Family Law

Family Law

By Dewi Anggraeni

Simon steps into the chambers still elated from the weekend spent in close proximity with his new love. Paramita is not only beautiful, she is also intelligent. And what warms his heart even more is, she has a social conscience. She works for an NGO back in Central Java, specializing in educating women about their basic rights in the community. No bimbos for him. He is, after all, a young barrister with a progressive mind.

David, the clerk, looks up over his computer monitor, picks up a brief and hands it to Simon.

"Morning Squire," he says, discreetly looking at his watch. The boy's late again.

"You have a family law case first thing in the morning there, Simon," he continues, "Judge Fairweather is presiding."

"Oh dear, what is it?" asks Simon, opening the brief. My first family law case. "Hermann versus Hermann," he reads, turning towards his office.

"Restraining order," David's voice follows him. "He's a Dutch Australian and she's an Indonesian woman. You're representing the applicant."

Simon feels his nerves, rendered sweet and gentle by the weekend contact with Paramita, straighten out to full alertness.

His instant sympathy towards one of Paramita's fellow women makes him grunt with righteous protectiveness. The brute must be in the habit of bashing his wife to a pulp.

The clock on the office wall warns him that he should be at the court house now, having a brief pre-hearing interview with his client. Slipping the brief into his briefcase, Simon reaches for his gown from the rack and rushes out.

Sitting on one end of a bench, is a big, burly bulk with thinning chestnut hair, his face rendered untidy by a five o'clock shadow. He is wearing a sky blue T-shirt with "Don't worry, be happy" written across the front. On the other end of the bench, a petite dark-haired, brown-skinned young woman is looking the other way. Simon strides headlong to the woman, greeting her in the only Indonesian phrase he has learned from Paramita.

"Selamat pagi. You are, I presume, Mrs. Hermann?" he asks genially.

The women looks at him, slightly frowning.

"Yes," she replies, a little too petulantly for Simon's liking.

Poor thing. Anyone married to that brute would be in constant bad mood. Simon gives her half a reassuring smile and continues, "I am Simon Gerard, your legal counsel." When Mrs. Hermann looks somewhat bewildered, Simon pulls the brief out of his case and begins, "Now, about your application for a restraining order." Simon tries not to look at the other end of the bench, "I don't think you'll have any..."

"Wait on, mate," a whining voice from the other end rudely interrupts him. Simon shoots a censorious look at him. "Mate," the voice drones on, "you've made a mistake there. I am the applicant."

Simon's mouth gapes for a second, then he quickly opens his brief and speed-reads it. Holly shovel! He is, too.

Quickly readjusting his mood, then his expression, Simon says to his client, "Mr. Hermann, we need to have a brief talk, privately."

Mrs. Hermann doesn't seem to hear. She is determined to stay put. Simon casts a glance around and then makes a quick decision. "Let's go outside. There's a bench there."

They are barely seated when a careful of brown-skinned women screeches to a stop right in front of them. Simon has the sensation of seeing a nightmare coming true. Five Indonesian women of differing ages step out before the driver rushes off, obviously looking for a car park.

Hermann apparently can see Simon's face, because he stands up, totally unfazed, saying, "S' alright, mate. They're my in-laws."

Of course I damned well knew they were your in-laws. You think I'm an idiot? However, cool and composed, Simon replies, "Yes, I realized that. You know what this means, don't you?"

Hermann turns to look at him with such puerility Simon's annoyance gives way to pity. "What, mate?"

"It's bad enough to convince the judge why they should give a restraining order against your wife. Now with all her family in full force testifying against you."

"Oh no, mate! They're testifying against Melina, against my wife."

I'm not hearing this correctly. Simon turns to the women, who by now are standing in a untidy circle around them. Maintaining his cool -- with difficulty -- he asks the oldest of them, "Are you relatives of Mrs. Hermann's ?"

The women turns to a younger relative beside her and says something in Indonesian. The younger woman then answers, "Yes, we are. And we have come to testify against Melina."

Then they all seem to speak at once. Simon can only catch words like "punched him in the face", "stabbed him with a rolling pin." Quietly he steps back inside to have a second look at the woman he thought was Mrs. Hermann. God Almighty. She's barely five foot one.

"Excuse me, please confirm this, Mr. Hermann," he says after pulling his client away from the crowd of feminine support he is enjoying. "The woman sitting on the other side of the bench just now was your wife. Am I right?"

"Too right, mate! That's her, that's Melina alright."

I'm dreaming this! No, they're having me on! Richard's practical joke! My first family law case indeed!

"Do you have any evidence, I mean, any scars, bruises, anything at all?" Simon asks, completely forgetting that he has sufficient witnesses to file a divorce suit.

"Bloody oath, I have." Then, without warning, he pulls his T- shirt up, revealing a ghastly map of scars and bruises around his torso. Simon nearly touches him to confirm that they were not painted on. But they are real all right.

"All right, all right. I believe you, Mr. Hermann," Simon reassures him. Then, casting a glance around, he indicates to his client to cover up again.

Why didn't Paramita tell me how assertive an Indonesian woman could be? Wait till I tell Richard this. Well, well! Speaking of the devil.

Obviously frazzled but trying to keep his cool, Richard is looking around when Simon pats his shoulder. "How're you, old son?"

Richard looks relieved to see him. "Don't ask! Had a row with Genevieve about her mother, and didn't get to the chambers until five minutes ago. I'm looking for a client, a Mrs. Hermann."

With admirable restraint, Simon indicates to the person, still sitting on one end of the bench, seemingly refusing to communicate with anyone. "And," Simon is positively enjoying himself now, "guess who I'm representing."

"Not Mr. Hermann?" asks Richard, hamming horror.

"Himself." And Simon indicates the man.

"Well, Simon, old son. Prepare yourself to go down the gurgler. The case is open and shut."

"Indeed. Let's go in."

When they are seated after the ritual of standing for the judge, Simon looks straight ahead, waiting for the judge to find a comfortable position in his seat. Richard is still holding his brief, convinced of a smooth proceeding.

When the judge sees Mr. and Mrs. Hermann over the top of his spectacles, he addresses Mrs. Hermann's legal counsel, "I think this is a very straightforward case, Mr. Waterwood."

Simon stands up and interrupts, "If you permit me, your honor. With due respect, your honor. Can I bring to your honor's attention, that my client, Mr. Hermann, is the applicant?"

The judge frowns but looks down to read the brief nonetheless.

"I see," he says quietly.

Richard Waterwood looks incredulously at Simon, then quickly reads his brief.

The application is granted. Simon and Richard both breath a sign of relief almost in unison, glad to walk out of this weird experience.

When they file out of the court room, Simon and Richard see, to their horror, Mrs. Hermann approaching her husband with a hesitant, almost shy smile, and Hermann smiling back longingly. Good grief, are they seeing things? Before they have time to warn their respective clients, the relatives are already surrounding them.

Richard manages to push his way to Mrs. Hermann's side, followed by Simon, who tries to establish eye-contact with his client.

"Mrs. Hermann," Richard says emphatically, "I must remind you that you've just had a restraining order served on you. You must not come within five hundred metres of you husband."

Mrs. Hermann coolly turns around and gives her legal counsel a look of contempt, while her husband says, "S' alright, mate. I think we've made up."

Richard raises his eyes to meet Simon's. They both shrug and watch their respective clients walk out of the building, hand in hand, still surrounded and talked at by the relatives.

Simon rushes back to the chambers. He must ring Paramita.

Dewi Anggraeni was born in Jakarta. She lives in Melbourne with her husband and two children. She was the Australian correspondent for the defunct Tempo magazine and now writes for The Jakarta Post, Forum Keadilan and other publications in Indonesia and Australia. Combining her skills as a journalist and novelist, her works have been published in both languages in Australia and Indonesia. She has three books published in Australia, two novels, The Root of All Evil (1987) and Parallel Forces (1988), and the third, a trilogy of novellas, Stories of Indian Pacific (1993).