WEEK TWENTY-SIX
The trial with my new military-appointed lawyer did not start well.
The lawyers for the other side talked for over four and a half hours (it was like watching Einstein on the Beach without the aural variation) before my lawyer finally jumped up and said, "I, like, object?"
"You like objects?" asked the old, craggy headed judge, whom I had come to think of as "the old, craggy head judge" or, simply, "Judge Craggy."
"Like, no?" my lawyer responded. "I mean, I do, you know, like objects? But, in this case, like, I object?"
"Do you not know?"
My lawyer was confused. "Know what?"
"Whether or not you should object."
"Of course I do? I object? In the strongest possible terms, I object?"
"Why are you asking me if you should object?"
"Your Honour," one of the lawyers at the other table interrupted, the female one, I think (it's hard to tell sometimes when you're the only person in a room who is not wearing a military uniform) "I believe that my esteemed colleague is using an idiom prevalent in the American southwest, particularly California, known as 'Valley Speak,' in which the voice rises at the end of each sentence. Although this makes every sentence such a speaker utters sound like a question, that is not necessarily a true reflection of the speaker's intent."
"Is this the case?" the judge asked my lawyer.
"Like, most definitely?" my lawyer answered.
"Well stop it," the judge sternly ordered.
"Your honour?" my lawyer asked, surprised.
"It is annoyingly confusing," the judge stated, shaking a finger in my lawyer's direction, "as well as confusedly annoying and just plain rude. When you are in my court, you will speak good English. Is that understood?"
"How?"
"What?"
"How can I just change the way I am used to, like speaking?"
"I'm warning you -"
"How do you, like, suggest I follow your order?"
"One more statement masquerading as an interrogative, and I will hold you in contempt of court!"
"But, they were, like, questions?"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" the judge roared. However, before he could do anything bad to my lawyer, the door to the room burst open. If this had been a television show, the person who ran into the room would have been the person you least suspected of the crime, and he or she would have confessed that he or she had always hated the victim and was glad that the victim was dead and didn't care who knew it! Then, with a tear in my eye, I would hug my attorney and go back to the bosom of my family, happy in the knowledge that justice had once again been served.
In the real world, the person who entered the room was my interrogator, and he didn't appear to be in an innocent person-freeing mood.
He briskly strode up to the table where the judges were sitting and whispered something to the head judge. Judge Craggy. I couldn't follow the whispered conversation, but did manage to catch such phrases as "No." "You don't say." "Really? But, I was explicitly told..." and "Well, if you say so, I suppose I have to believe you. But, I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed I am that there won't be a firing squad. Very disappointed, indeed!" every now and then.
After five minutes, the interrogator left the room. Judge Craggy gave me a look like I had just asked him to get a ride home from Lindsay Lohan. Then, he said: "The American criminal justice system is a balancing act between the rights of the accused and the need of the community to protect itself from criminal scum who would destroy our great nation from within. It is by no means perfect - no system created by the flawed sinners that are human beings could be. However, it has served the country well for over 200 years, and particularly in the case of the GWoBT, and would have done so in this case, as well. However...in light of new evidence that has just been brought to the court's attention, I am afraid that I shall have to declare the defendant -" The judge choked on the words. "It is my distinct pleasure to declare..." but he trailed off again, positively wistful. Perhaps he was imagining the firing squad. "Aww, hell!" Judge Craggy finally roared, "Case dismissed!"
"So, we won?" my lawyer [something]ed, stunned.
"Is that a question or a statement?" I asked.
"A question?" she said.
"Yes," I told my lawyer. "Yes, I do believe we won."
"Congratulations?"
SOURCE: Harpo's
[http://harpos.org/archive/2012/07/01/dd-9000026]
more