Rape by Joyce Carol Oates Page A

investigators whose mission itis to uncover dirt about the victims of his clients. His courtroom strategy is to attack the victim, in this case Martine Maguire, to make it appear that she brought her misfortune upon herself. Kirkpatrick believes that if a jury feels that a victim deserves her punishment, they will not wish to punish the defendant but will identify with the defendant . ‘Juries want to vote not guilty, it’s the generous Christian gesture.’ ” Diebenkorn laughed with a strange excitement.
    She continued to plead. To threaten. (Just a little. Subpoena? Martine Maguire in her sickbed?) She promised that she and her team would not be “bushwacked” a second time. At the trial, they would have notification of the defense witnesses, they would know beforehand what lies, innuendo, slander were to be presented in court. They would have a chance to rebut. And the rape shield laws in New York State prevent certain kinds of disclosures, Schpiro would be forced to comply. And the forensic evidence—semen, blood, hair, fiber—was overwhelming. The testimonies of the victims, mother and daughter, would be damning. If Teena withdrew her cooperation, the rapists could plea bargain much lighter sentences than they deserved, and that would be unjust .
    You told Diebenkorn you didn’t guess that your mother would cooperate with her anymore. You didn’t guess that your mother would give much of a damn about unjust .
    â€œBethel, my life is bound up with this case, too. It isn’t just a ‘case’ to me it’s—it has to do with my life as a woman, too—for when one woman is viciously attacked, the way your mother was, all women are being attacked. That’s why rape must be punished as a serious, violent crime.”Diebenkorn paused, wiping at her eyes. She appeared to be deeply moved. “Bethel, will you at least ask Teena if I could speak with her? Just briefly, today? The defense senses our hesitation, Kirkpatrick is moving now for a ‘swift trial.’ I know that I have disappointed Teena, and others, but I promise that I will make up for it. Please give me a chance!”
    You didn’t think there was much hope but you were a good girl and invited Diebenkorn to step inside the vestibule while you ran upstairs. You hoped that Grandma wouldn’t discover her and ask her to leave.
    Upstairs you knocked softly on Momma’s door. No answer.
    She had not been out for several days. Not since John Dromoor had brought her home.
    You knocked again on Momma’s door. You opened it, to peer inside. The room was darkened, your nostrils pinched against a smell of slept-in bedclothes, perspiration. Momma was lying on top of her bed, on a rumpled quilt bedspread, bare-legged, in just her bathrobe, on her side, unmoving.
    Momma don’t die. Please Momma we saved you once don’t die now .
    Strange to see your own mother sleeping. Unaware, oblivious.
    There was no black pool of blood beneath her. You could hear her breathing. A harsh rasping sound like fabric being torn. Yet Momma was peaceful-seeming, lying on her side as a child might lie with her hands clenched between drawn-up knees.
    You did not speak. Your heart was beating quickly as if in the presence of danger.
    Quietly you shut the door. If Momma could sleep, that was good. It was your duty to let her sleep.
    In any case you knew how Teena Maguire felt about the rapists now. You’d heard her tell your grandmother why should she give a damn, let the fuckers rape other women. Nothing to do with her.
    Downstairs, Diebenkorn waited eagerly. Those damp doggy eyes.
    You hesitated. You bit your lower lip. It was a TV moment, or maybe a court-moment. It was not a rehearsed moment, not exactly.
    â€œOh gosh! Ms. Diebenkorn! I’m afraid all Momma says to say to you is,” in a lowered voice, with a semblance of a blush, “ ‘fuck you.’ ”

“Self-Defense”
    O N O