Once a Runner (11 page)

The chancellor was a contradiction in terms: a law student with a sense of humor. He generously offered to lend his solemn presence to the occasion in exchange for a print of the eight-by-twelve glossy Cassidy was having taken of the Defendant and the various court officials. For this purpose a friend of Mizner's was introduced to Nubbins as the "court photographer" who was going to "photograph key points in the proceedings for the record." Nubbins nodded with the bland assent of a three-time loser being fingerprinted.

Selecting the prosecutor had been difficult. Surprisingly, several sadistic individuals had clamored for the job. There resulted some hilarious tryouts during which Cassidy found himself doing a reasonably bitchy director: "Look baby, you've got to give me some
hostility,
for chrissakes. This guy is a lousy cheater and you're a self-righteous asshole, so let's emote that to me, baby, eee-mote. Okay, let's take if from '... if this treachery goes unscathed, our very foundations of self-government etcetera etcetera ..."

Eventually everyone got into the act. The rejects for the prosecutor's job got to be the bailiff and the stenographer. Everyone dressed for his part with uncanny professionalism. It looked like Divorce Court without commercials.

Cassidy thought the courtroom itself was the perfect backdrop. In the manner of all effective courtrooms (as well as legislative chambers and religious edifices) it was designed to impress upon the single blinking supplicant that there was a
power
out there, a force all around that was fierce and swift and terrible in its retribution, an ascendancy that would— should he so much as fart without permission—crush him like the vermin he knew in his heart he was.

How polished mahogany could have such a debilitating effect upon the individual spirit, Cassidy could not figure, but that it did there was no doubt, for here beside him sat this quaking leather-fringed buffoon, sweating like a field hand and looking for all the world like he would leap straight up and grab onto a light fixture if someone so much as said
boo.
In fact, when the chancellor's gavel went down with a THWACK Nubbins popped up like overdue toast. Cassidy reached over with a reassuring lawyerly hand.

"All right, next matter. What is this case?" said the Chancellor.

"Case number 72-3689, your honor. Student body versus Jack Nubbins. Three witnesses. WAC of 98%."

Thejudge looked up from the papers he was studying and made a low whistle, obviously impressed.

"Ninety eight percent, why that would be a ..."

"That's right, your honor, a ..."

"... record, wouldn't it?"

"Record, yes sir. We checked."

They brought if off with such pristine sincerity, these volunteer Thespians, that Cassidy swelled with pride. He had written all the lines himself for diis far off-broadway production and his people were doing him pioud. They all (except Cassidy) had scripts in front of them in legal folders, but no one seemed to need them.

The script at this point called for thejudge to request the prosecutor to approach the bench. This gave Cassidy a chance to lean over and inform Nubbins that this judge was not the one he usually dealt with. There was mention of illness. They would have to feel their way along but not to worry because...

"Mr. Cassidy," the chancellor was interrupting. "I think it only fair to inform you that I will not allow you to get away with the kind of monkeyshines that I understand are your very trademark."

"Judge, I'm just a simple country lawyer and I'm sure that the Court knows I would never stoop to ...*

"You know precisely what I mean. Just watch itP

"Yes sir!" Cassidy leaned over and whispered to Nubbins: "I was afraid of something like this."

As the hearing went on, Cassidy did not look at any of his confederates about the room. If their eyes locked for more than a split second, great uncontrollable quakes would start deep in his diaphragm and, if unchecked, very quickly the whole mad, delicately balanced facade would crumble in premature hilarity. To cover himself, a few times he feigned coughing spells. He needn't have gone to the trouble, actually, for Nubbins, sensing things were not going well for the home team, was staring straight ahead in a melancholy trance. He now knew his lawyer, brilliant though he might be, was out of favor with this particular judge. Even as Cassidy rose to voice his objections, he was being overruled. And Nubbins could not remember having stumbled upon a human being, a total stranger at that, who obviously felt such open and hostile loathing for him as the natty prosecutor. It was hard to imagine that the fellow did not have some grave mental problem, such was his rancor. It seemed as though he might at any moment leap across counsel table and come at Nubbins with a hidden dagger. But apparently his cruel and clever antagonist had no need for such weapons in this arena; his objections were universally taken under consideration and just as universally sustained by the smiling judge. With each such telling point the prosecutor would look over, resplendent in his ensemble, and openly sneer at Nubbins and his obviously overrated attorney. Nubbins was going deeper and deeper into a kind of shock. He had never been in a situation where the cards had been so obviously, so inexorably, so uniformly stacked against him. His attorney, he now realized, was fighting a holding action against implacable odds; he was simply outmanned by the same immutable stars that had brought Nubbins into this courtroom in the first place.

Everyone was due for an unmitigated shitstorm at some time in his life, Nubbins figured, and this was clearly his turn.

Attorney Cassidy, struggling valiantly in this lost cause, was making motions that the entranced Nubbins could not have possibly paid any attention to, else he would have detected the faint but unmistakable aroma of rotten halibut on the breeze.

"Your Honor, I would like to make a motion
E Pluribus Unum ..."

"I object! He can't move for
E Pluribus Unum
in this proceeding. There isn't even a jury empaneled!" "Sustained."

"Well then judge, I would like to request a
quid pro quo
in order to ..."

"Objectionl Clearly improper before the Defendant takes the stand."

"Sustained. Mr. Cassidy, I must warn you, sir! Please sit down!"

This went on long enough for Nubbins to clearly get the drift. Then Cassidy requested a recess in order to discuss something important with his client. Even this request was only grudgingly granted. As a group, all the court personnel, the spectators, and even Nubbins' timid girlfriend (sensing somehow that it was the thing to do) rumbled out of the room leaving lawyer and client alone in the large chamber. Cassidy, his borrowed horn rims cocked up on his forehead, rubbed his weary lawyer eyes.

"Well Jack, I guess you can see things aren't going so hot."

"Yeah, that judge doesn't like you one
little
bit. And the prosecuting one! What's he got against me anyway? I don't know him from Adam's nephew."

"Just doing his job, Jack, doing his job. But the chancellor. I think we may have a chance with him. He seems to be perturbed that we're dragging this thing out with a full-blown trial. Another lawyer told me once he likes to see people come in and lay it on the line. Otherwise, if you go through a trial and he still finds you guilty, he really throws the book at you."

"What do you think we ought to do?"

"I'm thinking we ought to go ahead and plead guilty and throw ourselves on the mercy of the court." Steady, he thought, burst out laughing now and you'll blow the whole thing.

"Well, you're the boss, you know that. We've come this far...

"Listen Jack, I want you to know ..."

"Hey, I know. Listen, I thought you were doing a great job. Some of those motions, man ..."

"Yeah. I should have won a couple of them at least. Anyway, let's give it a go. And Jack ..."

"Yeah?"

"Remember no matter what happens, I was there when you needed me." They shook hands solemnly. Nubbins was still sure he had a fine lawyer. Cassidy notified the bailiff and everyone was called back in. Defense counsel advised the Court that his client wished to change his plea to guilty as charged, and to ask for the mercy of the Court. He could barely get the words out. He dared not look at anyone as he spoke; they were all holding it together with sheer will power.

The judge seemed relieved by this announcement and thanked Cassidy for sparing the Court a "long and arduous trial." He then thanked the court personnel for their patient efforts. He requested that Nubbins rise with his attorney while he pronounced sentence. Since Cassidy had put several hours of work into the sentencing speech, he was gratified to see it delivered with the loving attention of a fine performer.

"Mr. Nubbins," the chancellor began, removing his spectacles, "I must admit that I have often wondered why we so seldom see athletes in here, what with all the speculation that goes on about the ethics of those who reside in Farley Hall. I know I should not let my personal feelings become involved, but I've always sensed that you jocks think you run this institution. Now, I'm not a varsity athlete myself, Mr. Nubbins—oh, in high school I played a little basketball and was conference champion in the 200 butterfly, but I guess when they got around to handing out the scholarships ... oh well, that's neither here nor there. What I'm here to tell you this evening, Mr. Nubbins, is that I am now a serious student here at Southeastern, and there are many of us serious students here, Mr. Nubbins, students who don't get their way paid by rich Uncle over in Farley Hall, read me? It's too bad that you have to bear the brunt for all the ones who have done the same thing you have and gotten away with it, but I don't know any other way to bring the message home that
you jocks don't run this campus!"

He paused, as if regaining his composure somewhat, and added as an almost understood afterthought: "We politicos do."

"This is your sentence, Mr. Nubbins: You are hereby suspended from this university indefinitely."

There was a perfect silence in the courtroom.

Such was the demented sincerity of this last diatribe that many of the onwatchers, though they knew it was a farce, were actually a little mortified at the chancellor's rancor. There was much sullen gaping going on, as if no one knew exactly how to end the whole ordeal. Nubbins just stood quaking, his mouth a small, dark cave. He stared unbelieving at the still-bristling judge.

Suddenly the "court photographer" ran out of the spectator's section, snapped a flash picture of Cassidy and Nubbins and scurried back. Cassidy could no longer control himself. Weakly, he bent at the waist, held his stomach with both hands, and began making deep, resonant yelps not unlike the fierce mating call of the male peacock. Nubbins looked over at him; his own lawyer found the penalty so harsh he could not keep from laughing!

That broke the dam, of course, and the entire courtroom was quickly engulfed in a giant spasm of raucous laughter. With a wild clamor, the teary-eyed actors and half-paralyzed spectators began stumbling over feebly to shake hands with the Defendant and pound his back gleefully.

The little runner's wide eyes did not blink as his head swiveled back and forth, a berserk lighthouse. He thought: how can anyone be so cruel as to actually enjoy seeing me get booted out of school? And my own lawyer is still laughing; did he find it amusing too?

Even the judge, black robes flowing, came down and threw his arm around Nubbins' shoulders, barking all the while.

Betty Sue sat amidst the considerable confusion with a vague smile on her face, wondering what in the bejesus was going on. She knew one thing: Old Jack had done something wonderful and she was very proud.

14. Indoors

Winter arrived in the panhandle in its usual desultory fashion; a time of bright, cool days, chilly rains, fading landscapes. The harsh glare of those cloudless days muted the grass, the moss-draped oaks and sometimes the higher callings of the spirit. "It is easier to train hard up north," Denton told them. "Snow is snow. You either run in it or you don't. It gives you something to go against, an irritant. But also a stimulus, if you know what I mean. Down here the freezing rain runs down your neck one day, next day you'd think spring had sprung in January."

"What's wrong with that?" Cassidy asked. "Such a winter is always getting your hopes up." But winter was the indoor season and for Cassidy it was a time of renewed hopes. He had had his cross-country drubbings; now he longed to turkey trot a victory lap.

"I've just had an odd thought," said Cassidy, looking out the oval porthole, enjoying immensely the crisp, heady vacuum of jet flight.

"Do tell," Denton looked up from his botany journal. "Here we are flying several miles high across the eastern seaboard—look, that must be Savannah—flying across the eastern seaboard a couple of thousand miles at a cost of several hundreds of dollars so that we can take off our clothes, put on little kangaroo skin slippers that weigh about three ounces each, and shag ass around a little board track for exactly one mile—two in your case. And there are these people, thousands of them, who live in skyscrapers of block and, glass, and who will pay money to come and watch us do it. This is the culmination of man's technology, zipping us along at 600 miles per hour ..."

"Maybe it just means that civilization has progressed to the point where it can afford even the most esoteric of specialties, even in sports. We are the athledc equivalent of pickled bees knees in the gourmet section at the Winn Dixie."