Before the court-martial began, I looked past the judge’s bench toward the window where, outside, the rest of the world was going about its day. The sun came out, and the rain clouds that lingered all morning had shifted places in the sky. Streaks of water ran down the window, which had been opened to ventilate the room of its stifled air. Cars splashed by on the street outside, and from the witness chair I could see the sun reflecting rays of light on the puddles, but the sun would not last. Soon the clouds would return; outside and inside would be filled with darkness.
He sat behind the partition at a desk, next to his attorney, who was shuffling papers back and forth, reaching over every once in a while to look into his briefcase to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He was sitting there, waiting for me to look at him. He did not know that I had been briefed not to stare, not to smile, not to look anywhere in his direction, so he looked at me and waited for a small gesture that might never come.
The line of questioning began with a Bible, an oath of truth, and a hand held up.
The prosecution asked my name, if I was deployed, why I had come back early from deployment, and if I was married, and I answered all questions truthfully. My name was Private First Class Brooke Nicole King. I deployed to Iraq in August 2006. I had come back early from deployment due to pregnancy, and yes, I was married.
“Are you married to the accused, PFC King?”
“No, sir.”
He fidgeted in his chair, straightening himself up at the sound of being labeled “the accused.”
“Who is the father of that baby?”
“Captain Haislop.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because . . .”
I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud, and before I had time to fabricate an answer that wouldn’t lead to more lines of questioning, the defense attorney stood up.
“Objection. This calls for speculation, sir.”
I looked down, too tempted to stare at him.
“Let me rephrase. Have you had sexual relations with the accused?”
“Yes.”
I began to cry.
“I did.”
I looked up and noticed a box of tissues on his desk.
I wiped my eyes, trying not to look at him through the motions of brushing the tears away from my cheek. He leaned toward his attorney and pointed at the box of tissues.
“Will the investigating officer allow me to rise and hand the box of tissues to PFC King?”
The prosecution walked over and took it before the defense could leave his seat. The tissues were placed in front of me, but I didn’t pull any from the box.
“Are you able to continue, PFC King?”
I did not answer. I looked at every part of him but his face. His hands were folded in his lap. His uniform crisp and his boots cleaned up. His hair freshly cut. I couldn’t stop looking. And I did it. I looked into his eyes.
He nodded his head and smiled.
“PFC King, may I remind you that you are under a no contact order and are here as part of an agreement to testify. May we continue?”
I nodded my head, but it was too late, I could not look away now.
“Okay. You mentioned just a bit earlier that the accused in this case is the father of the child?”
“Yes.”
“Do you remember giving a statement on April 17th?”
“Yes.”
“And during that statement you were asked who the father was. Do you remember your response?”
“No, I do not.”
“You said, ‘I decline to state.’ Why’d you say that?”
I studied his face. My eyes traced the outline of his jaw, the round edges of his nose, the creases at the corner of his eyes.
“PFC King, I will not remind you again. You are under a no contact order and are not permitted to look at the accused.”
I did not look away.
“I said that because of the fact that I did not at the time want to give them the name of the father.”
He smiled at me.
“Did you know who the father was at the time?”
I smiled back.
“Yes.”
The prosecution looked at me.
“PFC King, if you do not comply with the no contact order, you will be found in contempt of court. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the prosecution.
“I understand.”
“Who was the father?”
“Captain Haislop.”
“But you did not want to tell at the time?”
“Yes.”
“Even though you were under oath?”
“Yes.”
He leaned forward in his chair. He had never heard this part before, the way I had tried to help him before all of this, and even now, I sat there defiant, still unwilling to give in to the prosecution’s line of questioning.
He reached across the table, poured a cup of water, handed it to his attorney, and pointed to me. The defense attorney rose and handed it to the prosecution.
I took the water and tightened my hands around the cup where his had been moments ago.
“Can you state for the record if you have filed for divorce?”
“I have drawn the papers but not filed.”
“Does the accused know your husband?”
“He knows of him.”
“So the accused knows that you are married?”
“Yes.”
I lowered my head and looked at the cup of water. I felt the plastic around the rim, dipped my finger into the water, and moved my padded fingertip over the lip in circular motions, but the cup would not emit a sound.
“And yet, though you’re married, you entered into a sexual relationship with the accused?”
I was agitated. The wooden seat was hard, with no cushion to soften the plank.
“I left my husband because on more than one occasion he would throw me down stairs, beat me, slap me, and threaten to kill me.”
He did not look at me. He couldn’t bear this line of questioning. The window gave no light. In the near dark he fidgeted with his hands in his lap, rolling the ring I had given him around on his finger. He moved it up and down, then over the knuckle and back again as the line of questioning continued.
I felt my courage slipping along with my ability to speak of my estranged husband without loathing every sentence.
“Is it safe to say then, PFC King, the divorce had to do with his treatment of you?”
“Yes.”
“But you have not filed yet?”
“No, I have not.”
“So you are still married, carrying a child that is not your husband’s?”
“Yes, but I love the father of my child. He loves me.”
I said it unchecked, as I looked into his eyes. He was smiling at me. And though I was not permitted to say a word to him, I mouthed, “I love you.”
It was the first time I had said it out loud.