Thali

There was something suspicions about the way the woman answered the questions. Grace watched her steadily, waiting for her composure to crack. But the woman just sat there and gave straightforward responses as if being asked about the weather and not her connections to a terrorist organization. Her only tell was the unconscious way she kept touching her neck.

We have reason to believe Savitri Kumuran is a Tamil Tiger, Singh said. As a member of a known terrorist organization, she doesn’t have the right to claim asylum.

This is a detention review, not an admissibility hearing, Grace reminded Singh.

One day, Grace knew, she would have to make decisions on asylum and deportation. But this was not that day. Today, she had to decide if it was safe to set this woman free.

I ask that my client’s mental health be taken into account, Gigovaz said. I refer to Exhibit B-3, the psychiatrist’s report. Mrs. Kumuran has been diagnosed with PTSD and depression, and it is her doctor’s opinion that the strain of living in a prison is causing irreparable harm to her mental health. With a small child, and family in Toronto who have agreed to put up a bond, surely there is no reason to continue detention.

This was a recycled argument, raised at every hearing: my client’s mental health. So common a refrain, Grace’s instinct was to dismiss it. Of course detention was depressing, but that had no bearing on the question at hand: Was it safe to let this woman loose on the public?

The thing to focus on was what the RCMP had found on the ship: identity documents supposedly belonging to no one, which someone, nonetheless, had attempted to destroy. Here it was, then – proof to back up Fred’s suspicions. He’d told her half the migrants were LTTE. She considered the woman and remembered his warning: These people are not who they say they are.

Singh said: The migrant has gone on record listing her profession as a teacher in Kilinochchi, a known Tiger stronghold.

Grace recognized Kilinochchi, the name of the Tigers’ de facto capital. In a day filled with exclusionary evidence and suspicious affidavits, it was a relief to grasp on to this nugget of knowledge.

Teachers were instrumental in training future recruits, Singh continued. On that basis alone, we ask that she remain in detention until her admissibility hearing.

Gigovaz spoke up: And where, may I ask, is the proof of this claim?

Singh said: It is well-documented that the Tigers recruited child soldiers, and your client has admitted she taught children aged eleven and older.

Grace thought Singh was reaching. If this woman was a danger, it wouldn’t be because she’d taught kids to read. Grace was learning that sometimes lawyers threw spurious arguments at each other for the sake of being adversarial, rather than making a real case. It was up to her, as the adjudicator, to rise above the petty sparring, to keep her focus on the migrants, vigilant for any hint that betrayed their true motives.

Grace interjected to address the woman directly. What do you know about these documents from the ship?

The migrant kept her poker face when she said she knew nothing, but Grace had scrutinized the image files and spotted a photo on a driver’s licence that bore a resemblance to this woman.

And what about your children? Grace asked, remembering that one of the identification cards pictured a young boy.

I had three sons, madam, the woman said through the interpreter. Two died in Sri Lanka. The smallest one is here, with me. She touched her neck and said, He is six.

And your husband? Grace prodded.

He is also dead. She flicked her hand in a dismissive way.

Singh raised her eyebrows and Grace wondered what kind of mother would send her children into battle.

Gigovaz spoke up. Mrs. Kumuran, tell us how your family died.

The woman spoke robotically, and when he repeated her response in English, the blond interpreter channelled her stilted tone.

We ran in the jungle. Bombs were always falling. My husband was hit. We had to leave him. No choice.

Grace thought of the way Steve slept with his mouth slightly open and decided fiercely: I would never leave him behind.

And your children? Gigovaz asked.

My elder sons died of dysentery in the prison camp. I heard about the boat. I had one son left. And I thought we would die if we stayed. So when the agent came and offered us two places, we took our chance.

Grace decided this was a lie. Her sons must have been killed fighting with the Tigers. Her self-possession was too complete, her answers too perfect. She didn’t fidget or avert her gaze. A chilling thought came to her: This woman has been trained.

Singh pounced. You said you heard about the ship while you were in the refugee camp. What did you hear exactly?

Just that there was a boat and a man was arranging passage.

A long journey. Were you not worried?

Better to die in the ocean than in that godforsaken camp.

A young reporter gasped. Grace remembered the documents. Had the five mystery people died mid-voyage? There were so many unknowns, and yet the responsibility for making a decision, one that would affect the entire country’s safety, lay solely on her shoulders.

And how much did you pay this smuggler? Singh asked.

I had twenty thousand rupees which I gave her and also my jewellery, the woman said. Fleetingly, her fingers grazed her neck.

Her. Was the agent a man or a woman? These people couldn’t even keep their stories straight.

What did you give him exactly? Singh asked

And as the woman itemized the pendants and earrings, Grace wondered: What kind of a refugee is laden down with gold? No medicine for her children and yet she had sapphires.

Singh said: But you kept your necklace.

Savitri said: Yes, I kept that only.

Grace saw the way Singh’s lips pressed together, the barely perceptible tremor of excitement in her hands when she folded them on the desk. Singh had set a trap and the woman had walked straight into it.

The necklace has been confiscated, Singh said. We have now confirmed it is a Tamil tah-li, an item of jewellery only given to LTTE wives.

The reporters perked up. The migrant put her hands on top of her head and stared at the table in shock, appalled that the secret was out. She pressed them over her face. Finally, a crack. The jig was up, and Grace felt vindicated, relieved.

The woman’s lawyers were on high alert, scrawling back and forth on a legal pad between them.

Gigovaz said, It’s been nearly five months. Why is this the first time we’re hearing about this supposedly incriminating evidence?

Singh said, The Minister has been as forthcoming as necessary, but we aren’t required to disclose every scrap of evidence we have.

This is a rather significant scrap, wouldn’t you say?

Grace privately felt Gigovaz had a point. On the other hand, Singh must have had a strategic reason for only bringing this information forward now. Fred’s caution returned to her. One toe across the threshold and these criminals are impossible to turf.

Poise broken, the migrant’s expression now was hopeless. Grace tried to imagine her biting off the end of a grenade. There were women in the LTTE. Grace had seen the photos, young girls with apple-round cheeks and bowl-cut hair, in fatigues with M-16s slung across their backs.

The migrant had her hair tied in a scrunchy. There were bags under her eyes. She looked like a schoolteacher.

Gigovaz was still talking, reading from the legal pad, even as his colleague continued to scribble on it at top speed. In Tamil culture, this necklace is the equivalent of a wedding ring, he said. All wives receive one.

These are particular tah-lis, only given to wives of LTTE fighters, Singh said. This woman is a risk to the nation’s security.

Grace had had enough of the back and forth, the lawyers running the show. This was her courtroom. She would take back control.

She asked, Why are you here, Mr. Gigovaz?

Excuse me?

Most of the migrants I see have been assigned duty counsel, Grace said. And yet here you are, from a top-tier firm. So I’m just wondering who’s paying you.

As part of my firm’s commitment to public service, we have taken five cases partially pro bono.

I see. And who pays the rest?

The Tamil Alliance, a not-for-profit community group, has hired us, Gigovaz said.

And two lawyers, Grace said.

Gigovaz always arrived with a young woman in tow. She took notes but said nothing. Grace had never given her much thought, just assumed she was some kind of secretary. Now the girl spoke up: I’m an articling student.

I see. An articling student.

She squinted at Grace. I’m also Sri Lankan, she said. And as a Sri Lankan, I can tell Ms. Singh that it is pronounced thali, not tah-li.

The student put her hands under the table quickly.

Singh said: Our expert –

The student cut her off: Well, where is it? She pulled an amulet from under her shirt. This was my mother’s thali. My mother was a citizen, not a terrorist. Show us our client’s thali and let’s compare.

The words tumbled out in a trembling rush and Grace was bolstered by the knowledge that there was someone else in this room who felt out of her depth.

Singh spoke directly to Grace: Our intelligence suggests this is a specific tah-li, not the generic one that formalizes all marriages. As I said, this one is only given to LTTE members. To signify the husband’s bravery, it has two tiger teeth with a tiger symbol in the middle.

The student spoke a little louder: I’m Tamil and I’m telling you there is no such thing as a Tiger thali.

Singh turned to her: Do you know that for sure? When was the last time you were in Sri Lanka?

The student banged her fist on the table and the sketch artist startled.

You can’t even pronounce it right, she yelled. So how would you know?

The reporters were thrilled. This was the most exciting thing to happen all week. Grace could just imagine them returning to their newsrooms, fizzing with the drama.

Okay, let’s all take a deep breath, Grace said. She let the interpreter finish speaking then added: I’m going to count to three silently and I don’t want anyone to say a word.

Grace flipped through her case file, feeling competent and finally in charge. Ms. Singh, she said. Is there a photograph of the jewellery in question?

It was sent to an expert overseas for authentication.

Who is this so-called expert? Gigovaz asked. I find this all rather curious. As Border Services has pointed out many times in this very room, there are 200,000 members of the Tamil diaspora already in Canada. Surely the Minister could have found a local expert.

Grace felt a spark of irritation. What was Gigovaz playing at, bringing Fred into this?

Ms. Singh, when do you expect to hear back from your expert? Grace asked. She didn’t know what to make of the necklace, but the documents they had found on the boat troubled her. Whom did they belong to and where did they fit into all of this?

Singh said, It could be months before his report is completed.

Nothing that has been said today by Ms. Singh sheds any light on why Mrs. Kumuran is believed to be a security risk, Gigovaz said.

Grace swallowed. Decision time. What to make of this conflicting soup of information? An iffy necklace and suspicious documents no one wanted to claim. A mother who spoke so callously about her own children’s deaths – what was such a woman capable of?

The Tigers were an equal opportunity employer. Women from the Black Tiger division planned and executed suicide bombings. What it came down to was safety. Grace thought of her daughters and decided she didn’t know enough about any of this to take a chance.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. Given the elite role of women in the LTTE, there are sufficient grounds for doubt, she said. I feel it prudent to exercise caution and am ordering the migrant to remain in detention for another thirty days. Perhaps by then we will have heard from Ms. Singh’s expert.

Gigovaz was on the verge of cutting in and Grace addressed him directly when she added: I am satisfied Minister Blair is doing what is necessary to ensure the nation’s security.

The interpreter repeated her judgment in Tamil, and Grace marvelled at his ability to perfectly emulate her tone and pitch. The woman bunched her fists against her eyes and gave a low, keening wail. The sound startled Grace, regurgitating an unpleasant surge of sympathy. It was the last hearing for the morning. Pushing back her chair, Grace moderated her pace as she exited the room.