your mommy’s name?”
Kuyeya brightened. “Mommy is Charity.”
Sarge nodded. “Did your mommy tell you stories?”
“Mommy tells stories,” she said. “The bee-eater and hippo are friends.”
Sarge smiled. “Was there a river in your mommy’s stories?”
Kuyeya clutched her monkey and didn’t answer.
He tried a leading approach. “Is it the Yangtze?”
The girl thought about this. After a moment, she shook her head.
“Is it the Zambezi?”
Kuyeya’s eyes caught the light. “The bee-eater and hippo live on the Zambezi.”
Sarge faced the judge. “Your Worship, I submit that the child is capable of answering simple questions. I have only a few that I wish to ask.”
Benson Luchembe stood. “For the record I must object. Does the prosecution plan to put all of the answers in the child’s mouth?”
The judge looked at Sarge. “You may only lead the witness to establish a foundation. Beyond that, you have to abide by the rules of evidence.”
Sarge nodded and focused again on Kuyeya. “Your mommy taught you stories. I bet she taught you a lot of things. Did your mommy teach you about men?”
Kuyeya’s eyes crossed, then resolved. “I don’t like men.”
“Why don’t you like men?” Sarge asked, keeping his voice gentle.
Kuyeya began to rock again. “Men are bad.”
Zoe leaned forward. This is as far as the girl had ever been willing to go in talking about the rape. You can do it. Tell the judge what he did to you.
“Why are men bad?” Sarge asked.
Kuyeya’s rocking increased and she let out a groan.
Sarge persisted: “Did your mommy tell you that men might touch you?”
Suddenly, the girl found her voice: “Men not supposed to touch. Mommy can touch, but men not supposed to touch.”
“Kuyeya,” Sarge went on, using a soothing tone, “did a man touch you where only your mommy was supposed to touch?”
Kuyeya’s groaning took on greater urgency and Zoe grimaced. She had heard the sound before—in the examination room on the night of the rape.
“Do you have the doll?” Sarge asked Sister Irina.
It was then that Zoe remembered something. She couldn’t believe she had forgotten. She launched to her feet and said, “Wait!”
All eyes in the courtroom focused on her. Sarge frowned. The judge squinted at her. A couple of Luchembe’s underlings began to whisper.
“Your Worship,” Zoe said, breaching every protocol in the book, “I request a brief recess to confer with counsel.”
Mubita’s squint deepened into a scowl. “Ms. Fleming, must I remind you that you are not a member of the Zambian bar? I do not appreciate interruptions.”