Karen and I proudly waved our crayfish high in the air that afternoon, cheering and hollering with the excitement of biologists discovering a new species. We examined them up close, noticing how their tails curled into a ball to shield their soft underbellies and their pincers strained to reach back over their heads to nip at our fingers. We stroked their antennae and clicked our fingernails against their hard shells. And finally we returned them to the river, worried they wouldn’t survive if we kept them out too long.
There isn’t much more you can do with a crayfish. You might shake it in the face of a boy to make him wince, but you could embarrass him this way only once, and the consequences for the crayfish were dire. When the boys saw we were still alive after handling the nasty things, they bravely attacked the river and a fierce competition set in. Soon buckets were filled with crayfish and records were made of who caught the most and the biggest. This is where the minds of girls and boys turn in opposite directions. Karen and I were content to study the crayfish for a minute or two and set them free. The boys, on the other hand, weren’t satisfied until they’d tortured and murdered the lot of them. Their buckets became killing grounds.
Karen and I were horrified. We pleaded with the boys to end the competition and spare the crayfish. We tried to wrestle the buckets away, but the boys were too strong. We threw rocks at them and called them names. We even threatened to kiss them if they refused to stop—but it was no use.
Even though we couldn’t liberate the crayfish, I was determined to bring the boys to justice for their crimes. So I established a courtroom of rocks and logs along the riverbank and held trials. I knew just how to do it. My Pop Pop Bellini was a lawyer, and I had seen him, valiant and righteous, cross-examining witnesses. I myself had testified in court about the accident with my arm. So I appointed myself lead prosecutor and told Karen she could be the judge and the jury. To my shock and dismay, Karen betrayed both the crayfish and me by refusing to participate, claiming that punishing the boys wouldn’t do any good. I thought she was sweet on one of them, probably Lenny Basilio, who kept running up to show her his crayfish. Even the boys doubted Karen’s motives, but to their credit they knew they’d done wrong. They’d gotten bored with the killing and thought trials might be fun.
Since Karen wouldn’t help, the boys offered to sit as the jury for one another, promising to listen impartially to the evidence and render a fair verdict. I was against this, but Karen, relishing her role as spoiler, reminded me that a jury is supposed to be composed of the defendant’s peers, leaving me no choice but to agree. I would be both prosecutor and judge, and Karen would sit by and watch.
I put Lenny Basilio on trial first to spite her. Lenny was the weakest and most sensitive boy of the group, the one always being pushed around. He was also the nicest. He’d been afraid at first to catch the crayfish and had to be teased by the others into doing it, but once he got started he became very efficient and caught the largest crayfish of the day—a wise old granddaddy of a crustacean the size of a small baby lobster. Although by far the biggest and most powerful crayfish in his collection, it was too heavy and slow to defend itself against the younger ones and became the first casualty in Lenny’s bucket. Lenny looked genuinely remorseful when the big crayfish died. I knew he’d be easy to convict for the murder.
I called him to the witness stand—a flat piece of river rock resting on a platform of sticks—and told him to raise his right hand. We recognized no right against self-incrimination along the banks of the Little Juniata River. All defendants were forced to testify.
“Do you swear to tell the whole truth, Lenny Basilio, so help you God?” I said.
Lenny shrugged his shoulders and sat down.
I placed his bucket before him, filled with fetid crayfish parts. “Did you put these crayfish in this bucket?”
Lenny looked into the pail and then over at his buddies.
“Remember, Lenny,” I warned him, “you’re under oath. You’ll be struck dead by a bolt of lightning if you lie.”
Lenny let out a whine. “But the crayfish pinched me first!”
“Yes or no?” I said. “Did you fill this bucket with crayfish?”
“Yes.”
“That’s right, you did. And after you filled it, you stirred it up so the crayfish would snap at each other, didn’t you?”
Before Lenny could answer, I dredged through the water and pulled out the lifeless granddaddy crayfish, already turning white in the heat like a steamed jumbo shrimp. Its right pincer had been amputated, just like my right arm. I showed the crayfish to the jury and made them take a good long look at it. Although a few of them snickered and made coarse jokes, the expressions on most of their faces suggested that even they were appalled and saddened by what had happened. Then I showed it defiantly to Karen, who shook her head silently. I turned back to Lenny.
“You did this, didn’t you, Lenny Basilio?” I said. “You killed it. You took it out of the river and put it in your bucket and killed it.”
“But I didn’t mean to,” Lenny pleaded. He looked like he was about to cry.
I dropped the crayfish into the bucket and turned toward the jury in disgust. “The prosecution rests.”
“Guilty! Guilty!” the boys all cheered.
“Just a minute,” I said sagely. “You’ve got to vote on it to make it official. We have to take a poll. John Gaines, what say you?” I spoke the way the courtroom tipstaff had spoken while polling the jury during my trial.
John Gaines glared at Lenny. “Guilty,” he said, leaning forward and baring his teeth for effect. “Guilty as sin.”
“Mike Kelly, what say you?”
“Guilty!” he said with enthusiasm.
“Okay,” I said. “Robby Temin, what say you?”
Robby looked sympathetically at Lenny. “Guilty,” he whispered.
“Jimmy Reece?”
Jimmy threw a rock at Lenny and laughed. “Guilty . . . and he’s a crybaby too!”
The boys all laughed.
I slid behind the judge’s bench and banged a stone against the river rock. “Order in the court!” I hollered. “Order in the court!” The boys became silent instantly. I was impressed with my newfound power.
“Wally Miller, what say you?”
Wally glared back at me, full of insolence and venom. He was the biggest and meanest boy, the bully of the Juniata River. Everybody was afraid of Wally Miller, including me. He had a permanent look of malice about him and a well-earned reputation of quasi-criminal behavior.
“Not guilty,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on me.
My jaw dropped. Before I could protest, the other boys chimed in: “What? Not guilty? No way! He’s as guilty as the devil!”
Wally held up his hand to silence them. “I said, not guilty,” he insisted.
Lenny Basilio’s face brightened. By some miracle, Wally the bully had actually come to his rescue. It must have been a first. With a warm smile of gratitude and friendship, Lenny virtually danced over to Wally to thank him. But as soon as Lenny got there, Wally cocked his arm and thumped Lenny hard in the chest with the heel of his hand, knocking him to the ground. He leered at the other boys. “Just kidding,” he said. “Guilty. Guilty as hell! Let’s hang him!”
The boys broke into a riot of cheers. “Guilty! Guilty as hell! Hang him! Let’s hang Lenny!”
Lenny scrambled to his feet and backed away. He looked hurt and terrified. Tears spouted from his eyes.
I slammed the river rocks together. “Order! Order!” I said. “Order, or I’ll hold you all in contempt and end this trial right now!”
The boys quieted down, and I turned to Lenny. He looked at me desperately, but I felt no sympathy for him. I was still thinking about what he’d done to the crayfish.
“Lenny Basilio,” I said gravely, “you’ve been found guilty of murdering crayfish.”
Lenny hung his head low.
“Murder is the most serious crime there is,” I continued, “but we can’t
hang you, because there’s no death penalty on the Juniata River.”
Lenny perked up, but the boys started booing and hissing.
I slammed the rocks together again. “Order!”
“We can’t hang you, Lenny,” I said, “but you’ve got to be punished . . .” I thought for a moment of what his punishment should be. I looked down at the bucket and then out at the river. “You took the crayfish out of the river where they lived and put them on the land where they died. Justice demands an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. As the judge of this court, I hereby sentence you, Lenny Basilio, to be taken from the land where you live and spend the rest of your life in the river.”
“Throw Lenny in the river! Throw Lenny in the river!” the boys cheered.
Lenny tried to run, but they caught him and dragged him kicking and screaming into the river. He struggled for a while but finally gave up. After dunking him several times, the boys returned to the riverbank, leaving Lenny standing in the middle of the river, looking pitiful, dripping wet, a convicted felon behind bars. I was jubilant. Justice had prevailed. At the age of eleven, I’d won my first trial and my first battle of good versus evil. I had joined the ranks of Mr. Gwynne and my Pop Pop Bellini, of school principals and police officers, of soldiers and superheroes. It was the best feeling I’d ever felt in my life, a glorious moment. I smiled smugly at Karen, who looked on without saying a word.
“Okay, who’s next?” I said, examining each boy before settling on Wally Miller, the bully. I couldn’t wait to convict him and have him thrown into the river. “Wally Miller,” I said, “I charge you with kidnapping and murdering crayfish. How do you plead, guilty or not guilty?”
Wally strutted up to me. “Guilty,” he sneered. “What are you going to do about it?”
I turned to the other boys for support, but they stood frozen. None of them was willing to challenge Wally Miller. I said nothing.
Wally laughed. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “You’re nothing but a one-armed freak.” He stepped forward and shoved me with both hands, knocking me to the ground, then turned and had a laugh with his buddies.
I wasn’t about to let him get away with it. I scrambled back to my feet and charged after him. The other boys tried to warn him, but just as Wally turned around to face me, I bunched up my fist and hit him square in the mouth. He fell to his knees. A little trickle of blood oozed from a gash in his upper lip.
Wally was stunned. I was stunned. The other boys were stunned. And terrified. They had just witnessed a one-armed girl whip the bully of the Juniata River. They knew there would be hell to pay for each of them when Wally tried to restore his reputation. One by one, they quietly disappeared into the woods from which they had come. Wally rose slowly to his feet, wiped his mouth, and looked at the red smear on his hand.
“I’ll get you back for this, Cuttler,” he said.
I stood my ground defiantly with my fist clenched. He knew better than to mess with me anymore and walked away.
That left Karen, Lenny, and me. Apparently thinking Wally’s defeat meant he was somehow exonerated, Lenny started stepping out of the river, but I stopped him.
“Get back in that water, Lenny Basilio,” I warned him. “You’ve been sentenced to life.”
Lenny stepped back obediently. He had just seen what I had done to Wally and wasn’t going to try his luck.
I sat down beside Karen on a log. My knuckles ached from slamming into Wally’s teeth. Karen and I didn’t talk. What happened was too traumatic. We just looked at the river and Lenny.
After about five minutes passed, Lenny got bored and fidgety. He started skimming rocks across the water and kicking and splashing around idly. When these activities no longer entertained him, he began inching his way down the river, hoping I wouldn’t see him. I ordered him back. He complied but turned right around and tried it again. Soon it turned into a sort of game. But when I ordered him back for the fourth time, he made a break for it. Unfortunately for Lenny, he slipped on the riverbank mud and gashed open his knee. I caught up with him and dragged him back into the water by his wrist. He tried to free himself, but my grip was too strong. I held him in place until he stopped squirming.
“How long are you going to keep him in the river?” Karen called to me from the riverbank.
“For the rest of his life,” I said, tightening my grip on him. “He’s got to pay for his crime. The crayfish deserve justice.”
“Then you’re going to have to stay there the rest of your life too,” Karen said. “He’s just going to keep trying to get out.”
She was right, of course, but I was determined that Lenny serve out his sentence. I was wearing a fabric belt with a sliding loop buckle. I looked around for something to tie him to, but there were no tree branches close enough to the water. Then I got an idea. I took off the belt, lashed it around my arm and Lenny’s, and cinched it tight with my teeth. Now we were bound together, prisoner and guard. He had no chance of escape. As long as I stayed in the river, Lenny would stay in the river. I looked back at Karen proudly. She shook her head, amused.
There we stood in the water, Lenny and me. He struggled every once in a while to get free, but it was no use. When he whimpered or protested, I told him to shut up. When he splashed or caused me to stumble, I elbowed him in the side. He would receive no more mercy than he had shown the crayfish. This went on for nearly half an hour, but it felt like all afternoon. It was getting late. We would normally be heading back home. Karen finally got up and said she was leaving.
“Wait,” I said. “You can’t go. You’ve got to stay here and keep me company.”
“No thanks,” Karen replied, climbing up the riverbank.
“But you’ve got to,” I said. I was furious. She had betrayed me during the trial, and now she was doing it again.
“No, I don’t,” Karen replied. “I didn’t do anything to the crayfish, and it wasn’t my idea to put Lenny in the river. I’m going home.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do?” I said. “Stay here all night with Lenny by myself?”
Lenny looked mortified.
“I guess so,” Karen replied. “If you want to keep him in the river for the rest of his life. Have fun.” She started walking away.
“Wait,” I pleaded. “What am I supposed to do? I’ve got no choice. The crayfish deserve justice.”
Karen stopped and gazed back at me in disbelief. I must have looked as miserable and pathetic as Lenny. Then she turned and waded out into the water. She seemed almost angelic coming toward us, her face glowing radiantly in the afternoon sun, her blue eyes sparkling from the reflection of the stream. When she reached us, she tugged on the belt that bound Lenny and me together.
“You can’t bring the crayfish back, Brek,” she said tenderly. “But you can set yourself free. It’s not about Lenny anymore. It’s about you. How long do you want to wait in the water?”
9
I inserted the golden key Luas had given me into the lock of the massive wooden doors leading into the Courtroom. Suddenly the doors and the entire train shed itself vanished, leaving me standing beside Luas in an immense space bounded only by energy. The walls were translucent and electric, and if they could be said to have had a color, glistened like water in a crystal decanter on a sterling silver tray. It was a room like no other, a room where time and space merged. A room in eternity.
At the opposite end of the Courtroom, the energy condensed itself into a triangular monolith several stories tall, seemingly working Einstein’s theorem in reverse. The slab was both dark and luminescent, composed of what appeared to be the finest sapphire, with a triangular aperture near the top through which light entered but did not exit, allowing nothing of the interior of the slab to be seen. A semicircle of pale amber light radiated outward from the base of the monolith in a broad arc, and this light formed the floor itself. At the center of the floor stood a simple wooden chair, absurdly out of scale in substance and size. Behind this chair, but beyond the c
ircle of light and exactly opposite the monolith, sat three more chairs. Luas ushered me toward them and insisted I take the one in the middle. He took the left chair and, after seating himself, placed his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, and said to me: “Tobias Bowles will be presenting the case of his father, Gerard.”
A moment later, another person arrived, standing in the same spot where we had been standing, a golden key like mine still turning in his fingers. He was only a young boy, perhaps eight or nine years of age. His skin was dark and his features Middle Eastern, with soft brown eyes that seemed to have seen and understood too much for his years. He wore his hair long and unkempt. A cream-colored robe draped from his shoulders to the floor. Luas rose to his feet when he saw him, looking disappointed.
“Oh, it’s only you, Haissem,” he said, scowling. “We were expecting Mr. Bowles . . . Well, here we are anyway. Haissem, this is Brek Cuttler, the newest lawyer on my staff. Brek, this is Haissem, the most senior presenter in all of Shemaya. I must say, Haissem, she’s arrived not a moment too soon. We just lost Jared Schrieberg and now, it seems from your appearance, Mr. Bowles as well.”
Jared Schrieberg? I thought. Odd. That was Bo’s grandfather’s name.
Haissem reached out to greet me with his left hand—a perceptive gesture, as most people reached by instinct for my right hand and were embarrassed to come up with an empty sleeve.
“Welcome to the Courtroom, Brek,” he said, bowing politely, his voice high and prepubescent. “I remember sitting here to witness my first presentation. Abel presented the difficult case of his brother, Cain. That was long before your time though, Luas.”
“Quite,” Luas agreed.
“Not much has changed since then,” Haissem sighed. “Luas keeps the docket moving even though the number of cases increases. We’re fortunate to have you, Brek, and you’re fortunate to have somebody like Luas as your mentor. There’s no better presenter in all of Shemaya.”
“Present company excepted,” Luas said.
“Not at all,” said Haissem. “I only handle the easy cases.”
The Trial of Fallen Angels Page 7