by Daniel Black
She returned to the desk and retrieved something from her purse. “Look at these scarves, Mr. Love.” She presented a regular cloth alongside Mrs. Dupont’s. “Do these look alike to you?”
Lazarus glanced at the items, then relaxed in the witness seat. He knew the prosecutor meant to destroy his credibility completely.
“No, they don’t.”
“But you say you didn’t know this scarf”—she waved it in the air—“was of any value. Isn’t it true that you knew it was expensive and hid it in your pocket after you killed her?”
“Objection!”
“And isn’t it true that you gave it to your girlfriend so that it wouldn’t incriminate you?”
“Objection, Your Honor!”
The prosecutor screamed over Aaron’s belligerence, “And wasn’t it part of your plan to go back and get the other, since as a pair, they would be worth far more than just the one alone?”
“Counsel!!!!” the judge shouted. “Chambers! Now!”
Silence hovered in the courtroom. Lazarus turned to look at Lizzie, who smiled warmly. At first she’d been disturbed that her father might be in love with a white woman—and a dirty, penniless one at that—but then Lizzie let it go. It was his life, she determined, and if he wanted to live it on the streets with strange people he had every right to do so. So much had shifted in her consciousness in the last few weeks. She realized she’d been chasing a man who was chasing a dream. Lazarus had had a vision of life, of living, that he couldn’t expunge. It was lodged somewhere deep in his heart and he needed to see if it was real. If it could be real. There was nothing he desired more. He couldn’t help it. Lizzie didn’t know the origin of such yearnings—perhaps it was a calling, she considered—and she promised to waste no time trying to figure it out. It didn’t belong to her. It belonged to him. She simply had to accept the fact that, as his daughter, as a human being, she wasn’t enough to make him abandon it. No one was. Perhaps no one should be. Only her hunger for God equaled Lazarus’s longing for life, and she knew he’d shift heaven and earth to find it. So she resolved to let Lazarus be Lazarus—with all that that meant—and love him from a distance. It was the most she could do.
Quad, however, was there more for his grandfather than his father. No, Quad didn’t want to see Lazarus convicted of a crime he didn’t commit, but he did want him to pay for crimes he’d overlooked. When he called Junior and told him the situation, Junior’s cry was so full of guilt and regret that Quad promised to go to the trial simply to calm the old man’s heart. It was that day, that conversation, wherein Quad saw that a man’s struggles often extend far beyond himself, that, sometimes, the seeds of a man’s shortcomings are planted before his conception. Yet we still blame him for the harvest. Quad wondered what kind of life Lazarus III must’ve had, with a father like that, and suddenly years of rage burst into microscopic spores and floated away. Junior had surely loved Lazarus, but apparently love wasn’t enough, Quad concluded, to guarantee a child a perfect life. And maybe a child wasn’t supposed to have a perfect life. Maybe he was supposed to have a life that he made perfect, and maybe that’s what Quad’s father had been trying to do. On the phone, Junior told Quad of his battle with drugs, how he’d been fighting all his adult life, and, for some reason, Quad sympathized with him. Maybe because Quad didn’t know him. Or perhaps because, with such information, Quad finally understood his father.
Quad sent a money order the next day. When Junior arrived at the bus station, Quad chuckled at the likeness. It was uncanny, he thought. Junior was simply a grayer version of Lazarus, though considerably thinner and slightly shorter. He’d once had the sparkling white teeth, Quad believed, since even now they were there—though yellowed—when most addicts’ were brown or missing. Junior’s beauty lurked just beneath the surface of his marred skin, like a veiled face waiting to be revealed. It wasn’t difficult to imagine how gorgeous he’d once been. He didn’t share Lazarus’s dazzling eyes—those must’ve been his mother’s—but Junior shared Quad’s father’s protruding brows and long, dark lashes, as if blackened by mascara. The only difference between them was the limp, which Junior said was a result of an encounter he’d had with a dealer one night. The man stabbed him in the thigh because he didn’t have the money he’d promised, and although Junior got away, he was left with a wound that reminded him of the cost of crack. “War kills everyone, son,” he’d said. “Some today, some tomorrow.”
Quad liked Junior. He bore a mystery, a cryptic nature that fascinated Quad. Even on the phone, he knew the old man was more than he seemed. There was adventure in his voice, wisdom in his tone, and Quad believed Junior would like him if they met. It was true. The day Junior arrived, their hearts leapt, and Junior tossed his arm around the boy’s shoulder. “So you’re number four!” Quad buckled with laughter and knew this was his grandpa. That they had never met before skipped Quad’s consciousness as Junior teased him about being almost as fine as he was. Of course Quad knew things were strained between Junior and Lazarus, but he also knew Lazarus would appreciate his father’s presence, so he made it happen. It wasn’t because he loved Lazarus, Quad told himself, although he did; it was because it was the right thing to do. Somewhere in his head, however, principle and desire mingled until Quad stopped searching for the genesis of his motive. Truth was, if he’d really meant to kick his father’s ass Quad would’ve done it by now.
The judge and attorneys returned. The prosecution rested. Aaron called his next witness.
“Do you promise to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?”
Legion shouted, “I do!”
The room hushed. Legion’s voice, deep and resonant, echoed with authority like the very voice of God. The Family frowned, wondering what exactly Legion was up to. After being sworn in, e sat as if pressing a dress beneath es bottom, although e wore ragged jeans and a soft yellow button-down shirt. The jury seemed offended by es beauty or perhaps angry that e’d found freedom where they’d never looked. But there Legion was, in all es splendor—unidentifiable, anonymous, non-categorical—prepared to say whatever needed to be said to save a homeless savior.
Aaron began: “In what capacity do you know Mr. Lazarus Love?”
Legion smiled and said, “He’s my spiritual faaaather.”
Quad and Lizzie scowled. Junior nodded. Lazarus’s decision, all those years ago, was beginning to make sense to Junior now.
“He’s your father?”
“In the spirit.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means God sent him to make sure I didn’t destroy myself.”
Elisha understood, though most didn’t. Everyone listened, captivated.
“That’s right. One set of people gets you here; another takes you the distance.” Legion beamed as es dimples danced. Legion’s confidence intrigued the crowd.
“And would you say Mr. Love has been a kind, honest, giving man?”
“Objection, Your Honor,” the prosecutor murmured. “Leading the witness.”
“Sustained.”
“Let me ask it another way: How would you describe Mr. Love’s overall character?”
Legion swiveled to face the jury. “He’s a kind, honest, giving man.”
A few people chuckled, but the judge’s glare muted an outright roar. Legion winked at Lazarus, whose eyes begged em not to show out, but Lazarus already knew better.
“And would you say that Mr. Love has the capacity to murder?”
“Yes.”
Everyone gasped. Aaron froze with horror. “Excuse me?”
Totally unmoved, Legion sat upright and said, “Everyone has the capacity to murder. Everyone. I don’t care what people say, they’d kill if they had to. It’s the survival instinct. We all want to look morally righteous and upright, but the truth is we’d destroy another to save ourselves. I know because some people almost destroyed me to save themselves. They were my parents!”
Legion laughed alone. M
ost people, especially the jurors, wondered what galaxy this being had come from, sitting there with poise and coolness unmatched, bearing a glow as if e were divine.
“I understand,” Aaron said, shaking his head with both delight and dis-ease, “but do you think Mr. Love actually murdered Mrs. Dupont?”
“No, sir, I do not. He had nothing to gain.”
“What do you mean? She was wealthy; he could’ve stolen items from her house, like the scarf, and pawned them for money.”
“Sure he could’ve,” Legion mocked sarcastically, “if he desired material things. But he doesn’t. That’s the point. He’s on the street because he hates what money has done to him. To us. To all of us. There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s chosen to live like angels live.”
“Angels.”
“That’s right! They take only what nature offers, and they find the beauty in it. They don’t waste time trying to create fake shit and attaching value to it.”
Legion didn’t realize e’d cursed, so Aaron said, “If you’d watch your language, we’d be very appreciative.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Your Honor!” Legion faced the judge. “Sometimes words slip past me before I can catch them.” E grabbed at the air.
The judge nodded, withholding a smile.
“So you do not believe Mr. Love murdered Mrs. Dupont?”
“I know he didn’t. She didn’t have anything he wanted. Or needed. Plus, I would’ve known when he came home.”
“How would you have known?”
“His spirit would’ve been diminished. All the glow would’ve been gone. You can’t take life and keep your glow. I learned that from The Comforter.”
Aaron almost asked, The who? but instead asked, “Did you know about the scarf?”
Legion nodded. “Yes.”
“And did that make you suspicious?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because he gave it away. It was beautiful, really … watching Cinderella study it and play with it. I think it made Lazarus feel good to give it to her. It’s always better to give than to receive, you know.”
“I know,” Aaron said quickly, then asked, “Do you think he should’ve given it back?”
Legion pondered for the first time since taking the stand. “Nope,” he said. “Not at all. She gave it to him, so it was his to do whatever he wanted with it. And that’s what he did.”
“Nothing further, Your Honor.”
The prosecutor leapt with excitement. “What do you do for a living, sir?”
Legion’s eyes smiled. “I’m not a sir.”
“Oh, I’m sorry … ma’am.”
“I’m not that, either.”
The prosecutor looked to the judge for an answer, but she shrugged and shook her head.
“So what do I call you?”
“Legion. That’s my name.”
“Fine. Legion, what do you do for a living?” She walked toward em.
“I sell myself if I can find a buyer. Usually I can.” Legion never flinched. Sweat gathered on the prosecutor’s forehead, and she wiped it with her palm.
“So … um … you’re a prostitute?”
“Absolutely not. They give themselves away practically for nothing. I meet people’s needs, and they bless me.”
“That’s called prostitution.”
“No, ma’am, it’s not. Often there’s no sex involved. And more often there’s no money, either.”
“But I thought you said you sell yourself?”
“I do. But I never said for cash.” E almost added, Bitch!, but, for Lazarus’s sake, e didn’t.
“Your Honor, let the record show that this witness is being hostile—”
“No, the witness isn’t,” the judge said. “There’s nothing hostile in their response. Proceed, counsel, or rest your cross-examination.”
Legion winked at the judge, who suppressed her amusement. Obviously fascinated by this unidentifiable being, she licked her lips and gazed as Legion sidestepped every trap the prosecutor laid.
“Yes, ma’am.” The prosecutor returned to her desk and regrouped.
“Have you ever been arrested, Mr./Miss Legion?”
“Just Legion.”
“Legion.”
“Yes, I have. I was arrested once in ’03 for stealing and once in ’05 for possession of marijuana.”
“So do you have a drug problem, Legion?”
Aaron almost objected, but Legion answered loudly, “I do not! The marijuana was for a friend who was struggling with cancer. He had no insurance, and studies show that marijuana can be medicinal in such situations.”
“Are you a doctor?”
Legion nodded. “Of sorts. A healer.”
“What exactly is that?”
“A doctor of nature.”
Perplexed and overwhelmed, the prosecutor tossed her hands into the air while courtroom observers giggled. Legion blinked repeatedly, looking around.
“What about the other charge? How would you explain stealing?”
“There’s nothing to explain. I stole, so they put me in jail. They were right.”
“What did you steal?”
“A blanket, some gauze, and rubbing alcohol. Someone jumped me the night before and cut my arm. I was bleeding pretty bad.”
“Why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
Legion screamed with laughter. “Are you serious? You know a hospital that takes folks like me that doesn’t take all night to be seen?”
“I’m asking the questions, sir—I mean, not sir, but … Legion.”
“Oh, okay … well, you oughta know better than to ask a homeless person about going to a hospital. You know we don’t have insurance.”
Again, the room erupted. This time, the judge wasn’t so sympathetic. “This is serious. Answer the questions, please, and let’s get on with the business at hand.”
Legion cleared es throat. “So I broke into the CVS in the West End and got what I needed.”
“Why’d you need the blanket?”
“Because the day before that, I passed a woman on the street with a pretty little girl who was shivering. All they had to cover themselves was a sheet, and it was getting colder each day, so I brought them the blanket. Really, it was for the baby, but I guess if you warm one, you gotta warm the other.”
The prosecutor was clearly flustered. Her frustration resulted more from the judge’s sympathy for Legion than es off-putting demeanor, but, combined, the truths weakened her otherwise intimidating presence. She tried one last time to penetrate Legion’s stronghold.
“Why should this jury trust your word? You’re a liar, a thief, and a prostitute!”
“That’s right!” Legion’s eyes brightened. E sat up a little taller. “But I told you. You’re simply repeating what I said. There’s no discovery here. The only thing you exposed is that you have no room for someone like me in your heart. You can’t even look me in the eye.”
She faced em quickly, but Legion’s gaze dismantled her attempt. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
With gratitude and unmitigated surprise, Aaron touched Lazarus’s leg beneath the table. Certainly Aaron had questioned Lazarus’s choice to put Legion on the stand, but now he saw clearly how the decision had helped their case. Legion was a trick bag, a disturber of the peace, a non-conforming transformer who exploded the prosecutor’s attempts to discredit em. Yes, e’d broken the law, but es reasons seemed angelic now. That’s what Aaron needed—something to disrupt jurors’ perceptions, someone to make them reconsider cultural stereotypes of people unlike themselves. And, unknowingly, Legion was the one.
Junior limped out of the courtroom, barely restraining his laughter. Elisha whispered, “Go ’head, Legion,” as if having watched a theatrical performance. Other attendees murmured with delight about how that … person had shut the prosecution down. They’d never seen anything like it. So bold, so confident, so intelligent! And homeless? Legion tipped down the witness stand and pranced back t
o es seat while viewers marveled. E even waved and nodded to a few. They applauded as the judge banged her gavel, smiling the while.
Chapter 38
Aaron called Lizzie next. Lazarus had warned against it, believing that hurt might cloud her judgment and cause her to say things she didn’t mean, but Aaron insisted, wanting the jury to see someone far more like themselves who could verify that this homeless man was indeed human. It was horrible, Aaron admitted, but he wasn’t trying to fix the world’s moral dilemma; he was trying to save his client, so Lazarus surrendered and prayed she’d say something beneficial.
She seemed smaller on the witness stand, he noted, withdrawn and timid, and now he wished he’d put his foot down. Her hair lay straight back in cornrows, with extensions that added body and length, while medium-sized hoop earrings gave her the look of an African queen—albeit a shy one.
“How would you characterize your relationship with your father?”
Lizzie squirmed a bit. “Before this incident, I would’ve said ‘estranged,’ but now I’d say ‘okay.’”
“Why is that?”
“Because there’d been a breach. For almost twenty years. He left home when I was seven and never came back.”
“You haven’t seen him since then?”
“Yes, I’ve seen him. He used to come by my elementary and middle schools pretty regularly. High school not so much. Then, once I graduated, I started going to Piedmont Park to see him. Whenever he was there.”
“Did you feel as if he loved you? Would you say he was a good father even then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not sure what a good father is, but I believe he tried.”
Lazarus’s head dropped, guillotined. He wept with self-reproach and remorse. Quad approved his father’s rebuke and wished for him more internal reprimand. This had been the shame Quad had wanted Lazarus to bear, the punishment he felt the man deserved. You don’t get to leave your kids and float around the world free! Quad thought. You have to pay for neglect! So Quad enjoyed watching his father pay. When Aaron slipped an arm around Lazarus’s trembling shoulder, Quad grunted, believing his father deserved no comfort. Quad was proud that Lizzie had spoken the truth—actually, he’d longed for harsher words—and he knew, beyond all doubt, that they’d never call him to the stand. He’d tell the court his father had been a fuckin’ loser and that, yes, he might’ve murdered the white woman. Why not? If he’d leave his own kids, wouldn’t he kill?