Ninjas, Piranhas, and Galileo

by Greg Leitich Smith

  I glanced inside the folder. The Peshtigo School Rules of Trial Procedure. All one hundred and thirty-six of them. I needed Honoria.

  “Sit down, shut up, and stay out of my way,” Honoria said.

  I decided not to ask how her evening with Shohei had gone.

  We met in the R.J. Morris Courtroom just before trial. Benches for the witnesses and spectators were separated by an aisle. The lawyers sit up front at the two big tables. The judge’s dais is front and center, and the witness stand is this gated thing with a chair. The jury — usually students a year or so older than the accused — perches to the left, in front of the stained-glass windows. All thanks to some generous alum with too much money.

  Honoria was sitting at the defendant’s table in front of the bar, gnawing on her pen.

  I was still standing, wondering if Honoria and Shohei had declared their mutual love. “Look,” I began, not sure what to say next.

  Honoria took the chewed pen out of her mouth. “I might allow you to grovel later. Right now, I’m your lawyer. Sit.”

  “Okay,” I said, and sat. I was quiet for about a minute. Then another one. “What’s all this?” I asked, opening the folder that Mrs. Talmadge had given me.

  “This is not shutting up,” Honoria informed me.

  “But why are these witnesses …?” I showed her the sheet.

  “I’ve seen it,” she told me, busily scribbling my best hope for salvation.

  “I can understand why the prosecution is calling Mr. Eden as a witness,” I said, taking the chair beside her. “Shohei, too. But what does Freddie have to do with any of this?”

  Honoria paused briefly to glare at me.

  I leaned back in my chair.

  “Why aren’t they going after Freddie?” I asked. “Her animal rights kooks and their paint caused real damage.” Now that had been vandalism. “Plea bargain,” Honoria replied. “Freddie and the Murchettes got off by agreeing to testify against you.”

  I glanced at Honoria’s list of legal vocabulary and at the yellow pad, her bug-leg handwriting scattered all over, huge chunks scratched out.

  “It’s my opening statement, all right?” Honoria said, her voice nervous.

  I was gonna fry.

  28

  Opening Statements

  Honoria

  Because the prosecution gets first stab at opening statements, Goliath Reed was up first, and, as usual, he stood and dramatically buttoned his suit jacket.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “Johann Elias Brandenburg broke into —”

  “Objection!” I exclaimed. Goliath Reed was always trying to take advantage and inflame the jury. It was so annoying.

  “Sustained,” Mrs. Talmadge said, looking at Goliath Reed over the rims of her silver half-glasses. “The jury will disregard the last remark.”

  “What was that?” Eli whispered.

  “We’ve stipulated that you changed the CDs,” I whispered back, without taking my eyes off Goliath Reed. “So your breaking-and-entering performance isn’t relevant. He can’t bring it into this hearing. Ethically, anyway.”

  “How’d you manage that?” Eli whispered.

  “Don’t ask,” I replied without turning my head.

  “… And the only bit of supposed science to support the idea that plants aren’t harmed by his music,” Goliath continued, “is Mr. Brandenburg’s own science project. The weight of evidence proves otherwise.” He sat.

  The jury had followed his every move. This early in the trial, they were still paying attention.

  Next, it was my turn. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” I began, “this trial is about the fact that someone has dared to question the common, accepted, and flat-out wrong view of the natural order.” I walked to the jury box, looking the jurors, one by one, in the eye. “About heresy, in fact. In the good, old-fashioned, medieval, cursed-with-eternal-damnation, burning-witches-at-the-stake type of way. Heresy of the same kind that got Galileo Galilei threatened with excommunication for asserting that the earth revolves around the sun.

  “You see,” I continued, stopping in front of the jury, “Mr. Eden and the Attorney General here believe that playing music can harm a plant. My client, Johann Elias Brandenburg, has conducted experiments that show this belief to be as absurd as the notions that the earth is flat, or that the moon is made of cheese. His experiments have shown that music does not, in fact, affect plant growth.”

  A couple of the jurors actually sat up.

  I glanced at my notes. “Mr. Brandenburg acted upon his scientific conclusions by introducing,” I went on, “a little variety into the musical selections to which the Atrium Garden is usually subjected.” Which was the most flattering and least stupid way I could describe what Eli had done. “Because of this, he is accused of vandalism.”

  I walked toward Goliath Reed, who was scribbling on his own legal pad. “The prosecution,” I said, “has to prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Mr. Brandenburg’s actions caused some destruction — that’s the definition of vandalism — some destruction in the Atrium Garden. Only if the prosecution proves that beyond a reasonable doubt can you convict my client. Now,” I concluded, “Peter, Paul and Mary’s song ‘Puff, The Magic Dragon’ may be a lot of things, but the central question is: Do you really think that singing hippies can affect plant growth?”

  29

  Mr. eden to the Stand

  Honoria

  Goliath Reed called Mr. Eden to the stand first.

  “Mr. Eden,” he began, “about ten years ago, Mr. Johann Elias Brandenburg’s older brother, Mr. Johann Christoph Brandenburg, conducted a science project that led you to begin playing music” — he checked his notes —“of the baroque period in the Atrium Garden, did he not?”

  “That is correct,” Mr. Eden replied, folding his hands. “Christoph was one of my most outstanding students.”

  Goliath paused, smiling at the jury, to make sure they got the point. “The experiment showed,” he continued, “that playing such music to plants will improve their growth, but that other types of music, or no music at all, can harm them.”

  “Objection!” I stood. “Your Honor, that is exactly what is at issue here.”

  “Good,” Eli whispered to me.

  “Shut up,” I muttered back. The jury should see him paying attention, not looking gossipy. I had too much to worry about without having to baby-sit. Mrs. Talmadge toyed with her gavel. “Sustained. The jury will disregard that last statement.”

  “I’ll rephrase, Your Honor,” Goliath said, picking an imaginary piece of lint off his lapel. “It is your expert opinion that the experiment showed that baroque music has a positive effect on plant growth.”

  “Yes,” Mr. Eden said.

  Goliath pretended to make a mark on his legal pad. “Why did you believe those results?”

  “Because,” Mr. Eden answered in his chem lab lecture voice, “Christoph Brandenburg followed rigorous and conscientious procedures while conducting the experiment.”

  “I see,” Goliath said, walking in front of the jury. He turned back to Mr. Eden. “Have you ever known the defendant, Elias Brandenburg, to use improper laboratory procedures?”

  “On occasion,” Mr. Eden replied, “he has attempted to conduct chemistry experiments without the benefit of goggles.”

  “It was sugar water,” Eli protested, voice low.

  “Shh,” I told him. “Try to look innocent and trustworthy.”

  With his back to the jury, Goliath smiled at Eli. Eli smiled back.

  I kicked Eli under the table. “Ignore Goliath,” I whispered. “He just wants you to react for the jury.”

  “Since Christoph Brandenburg’s experiment,” Goliath said to Mr. Eden, “you’ve been playing classical music to the plants?”

  “I have, and the Atrium Garden has never been as luxuriant.”

  Goliath Reed walked to his table and lifted an envelope. He pulled a handful of Polaroids out. “I’d like to introduce these photos as Ex
hibits A through M. Pictures of the Atrium Garden.”

  I glanced through them, then nodded. “No objection.”

  Goliath gave them to the bailiff, who handed them to the jurors. They looked through them as though they’d never been to the Garden.

  “Mr. Eden,” Goliath said, “please describe these pictures for the jury.”

  “This group of photographs shows the Atrium Garden in all its splendor,” Mr. Eden pronounced. “As you can see, the chenille plants have never been so lush, the avocados so exuberant, or the orchids so sublime.”

  “No further questions,” Goliath announced, returning to his table. “Your turn,” he mouthed at me.

  Even though I’m always a little nervous when I begin cross-examination, I was worse that day, because it was Mr. Eden on the stand. I arranged my papers a moment to calm myself and wondered briefly if that was why Goliath always buttoned his suit jacket at the beginning of his statement.

  “Mr. Eden,” I said, standing for the cross-examination, “you’ve indicated that Elias Brandenburg’s experiment is not valid because he once forgot to wear a pair of goggles in chemistry lab. In the entire history of science, has anyone ever established a scientific connection between music and protective eyewear?”

  “The point is —” Mr. Eden began.

  “Please answer the question,” I replied. It was the first time I’d ever interrupted him.

  “Not to my knowledge,” Mr. Eden said, scowling.

  “Mr. Eden, you’ve testified that Christoph Brandenburg was both ‘rigorous and conscientious’ in the conduct of his experiment,” I said, reading off my notepad. “Did you ever once observe him being ‘rigorous and conscientious’ while conducting a music and plant growth experiment?”

  “No, I did not.”

  “How could you know his procedures were ‘rigorous and conscientious”?” The question was a gamble. On crossexamination, you’re supposed to stick with yes-no questions so the witnesses can’t go off on their own. I was trying to set him up.

  “Because I watched Johann Christoph in my chem lab. I know that Johann Christoph knew how to, and would have, conducted such an experiment in a rigorous and conscientious manner.”

  Leading him on, I said, “So you believe Johann Christoph’s experimental results because you have faith in Johann Christoph, the experimenter?”

  Mr. Eden paused. “You could put it that way.”

  “I see,” I said, zeroing in. “So, what do you believe Johann Christoph Brandenburg is doing with his brilliant scientific aptitude today?” Another gamble.

  “I am sure,” Mr. Eden said, “that he is engaged in the advancement of analytical human knowledge.”

  “So he wouldn’t, for example,” I continued, “decide to go corporate?”

  Mr. Eden locked his arms behind his head. “Hardly,” he said. A moment later, he sat up straight, his arms flopping down. “Wait, are you saying that —”

  “Yes,” I informed him. “Johann Christoph Brandenburg quit his postdoc at Cambridge University to start up an Internet computer game company.” I paused for effect. “Perhaps you are making some false assumptions.”

  I heard some laughter from the jury box. I was very careful not to turn to look at them. I did have a pang of worry, though, that I’d just made it onto Mr. Eden’s “most persecuted” list.

  “Getting back to the business at hand,” I continued, shoving aside that concern for the moment, “it is customary, is it not, for follow-up experiments to be conducted, to try to confirm or reproduce supposed groundbreaking results?”

  “Generally, yes,” Mr. Eden said, shifting in his seat.

  “Has anyone done so?”

  Mr. Eden pointed at Eli. “The accused,” he said, “attempted to do so.”

  “Attempted?”

  “Well, he clearly failed,” Mr. Eden said.

  “Why ‘clearly’?” I already knew the answer.

  “He did not achieve the same results as Christoph, even using the same experimental apparatus.” Mr. Eden leaned back in the witness chair. “Despite the influence of classical music, Elias’s plants did not grow.”

  “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Eden,” I said, turning back to him. “Those pictures, were they taken today?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  “The pictures you’re using to show the health of the Atrium Garden were taken after the so-called vandalism?”

  “Well, you see —” Mr. Eden began.

  “No further questions,” I interrupted, dismissing him.

  30

  Shohei to the Stand

  Shohei

  “Mr. O’Leary,” Goliath Reed began, “you ran the same experiment as Mr. Brandenburg, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I replied. Honoria had told me that since Goliath Reed had called me as witness for the prosecution, he’d want to talk to me first to go over testimony. He never had, although the fact that I missed our appointment — twice might have had something to do with it.

  The questioning continued, with Goliath looking down every now and then at his legal pad. Yes, I had the same apparatus. Yes, the procedures were outlined to be the same as mine. I looked over at the jury.

  “Mr. O’Leary,” Goliath asked me next, “did your experiment show that playing music to plants can affect their growth?”

  This was it. “Yes” would help Goliath’s case. “No” could wreck it.

  “No,” I replied, “it didn’t.”

  Goliath dropped the pad. “What?”

  “Yeah,” I said, running a hand through my green hair. “My plants all kind of died. Well, they were killed when my kid brother Tim ikebana-ized them. It was too late to get more. I figured I knew what was supposed to happen, and so I copied my results.”

  I looked over at Mr. Eden. He was giving me one of his “you-are-scum” looks. I smiled at him, even though it probably meant I was going to get that D+ Elias seemed so worried about.

  “I,” Goliath paused, “have no further questions.”

  Honoria passed on questions, too.

  “As the next witness,” Goliath Reed said, “I call Ms. Frederika Murchison-Kowalski.”

  “Your Honor, I object to this witness,” Honoria cut in. “Her testimony is of no possible relevance.”

  “Your Honor,” Goliath said, “it goes to whether the defendant has a history of carelessness in the conduct of science.”

  Mrs. Talmadge toyed with her gavel. “I’ll allow it,” she said.

  Honoria sat.

  “Ms. Murchison —” Goliath began.

  “Killer!” Freddie screamed and stood in the witness stand, pointing at Elias.

  All the jurors woke up. Goliath Reed stood there, jaw hanging open. Mrs. Talmadge gripped her gavel, like she couldn’t believe what she’d heard.

  “Killer!” Freddie screamed again. “I know what you did to those mice! I was in the lunchroom!”

  “Order!” Mrs. Talmadge banged her gavel. “Ms. Murchison-Kowalski, if I hear —”

  That’s when the chanting started. Someone had let in the Murchettes. “Mice are nice! Fry that guy! Mice are nice! Fry that guy!”

  Mrs. Talmadge cleared the courtroom.

  31

  Verdicts

  Elias

  It took the jury only twenty minutes to decide my fate.

  The twelve filed back into the courtroom, and then Honoria and I stood to face them. About half of the jurors met my gaze. That was supposed to be a good sign. The rest looked elsewhere. That wasn’t. The foreman, Jason Takeshita, handed Mrs. Talmadge a slip of paper. She read it, then nodded, handing it back.

  “On the charge of malicious hooliganism,” Jason said, reading off the slip, “we find the defendant not guilty.”

  I wanted to hug Honoria. If she’d looked over at me, I might have.

  Jason continued, “On the charge of vandalism, we find the defendant guilty.”

  “What!” I exclaimed.

  Honoria shushed me.

  Mrs. Talma
dge thanked the jury and dismissed them.

  I was packing papers into my backpack and getting ready to go, too, when Honoria whispered, “Stop that. She’s going to sentence you now. Look contrite.”

  I dropped my stuff and looked at Mrs. Talmadge.

  “Mr. Brandenburg,” Mrs. Talmadge began, “for vandalism, The Peshtigo School Rules ofPublic Safety give me a great deal of equitable discretion in deciding your punishment, from none at all to expulsion.”

  I tried harder to look contrite.

  “I’m not going to expel you,” Mrs. Talmadge continued. “Instead, I’m going to give you a choice.” I glanced at Honoria, who shrugged. “Your first option is a two-week suspension,” Mrs. Tal madge said. She paused, maybe to let that sink in.

  A two-week suspension was bad, even horrible, but it was better than expulsion. I could at least argue to Dad that I was partially vindicated.

  “But I hope you’ll take the second option.” Mrs. Talmadge closed her notepad. “Mr. Brandenburg,” she said, looking at me, “we seem to be here today because of your refusal to accept Mr. Eden’s reasoned judgment that your experiment was flawed and your results mistaken. Therefore, rather than suspension, I give you the option of publicly apologizing to Mr. Eden for damage to the Atrium Garden and admitting that, in light of what we have seen presented in this courtroom, your project was flawed. In other words, to use the analogy that Ms. Grob has been attempting: apologize and recant.

  “You have until tomorrow to decide,” Mrs. Talmadge concluded, punctuating the sentence with a bang of her gavel.

  “Galileo’s choice,” Honoria murmured.

  I nodded. It would be easy to recant. Say I’d made a mistake and go on with things and accept the D+. But my results were legitimate. My experiment had shown that the music had no effect on the plants. No way I was going to confess to something that wasn’t true.

  “Galileo recanted,” Honoria told me after a minute.

  “I know,” I said. “But he was right. The earth does revolve around the sun.”