And so it began. They took away his threads and gave him some nondescript rags that rendered him, well, nondescript. Then they locked him in a cage so that he felt just like that chimp he had seen in the zoo. His knife had made him dangerous and dangerous animals had to be caged.
He was left alone except for feeding. Next morning a square, a nondescript bod approached the front of his cage. Bodgie stared at the high forehead where the mousy hair had receded. It was combed in strands across his dome. He took in the man’s crumpled gray suit and the soft shoes that made no acknowledgement to fashion but only to practicality. The square had a file in his hand and was accompanied by one of the keepers in charge of the juvenile reception home. He unlocked the door, let the square pass through and then locked it behind him. Bodgie rubbed his hand over his crew cut and twisted his mouth as the bloke nervously smiled at him. He poked out a limp mitt which Bodge found to be also clammy. He dropped the thing. The bloke introduced himself as Mr. Ian Robinson, an officer of the Juvenile court. He had come to help him prepare for his trial.
‘You should get probation,’ he said in a voice which was flat and expressionless as his face, though his hands weren’t. He spread them every now and again when he wished to make an important point, as he did after the world probation now. ‘Be contrite,’ he advised Bodgie. ‘The juvenile court is set up to consider your well being and your future prospects. Yes, we are, I am here to help you. You must not see us, me as being on the opposite sides,’ (he moved his lips in a thin smile) ‘of, of a great divide. No we, I want to help you to straighten out and become a worthy member of society.’
‘Yes,’ the boy agreed, and so it went on while he stared through the bars and imaged himself back with Audrey hugging her tightly as they listened to, oh no, Bye Bye Love. He had become a juvenile delinquent and must have his day in court.
Bodgie had to put on his own clothing. It was amazing what a change of clothing did to his mind. When he put on his own threads and gave his hair a brisk brushing he became strong enough to take on the world. He felt like a hero as he bounced into the court room on his thick crepe rubber soles that made him inches taller than anyone else. He was dismayed to find that he had no audience except the court officials. Audrey wasn’t there or even his Mum. Mr. Robinson came up to him and said that he couldn’t find her and that only family members were allowed to be present.
‘Now,’ he said, ‘be polite to the magistrate, call him sir and no lip understand. It’s up to you to make a good impression. I’ll be sitting next to you and keeping you in line, trust me.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Bodgie said with a twist of his upper lip.
‘No lip,’ he repeated and he led the boy to a table where they sat down—and stood as the Juvenile magistrate trotted in. Bodgie saw that he was almost a dwarf. When he took his chair he was sure that he had a couple of cushions to raise him up a bit. Mr. Robinson gave his charge a dig in the ribs to prepare him. Bodgie glared and settled into his day.
In front of the magistrate were the books from his room and the knife from his sock. The magistrate stared at the knife and then sifted through his pulp fiction before opening his case book. He called Mr. Robinson to present the details of the juvenile offender. Robbo, as the lad thought of him, passed the magistrate the file and then detailed what he was charged with. He declared that the youth might seem incorrigible, but he was not unintelligent so that under close supervision he might come to his senses and turn over a new leaf. Bodgie watched as the magistrate moving his lips went through his file.
‘Yes Mr. Robinson, but an untypical juvenile offender, I should question this boy. That is him, I assume?’
The magistrate got Bodgie’s goat. Forgetting all of Robinson’s advice he got to his feet twisting his upper lip. ‘Don’t I have to swear or somethin? You know like on the bible, like in the pictures,’ he snarled.
‘Well,’ the magistrate began.
But Bodgie hadn’t finished: ‘You know that I don’t believe in God so how can I swear on the bible when I don’t believe in it or him?’
‘So you don’t believe in your creator?’ the magistrate asked with a stern face.
‘No, I don’t!’
‘I take it that you believe in the truth?’
‘How can I when I don’t believe in God? All truth comes from God and if he does not exist then how can there be truth?’
‘Enough of this, this sophistry if we have to I shall decipher the truth from your words. As justice is based on cold facts it doesn’t matter if you believe in God or truth, or whatever. Now pay attention. You committed a number of criminal offences?’
‘I didn’t, the D’s said I did,’ Bodgie exclaimed.
‘But you signed this statement, did you not?’
‘Yes, but they told me to.’
‘They told you to. They made it all up, did they?’
‘No, I mean yes.’
‘And you didn’t commit even one of these offences?’
‘No, yes ...’
‘Why, you had a good job, didn’t you?’
‘No, yes ...’
‘And you stole the money.’
‘No sir, I put it back.’
‘Those clothes you wear, they are expensive?’
‘A bit, not all that much.’
‘And,’ he said, looking down at the file, ‘you wanted to dress well, to impress those hoodlum friends of yours that frequent that milk bar in Wellington Street. Isn’t that correct?’
‘Well, sir, we like looking neat.’
‘And what is a square?’ the magistrate asked.
‘Oh ordinary people, those that don’t dig the rock, like Robbo here, or dress progressively.’
‘Oh decent people that must be protected from the likes of you! Now look at this pile of, well, of literary trash. I take it that you read this stuff in your spare time?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘And the knife,’ the magistrate asked, and then essayed a joke, ‘what’s that for cutting your steak or simply skinning a kangaroo?’
Bodgie only glowered. Things weren’t going his way, but Robinson had assured him he would get probation.
‘Incorrigible,’ the magistrate stated summing up the lad. He ordered the juvenile offender to sit down. Bodgie did so.
‘I’ll recess the court for ten minutes while I discuss this case with you,’ he said to Mr. Robinson.
Bodgie waited and softly sang to his self: Seventeen, seventeen, graduated and got that twist. Juke box baby ain’t no square at seventeen. He had showed them; but oh, God why did he feel like dying and getting away from it all?
The court reconvened.. The magistrate cleared his throat and looked grave as he stated: ‘Mr. Robinson, you as the officer, appointed by this court to help juvenile offenders agree with me that this is a difficult case and that the youth shows absolutely no remorse at what he has done. In fact he is given to carrying a. concealed weapon and thus is a danger to society. It is my sad duty to sentence this youth to a term of twelve months in Fremantle Prison where hopefully he will take stock of himself and learn to separate right from wrong.’