by Gerry Adams
“Sustained.”
“Did you or did you not, shout ‘kill the bastard’?” Hugh faced Gerry Skelly indignantly.
Skelly smirked. “I don’t have to answer that.”
“Oh, yes, you do,” Hugh barked.
Skelly’s smirk widened. “Oh, no, I don’t.” He stood up and, waving his arms at the body of the court, he encouraged the spectators to join him in chorus.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” they bayed.
Hugh screamed to be heard above the uproar.
“Contempt of court! This outburst has proved my case. I move for a change of presiding officer.”
As the noise subsided he smiled in triumph.
“Okay,” the OC smiled back at him. “Wee Jimmy Drain will be presiding officer.” He paused for effect. “And Gerry Skelly will be prosecutor…” he waved Hugh’s objections aside, “and I hereby declare this court properly convened. Thank you, Mr Drain.”
He bowed slightly to wee Jimmy, who had changed places with Skelly.
“This court is now in session,” wee Jimmy announced. “Mr Skelly will open the case for the prosecution.”
“No problem,” Gerry began. “This case isn’t really about a mouse. It is about whether we all agree to abide by the rules of this camp. Our rules. It is just an accident that the rule in dispute here is about a mouse: it could be about anything. For example, it could be about visits. We have rules about visits; our rules, not the screws’ rules. And those rules, like the ones about mice, are for the common good. If we go around breaking them just when the fancy takes us, then where would we be, eh?”
He looked around the court for approval.
“Hugh doesn’t like the rule about mice. Or maybe it’s just this particular mouse. We don’t know,” he sneered, “do we? So he decides to break the rules. Fair enough, you may think. We’re all broadminded; easy come, easy go. But just say Hugh, or somebody else for that matter, just say they don’t like the rules about visits. Should they just do their own thing? Eh? Then where would we be?We wouldn’t know our arse from our elbow, would we?”
The court was deadly quiet.
“We would have a state of anarchy, wouldn’t we? And how would we explain that to our wives and mothers and girlfriends? How could we explain that Hugh or somebody else was getting all the visits. Just because he didn’t like the rules! We couldn’t, could we? So this isn’t about the mouse. It’s about us. It’s about how we want to conduct ourselves. And in order for us to do so properly, in a way that makes things easy for us all, requires all of us to accept a certain responsibility to keep the rules.”
He looked around the court again.
“The rules about mice are straightforward. Mice are the enemy. Mice carry disease. Mice destroy our belongings. Mice eat our food. So what do we do?”
His voice was heavy with sarcasm.
“Do we talk to the mice? Sign treaties with them? Perhaps in the past someone did try all those things. Who knows? If they did, it didn’t work. So it was decided that the mice had to be destroyed: that did work. The mice got the message. Youse have heard about the old days when the mice overran this place. Is that what youse want? That’s why we have rules: for our own good. And that’s why we should keep them: for our own good. And that’s why this court can deliver only one verdict. For our own good.”
As he sat down, face flushed and intense, a murmur of applause whispered through the court.
Hugh got slowly to his feet. He smiled over towards Skelly.
“I see my comrade is taking this a bit more seriously than he’d like to admit. I never thought I’d hear him sounding off in such an authoritarian manner. And, of course, as we used to say about Joe Stalin, there’s a lot you’d agree with.”
“The mouse is a Trot,” someone guffawed.
“Nawh, it’s a Maoist. Mousey Tung.”
Even Skelly and Hugh allowed themselves a smile as the court erupted in laughter. When order was restored Hugh continued his submission.
“But it’s how you apply the rules that’s important. There are very few really bad rules. It’s how they’re interpreted that makes the difference. I’m not arguing against the rules: I’m not even arguing against the rules about mice. I know and I accept why we have those rules. So all the things my comrade said are a diversion. You see, he left one thing out. What was that, you may ask? Well, it’s a bit hard to explain precisely in words, but youse all know what I mean, don’t youse? Common sense, compassion, the right to use our discretion: that’s what he left out. We don’t just apply or follow rules blindly. And if I may say so, if we did the first person to object—and fair play to him—would be my old friend Skelly. So he’s fooling no one with all that high-sounding rhetoric. No, this isn’t about rules. This is about how we apply them. It isn’t academic either or for a bit of craic. My client’s life is at stake. Aye, youse can smile if youse like, but it’s no laughing matter as far as I’m concerned.”
Hugh’s eyes swept the court. Smiles and smirks faded before his relentless gaze.
“Nawh, lads, this is serious. Okay, it might be just a mouse and so what, you may say. Fair enough. But not all mice are the same.” Someone in the middle of the court started to snigger. Hugh glared and the snigger died away as the culprit wilted, red-faced and embarrassed, before him.
“This mouse fell among us by accident. He wasn’t even trespassing. There is no proof that he presented any threat to any of us. As far as we know, he was minding his own business on his own territory when he fell into our hut. Now, if he had been in somebody’s food-locker or among our clothes or even scampering about the floor, I wouldn’t even try to make a case, but he was doing none of these things. So what’s he guilty of? Nothing. Nothing except being a mouse, and that’s hardly his fault, is it?”
“It is not,” wee Jimmy Drain whispered, almost to himself.
The OC and Gerry Skelly stared at him in disbelief. Wee Jimmy recovered his composure.
“Is that the end of your submission?”
“Aye,” Hugh replied, “I rest my case.”
He sat down with an air of satisfaction. He had obviously won wee Jimmy over to his side, and as presiding officer wee Jimmy had a casting vote. Things looked good for him and the mouse. He lifted the cardboard shoebox which held the defendant. The court prepared to rise.
It was then that Gerry Skelly cried out: “Hold on! I have the right to make a final submission. Am I going to be denied that right?”
“No, of course not,” said Jimmy testily. “Say your piece.”
“I won’t be long,” Gerry replied sweetly. “I won’t be long because what I have to say will only take a minute. My learned friend here,” he gestured towards Hugh, “my learned friend here rests his entire case on the assertion that his mouse is an innocent bystander who has mysteriously dropped into our midst. He offers no explanation or evidence for this. And do youse know why? Because he knows the terrible truth. That mouse is a paratrooper, that’s what he is! He didn’t fall from the roof, he parachuted in on us!”
Gerry finished in triumph, pointing at Hugh and his little cardboard shoebox.
“A bloody paratrooper!” he repeated.
Hugh’s face fell.
Someone at the back shouted, “Kill the bastard!”
Hugh clutched the shoebox to his chest. He heard the mouse scraping inside.
“Have you anything to say?” wee Jimmy asked.
Hugh shook his head.
“This court will now adjourn to consider its verdict. A majority verdict will suffice,” wee Jimmy announced. He avoided Hugh’s gaze. “The prisoner has to be put into the custody of the cage authority. The court will now rise.”
The panel of judges left to consider their verdict. Hugh got slowly to his feet as the cage OC approached to take custody of the mouse. As he did so Hugh stumbled. It was obviously a contrived stumble, awkwardly and amateurishly executed. The mouse’s box fell from his grasp. It bounced on to the table and fell to the floor. The
OC made a Herculean effort to catch it, but he failed. The shoebox burst open and the mouse scampered free.
Pandemonium reigned. The mouse darted towards the body of the court, the door beyond it and freedom. His escape route was blocked by a mob of squealing, screaming men. He darted back again, back towards Hugh and then, turning suddenly, made another valiant charge at the mob. Hugh yelled encouragement.
The mouse stopped again, disoriented by the noise. He turned once more but too late! A size ten Doc Martin boot descended on him and he was stomped, savagely and repeatedly, underfoot.
Hugh let out a long, anguished scream of rage and flung himself towards the culprits. It was a full three minutes before things settled down. It took two men to restrain Hugh, but eventually order was restored.
The panel of judges returned. The OC tried to tell wee Jimmy that the mouse was dead, but wee Jimmy wouldn’t let him talk.
“We have reached our decision,” he shouted down the hut, before turning towards where Hugh sat. “The mouse is innocent. By a majority vote we find him not guilty as charged. Set himfree.”
Wee Jimmy smiled at Hugh. It was the smile, the happy, innocently compassionate smile, which comes to the lips of the doer of a good deed. It was a smile of quiet self-satisfaction, of inner contentment, of a man who surprised himself by doing the noble thing and making the right decision. Wee Jimmy was pleased because he knew Hugh had faith in him. Wee Jimmy had kept that faith. He was pleased because he knew Hugh also would be pleased. He had lived up to Hugh’s belief in him. Wee Jimmy smiled his smile again at Hugh.
Hugh stared blankly back at him. Then he lifted the empty shoebox and, without a word, he walked out of the hut.
* Fair enough
‡ silence
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2014
by Brandon,
an imprint of The O’Brien Press Ltd,
12 Terenure Road East, Rathgar,
Dublin 6, Ireland.
Tel: +353 1 4923333; Fax: +353 1 4922777
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: www.obrien.ie
First published 1992
eBook ISBN: 978–1–84717–734–6
Copyright © Gerry Adams 1992
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or utilised in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or in any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover design: Bright Idea, Killarney
Cover photo: Brendan Murphy