Canada's King Solomons

It was very pleasant in the chambers of Judge Jestus. Amid the ambient whale songs coming through hidden speakers, a stereo played the song "Beautiful World" by Devo. When Tink Husbandblood, the judge's assistant, came in for him, Judge Jestus stood nude in his marble wading pool, his back to the door, arms raised, head bowed.

"Uh, Judge," Tink ventured tentatively.

The judge's body went rigid and he held up his right index finger.

Tink went to a mahogany throne Judge Jestus had had constructed in the likeness of King Solomon's throne as found in the Temple of Judah, and grabbed the towel hanging from one of its jutting, ornate flourishes. After a moment, the judge came out of the water and Tink daubed him dry.

"What adventures do I have today?" Judge Jestus said as Tink fitted the collar-and-tie bib around the judge's neck. Once clad in his black robes, the judge would appear to be wearing a shirt and tie, exuding the illusion that he was fully clothed beneath his judicial garb.

"Some vandalism, an assault, a few petty thefts, breaking and entering," Tink said.

The judge laughed. "You sound so glum!"

"Well, you're passing sentence today, sir," Tink said as he affixed shoes with sock-like booties to the judge's feet.

"Ah, everything will turn out all right," Judge Jestus said with a wink. "Just you wait and see!"

He and Tink walked to door leading to the courtroom. A few steps from the door, Judge Jestus suddenly dropped to one knee, bowed his head and clenched his eyes shut. "Lord, I pray that you give me the wisdom to temper justice with mercy. Amen."

"Amen," Tink echoed.

Outside the door the bailiff was telling everybody to stand so that the judge could tell them to sit down again. When Judge Jestus took his place at the bench, he beheld a courtroom filled with well-dressed people. Ah, if those wretched reporters and the even more wretched bloggers could only see the world from this vantage point for one minute, maybe all of the jaundiced vitriol they spewed about Canadian judges being soft on crime would dissipate like steam from the wading pool.

Judge Jestus turned his watery eyes toward the defendant: a slender man in an ill-fitting suit. He had sunken cheeks and angry eyes. The sight of the poor little ragamuffin reminded the judge of the Robbie Burns poem "To a Mouse", which he recited from memory in the alehouse each Burns Day.

Wee, sleekit, cowrin, tim'rous beastie,
O, what a panic's in thy breastie!
Thou need na start awa sae hasty
Wi bickering brattle!
I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee,
Wi' murdering pattle.

The judge looked at the paperwork handed to him by Tink, which stated the defendant had vandalized his neighbor's car, bludgeoned his neighbor's dog with a broken step ladder, and then assaulted the neighbor.

Judge Jestus raised his eyes and regarded the ragamuffin once more. Pitiable little roustabout, he thought. Probably had himself a bad day. Probably feels that the world's all stacked against him. I don't need to look through these silly files to see that he has no education, no self-esteem. Why, I'd lay odds that neighbor of his goaded him into a confrontation. . . Ah well, I may as well make this look good.

"Would the defendant please rise," the judge said.

The defendant rose slowly, unsteadily to his feet.

"It's not nice hitting people," the judge began in a stern stentorian voice. "Hitting's not nice. But I have weighed the evidence carefully and I believe the odds of this defendant committing the same offense against the neighbor who lives right next door to him to be so remote that I sentence the defendant to six hours house arrest, to be served between the hours of midnight and six a.m.."

The judge banged his gavel, bringing on the next case.

The defendant was a nineteen year old girl charged with breaking and entering and theft. Says in this bloody file that the poor little waif's got a drug problem! the judge thought, glancing through his papers. Well, of course she's breaking and entering and stealing the property of others -- she's got a habit to feed! I've seen Reefer Madness, I know what it's like to have a monkey on one's back. He skimmed the file. Oh, well, ten other B&E offenses. This stray little kitten has just gone astray, that's all.

After requesting the defendant rise, Judge Jestus said, "Breaking and entering is bad. Stealing property that belongs to others is not nice. Do you want people to think you're not nice?" The waif made no answer; didn't even have it in her to shake her head. "No, I'd think not!" the judge continued. "I've weighed the evidence and believe that the odds of this defendant committing the same offense are so remote, I sentence the defendant to three days in jail -- suspended."

"You're honor, I must protest!" said the Crown attorney. "The Crown believes that some punishment is in order, given the fact that the defendant is a repeat offender!"

Judge Jestus turned his moist eyes in the direction of that tiresome little man. "One more outburst like that and I'll hold you in contempt!"

The bang of the gavel brought the next case.

The man who took his turn at the defendant's table looked like a tough cookie. He wasn't wearing a tie! He had clearly spent no time combing his bushy hair and he appeared to be unshaven. Judge Jestus looked at the defendant with a sense of wonderment that quickly melted into pity. Pathetic creature, he thought. Doesn't even have the wherewithal to look after his grooming. I'd bet a hot bath and a nice bowl of soup would rouse him out of that self-defeating trance!

The judge looked at the file before him. Clearly what he read was a misprint -- the file said the unkempt man was found guilty of Weapons Danger and Attempted Murder. Judge Jestus looked at the rapscallion once more. I'll have a word with the . . . whoever looks after these files! Can't even get their facts straight!

"I refer this matter for further adjudication," the judge said.

"Uh, your honor," the Crown attorney began, "This matter had been adjudicated."

"Well, I'm referring it back for further adjudication! Is that all right with you?"

"Your honor," the Crown attorney said in his patronizing tone. "The matter has been adjudicated adequately and the defendant is now here for sentencing."

Few times in his life had Judge Jestus been spoken to in such a hostile manner. He looked at the Crown attorney with a mix of bewilderment and fury. He rapped his gavel angrily. "Then I find the defendant 'Not Guilty'!"

"But your honor, you've already ruled on this case and found the defendant 'Guilty'."

"Did not!" Judge Jestus roared.

"I'm sorry, your honor, you did."

"Did not!"

"I'm sorry, but --"

The judge cut him off with a furious flurry of gavel-hammering. Judge Jestus jumped from his chair -- his chest suddenly hot; his cheeks flushed -- and bellowed "I demand a recess!" He turned and rushed into his chambers.

Right behind him was faithful Tink. As Judge Jestus threw himself into his King Solomon replica throne, Tink approached with the oxygen tank and mask. It had been days since he'd last required it -- right after he'd asked the court recorder for her bottle of Liquid Paper (because the judge had a file before him that was patently mistaken, stating that some harmless teenager had stolen a car) and she'd told him that she didn't have any. "Well, how in the name of Thor am I going to rectify this egregious clerical error?" the judge had yelled, his voice veering into the higher registers of hysteria . . . and then it was back into chambers, and the oxygen mask.

"I want . . ." the judge wheezed. ". . . that foul, foul man . . . stripped . . . and..." he couldn't continue.

"Just breathe, your honor," Tink said, hoping the omnipresent whale songs playing on the hidden speakers would do their soothing magic.


When the judge had regained his composure, he was led by Tink back to the bench. The sight of everyone in the courtroom standing upon his entrance made it that much easier. He paused for a moment before allowing them to sit down.

The next case before him was that of Jim Pitts, tried and convicted of arson. Judge Jestus was suddenly glad he'd been driven back into chambers for a sitdown and some oxygen. He knew this case. Ole Pitts had set fire to his apartment and ended up burning down the wretched little three-story rat-trap of a building. Nobody killed, nobody hurt. But it had been a few doors down from a jewelry stores owned by one of the judges shell corporations. He was fully insured and wouldn't have suffered a moment's inconvenience had the shop burned. But still, it might have. That had sent a jolt through Judge Jestus.

Fixing the defendant with his sternest expression, the judge commanded the miscreant to his feet. He would give this trouble-maker both barrels.

"Sir, you have committed a most grievous crime," the judge began. "Arson is not only not nice, it's very, very bad! You stand before me and before your community a bad-not-nice person." The judge waited a moment to see if the defendant would brace himself against the table after hearing such a harsh rebuke. The knave didn't even blink. Have it your way, the judge thought. Here it comes!

"You, sir, are hereby sentenced to thirty days in jail." He paused, sure the defendant would collapse. The hardened, rough-handed hound dog of a man just stood there. Made of stone, are you? "And two years probation. You have made your bed, now you must lie in it." The defendant was taken away, uttering ne'ery a protest or epithet. Deadened imbecile.

That evening, back at the judge's mansion, Tink fed him pureed bananas and butterscotch. Once ensconced within his oxygen tent and beneath his hypoallergenic duvet, Judge Jestus settled in as Tink read him a chapter from Private Troubles and Public Issues: Social Problems in the Postmodern Era, 1st Edition. When the chapter was finished, the judge yawned. "Please be sure to leave out my knitting needles when you go," he said.

"Certainly sir," Tink said, rising and turning out the light.

Two weeks later a package arrived at the jail for Jim Pitts. It contained an orange turtle neck sweater with a note and twenty dollars pinned to the front. The note read:

I hope orange is your color. I guessed at the size. Hope all is well.

Pitts tossed the note and sweater into the nearest garbage pail and pocketed the twenty dollar bill.