Van Rooyen’s professional, easy-going calmness soothed and absorbed the frustration Ngcobo felt. “For God’s sake, don’t look like that,” he said. “It’s not the end of the world. I warned you at the beginning of this trial that with that fool as the defence lawyer, the possibilities of this happening far exceeded what we sincerely hoped for, and I know for a fact that it doesn’t give you any closure, but it’s the way courts work. Like you people always say, it sucks. Ngcobo, please bear with me here. Experience has taught me that the most obvious explanation of anything is very rarely the right one, especially in a court of law.”

He turned to Mr. Shapiro, who had just come out of the court room. “I don’t need to tell you, you of all people, that there is no point in the sheep legislating for vegetarianism if the wolves are against it. I sincerely hope that you’ll live with yourself knowing that your so-called clients walked free, and free to wreak more havoc in innocent people’s lives. Your clients are like weeds. They deserve to be uprooted and taken out of our society, for they eat anything on sight, without any twinge of guilt.”

“Nothing could get in the way of my quest for justice,” responded Mr. Shapiro, “not even a lack of funds from the families of these poor boys. I have lived the better part of my life fighting for justice, and I strive to continue doing so, irrespective of the economic condition of my clients, and I suppose any human being with a modicum of conscience will agree with me here.”

“I’m not going to pretend to be happy about this whole situation. Why, Mr. Shapiro?”

“Because you have attained what you set out to,” said one of the throngs of journalists who had taken some interest in the case. “Either you are a shocking liar, or your standards are very low,” she proceeded.

“Wow, what an intriguing, majestic choice of language,” said Shapiro. “I sincerely hope for your career that you are quite aware of the fact that you are dancing with the devil, and when the music stops you are going to be alone with the devil.” Some did not understand what he meant. What he actually meant was that she was playing with fire, and she’d better tread carefully when throwing accusations around. When the journo did not respond, Shapiro went ahead and said, “Do you have an attorney? If you don’t, then maybe you should get yourself one before you start making accusations you’ve got no right to make.” The journalist didn’t respond to that either, but that did not stop him as he promptly informed her that she had to mind her language unless she relished the prospects of a long, ugly lawsuit that would do her career a lot of damage. He said that once he was done with her, no editor would ever want to touch her, or even be seen in the same room as her.

The other journalists who were her colleagues, advised her to apologise and she was smart enough to do just that.

Well, your apology is accepted and I sincerely hope for your sake – oh, no career – that you learn to separate your personal feelings from your work. Are we clear Miss or Mrs.? It’s called acting with integrity and consideration, not groveling. That’s splitting hairs, isn’t it? I mean, take some advice from an old hand, will you?” He left before he got his answer and that was it.

“One of the greatest demonstrations of freedom in the history of our democracy is that even the accused have a right to be heard and are not guilty until found otherwise by an honourable court of law rather than by the trial of public opinion,” Shapiro said when he met with Van Rooyen. And Van Rooyen said, “I wonder what Madiba would say if he were to find out that he spent all that time in prison so that the likes of you would spit on this freedom. You know in your heart that your clients are guilty, but sadly I could not prove it in a court of law.”

Shapiro responded, saying, “It’s very sad that what I feel and know does not pay my bills, but my clients do, hence I always go out there and give them what they want so that they keep coming back. It’s as simple as that.”

Van Rooyen then said, “Life is not fair,” and Shapiro said, “Who said it is? Show me something that is fair in this world, and I will show you Jesus Christ.”

They then parted without either of them saying anything further.

The month when the three scoundrels were acquitted was cold, and not just cold but oppressively cold in the Ngcobo’s household. Yes, cold in every conceivable sense of the word. The mood of the Ngcobo’s was one of profound gloom. Much time had passed since the fateful day, the day that had so much changed their lives, not for the better but upside down. Those were the most miserable years of their lives.

We know that soon after the rape saga something happened to the fibre of Mr. and Mrs. Ngcobo’s marriage, which had been one of the best unions known prior to the sad incident. Their marriage had been at an end in all but name. Yes, they were still in love but a hopeless love, and, to be honest, by the time of the trial, it was hanging by a thread, and not just any thread, but an extremely thin one.

Well, whoever coined this phrase must be very smart indeed that is, cut off the roosters head and his tail will just drop off naturally, and this is exactly what occurred to the Ngcobo’s when he, Ngcobo, lost the plot.

There is no doubt that Jabulani loved his wife. After all, Jennifer aka Jenny, seemed to be the sort of woman who any man worth his salt would want to marry rather than to have a convenient affair with, and that is precisely what Jabulani had done years before the fateful day, and it was so sad to watch their union deteriorating to the extent that it required the services of a judge to put an end to it. What’s so strange is that in their divorce hearing there were no accusations and counter accusations of any sort. They just both agreed that their once fantastic marriage was over, and would never work out, no matter what all kinds of experts said.

The marriage of Mr. and Mrs. Ngcobo, as they had been known for the years that they’d spent as a married couple, was like a brand new car that one drives to the office, parks, and then, having spent the day in the office and having knocked off at five, tries to start and it refuses to start. Their marriage died the day those scumbags invaded their tranquility and wreaked havoc. However, looking at them from close range, one could detect that they indeed loved and cared for each other, for there was no animosity. Nevertheless, the love was plain cold – in other words simply dead – and could not be resuscitated. After all, what good is a marriage union without any intimacy, and this had suddenly become a no-go area for both of them, each for their own separate reasons, but both reasons caused by that one single blow. Believe me when I say that Mr. Ngcobo’s flagging libido could be attributed to what he witnessed on that sad, fateful day.

Ngcobo had kept that mental picture of his wife when the thugs got their way with her, and he would carry it for the rest of his now miserable life. Whenever that ugly picture came up in his mind, he would shed a tear, and believe me that was indeed a sorry way for one to live one’s life. Therefore, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why after that sad day he couldn’t bring himself to even think about making love to his wife, something that had always brought them closer together. Well, it’s called sex, and has been bringing man and woman together like this for centuries. However, do you honestly think that sex is some kind of vanishing cream or lubricant that makes sure that a union goes on without any friction or glitches? It was mind-boggling for anyone to fully comprehend how they had reached that sorry stage in their married life, unless one was privy to the nitty-gritty of the incident.

They had done everything in their power to live good, clean lives. They’d never cheated, nor looked at any people with longing eyes, because they were content with what they had. They could not ask for more or less; things were perfect the way they were, and they had eyes for each other only. But now, thanks to those scumbags, they suddenly found that they were in very unfamiliar territory. In other words, they were living in a foreign land and finding it hard – no, impossible – to adapt.

So, the elder Ngcobo’s subsequently went back to South Gauteng High Court, but this time not for a taxing trial but to put the final nails on the coffin of their now nonexistent marriage. Yes, this was definitely not where they both wanted to be. It was driving them crazy, waiting to have their union declared no more. After all, they had used to be that perfect couple that gave marriage a good name, simply because they adored each other.

***