Trial and Error

"Let the defendant enter."

The judge's words echoed around the room. The crowd held its breath as the door on the left opened and a man walked in. 

Everyone in the room craned their necks to get a look at him, but he seemed born to disappoint any expectation they may have harbored. One did not believe him capable of murder, but then again, it was difficult to believe him capable of anything. Yet this was his trial, and that fact marred his only distinctive quality: his most impressive nondistinction.

"Let the witnesses enter."

Through the right door, the three witnesses entered. The first was a respectable young man in an impeccable suit and scholarly glasses; the second was a demure, respectful wisp of a woman no more than forty but already bent over into a permanent bow, presumably by a lifetime of practice; the last was a middle-aged, scarred man who looked rather disreputable. 

They took their seats.

"The first witness may speak."

The young man stood, straightened his tie, and began, "Yesterday morning I was on my way to the publishing house when the sounds of a commotion reached my ears. I turned to see what the matter was and beheld a struggle. Before I could so much as make a move to help or an effort to call for the authorities, it was too late to save his first victim."

The judge leaned forward, intent on the witness's words.

Pointing to the defendant, the young man continued, "I saw this man murder. There is blood on his hands! I say before the court that he is guil-"

The room exploded, and the last syllable was lost in the confusion. The judge leapt to his feet and struggled to restore order. As soon as he could be heard above the madness, he turned toward the witness. "How dare you use the witness stand as an excuse to further your petty attacks? If you cannot control your tongue and speak in a civil manner, you shall not speak at all!"

"I saw-"

"The court has no need to hear you shamefully accuse this poor man any longer. Be silent!"

"That man is-"

"You are dismissed. The next witness may speak."

It was an indignant young man who took his seat when the next witness rose to speak. Her voice was calm and quiet, and the whole room was hushed, straining to catch her words.

"I was returning home from the store when the man in front of me," she pointed to the defendant, "this man, struck down the lady walking beside him."

The judge stood abruptly.

"I screamed, and he turned around, faced me, and advanced on me with murder in his eyes and in his hand was a-"

But the court never heard what was in his hand.

The judge spoke.

"Shall we hear naught but slander from our witnesses? Have they nothing to offer the court but words of hate and libel?" The judge looked pained, and his words dripped with mercy. "Has not this man heard enough of your venomous accusations?" 

The woman, thoroughly abashed, sat down.  

Sincerely distressed by the proceedings, the judge pleaded with the final witness. "I beg of you, let us hear some honest words of information; this man has been vilified long enough."

The disreputable man stood and declared his intent. "I'll say nothing but what I must."

The judge sighed and, waving his mallet melodramatically, took his seat. "Good... good... you may speak."

"I've known this here man for years. I know him pretty well; we've often been.... business partners. And indeed, we were partners in the.... business they've"-he nodded to the witnesses-"been speaking of."

The judge was forced to rise again from his seat, horrified.

"I helped him. He's guilty of the charge and was personally responsible for the death of-"

A terrible, strangled cry escaped the judge's lips; in all the world, no one (except possibly the present jury) could have been more distraught. "Guilty? Guilty?! I see in this man not a murderer, naught but a victim of relentless persecution! Is there no one here who has anything to say but the most vile and low of-"

The judge tasted his own desserts as an old man belonging to an age long past creaked his way to the front and stood beside the witnesses. 

"Justice, I believe I may be of help. May I speak?"  

The judge was so overwhelmed he could but wave his hand in assent.

"These men and women," the old man gestured to the witnesses, "have spoken nothing but the truth. Please note, I do not accuse the defendant of the charges they have presented but merely commend the witnesses for their dedication to the truth. I certainly hope I shall do their witness justice in my defense of it. I have but one thing to say.  Please note, I merely declare; I do not insult. This man," he gestured toward the defendant, " is disgusted. Please note, I do not call him disgusting; I merely state that he is disgusted. He is disgusted by the court, the crowd, and the judge. Please note, I do not say that the court, crowd, or judge is disgusting; I merely notice that he is disgusted by them. But he is more disgusted by something else. Above all else, he is disgusted by himself. I remind you, Justice, to please note that I do not call him disgusting, but merely observe that he is disgusted by himself. And finally, I declare that he will willingly confess to the crime at hand. Once more, please note that I do not say that he is guilty, I merely point out that he is about to confess."

All eyes turned towards the defendant; all eyes noted the remarkable change that had taken place since the beginning of the trial. His mouth was agape in a silent plea; his eyes were filled with tears, horrible and hot. 

He spoke. 

"This man is correct. I shall confess. I declare myself guilty of intentional murder."

The entire court room was silent. 

Shock. Pain. Not a member of the jury nor the crowd nor even the judge himself had expected this.

The judge rose. He was red. From his bloodshot eyes to his clenched fists to his reddened face, he was blazing with fury. He roared. "Will the persecution never end? From his own mouth pours continued slander! Will only the bigots speak? What then is your verdict? Shall we find such a man guilty?"

Unanimously, the jury declared him innocent, and, as one, they rose and carried him to freedom, rejoicing that his long persecution was finally at an end. 

The trial was over.