The Brethren

John Grisham

The Brethren

by

ONE

For the weekly docket the court jester jester wore his standard garb of well-used and deeply faded maroon pajamas and lavender terry-cloth shower shoes with no socks. He wasn't the only inmate who went about his daily business in his pajamas, but no one else dared wear lavender shoes. His name was T Karl, and he'd once owned banks in Boston.

The pajamas and shoes weren't nearly as troubling as the wig. It parted at the middle and rolled in layers downward, over his ears, with tight curls coiling off into three directions, and fell heavily onto his shoulders. It was a bright gray, almost white, and fashioned after the Old English magistrate's wigs from centuries earlier. A friend on the outside had found it at a secondhand costume store in Manhattan, in the Village.

T Karl wore it to court with great pride, and, odd as it was, it had, with time, become part of the show. The other inmates kept their distance from T Karl anyway, wig or not.

He stood behind his flimsy folding table in the prison cafeteria, tapped a plastic mallet that served as a gavel, cleared his squeaky throat, and a

No one moved, or at least no one made an effort to stand. Thirty inmates lounged in various stages of repose in plastic cafeteria chairs, some looking at the court jester, some chatting away as if he didn't exist.

T Karl continued: "Let all ye who search for justice draw nigh and get screwed."

No laughs. It had been fu

Three men entered the room from the kitchen.Two of them wore shoes. One was eating a saltine. The one with no shoes was also bare-legged up to his knees, so that below his robe his spindly legs could be seen. They were smooth and hairless and very brown from the sun.A large tattoo had been applied to his left calf. He was from California.

All three wore old church robes from the same choir, pale green with gold trim. They came from the same store as T Karl's wig, and had been presented by him as gifts at Christmas.That was how he kept his job as the court's official clerk.

There were a few hisses and jeers from the spectators as the judges ambled across the tile floor in full regalia, their robes flowing. They took their places behind a long folding table, near T Karl but not too near,and faced the weekly gathering. The short round one sat in the middle. Joe Roy Spicer was his name, and by default he acted as the Chief Justice of the tribunal. In his previous life, judge Spicer had been a justice of the Peace in Mississippi, duly elected by the people of his little county, and sent away when the feds caught him skimming bingo profits from a Shriners club.

"Please be seated." he said. Not a soul was standing.

The judges adjusted their folding chairs and shook their robes until they fell properly around them. The assistant warden stood to the side, ignored by the inmates. A guard in uniform was with him. The Brethren met once a week with the prison's approval. They heard cases, mediated disputes, settled little fights among the boys, and had generally proved to be a stabilizing factor amid the population.

Spicer looked at the docket, a neat hand-printed sheet of paper prepared by T Karl, and said, "Court shall come to order."

To his right was the Californian, the Honorable Fi

In for two years and Fi

"First case is Schneiter versus Magruder," Spicer a

"Schneiter's not here." Beech said.

"Where is he?"

"Infirmary. Gallstones again. I just left there."

Hatlee Beech was the third member of the tribunal. He spent most of his time in the infirmary because of hemorrhoids, or headaches, or swollen glands. Beech was fifty-six, the youngest of the three, and with nine years to go he was convinced he would die in prison. He'd been a federal judge in East Texas, a hardfisted conservative who knew lots of Scripture and liked to quote it during trials. He'd had political ambitions, a nice family, money from his wife's family's oil trust. He also had a drinking problem which no one knew about until he ran over two hikers in Yellowstone. Both died. The car Beech had been driving was owned by a young lady he was not married to. She was found naked in the front seat, too drunk to walk.

They sent him away for twelve years.

Jo Roy Spicer, Fi

"Should we default him?" Spicer asked Beech.

"No, just continue it until next week."

"Okay. I don't suppose he's going anywhere."

"I object to a continuance," Magruder said from the crowd.

"Too bad," said Spicer. "It's continued until next week."

Magruder was on his feet. "That's the third time it's been continued. I'm the plaintiff: I sued him. He runs to the infirmary every time we have a docket."

"What're ya'll fightin over?" Spicer asked.

"Seventeen dollars and two magazines." T Karl said helpfully.

"That much, huh?" Spicer said. Seventeen dollars would get you sued every time at Trumble.

Fi

"Justice delayed is justice denied," Magruder said solemnly.

"Now that's original." said Beech. "One more week, then we'll default Schneiter."

"So ordered." Spicer said, with great finality. T Karl made a note in the docket book. Magruder sat down in a huff. He'd filed his complaint in the Inferior Court by handing to T. Karl a one-page summary of his allegations against Schneiter. Only one page. The Brethren didn't tolerate paperwork. One page and you got your day in court. Schneiter had replied with six pages of invective, all of which had been summarily stricken by T Karl.