DRAMATIS PERSONAE:
The Memory of Saint Stephan
A Ukrainian Sergeant-at-Arms, Vasily
Judge presiding over Court of Expatriate Kyiv, The Dishonorable William Bill Publowsky
The Defendant, The Ferret
The Defense Attorney, Welsh Losser
The Prosecutor
Loser in the back, possibly from the Ukrainian Diaspora
First Witness, Zippy Zamazda
People filling the court
In December 2007, Saint Stephan, the chief editor of Kyiv’s leading English-language weekly and a non-practicing member of the Ukrainian Diaspora, was stabbed in the back and left to die a lonely and painful death as a freelance copy editor, which he had been forced to become, on the city’s left bank.
The 44-year-old had his journalistic career cowardly attacked by at least one assailant, who might have worked with as many as two or three accomplices, an investigation has revealed.
While enjoying the Christmas holidays abroad with a female companion, the Saint, as he is known on his personal website, was dismissed from his job without proper notification or professional justification.
Sergeant-at-Arms: All rise! The Court of Expatriate Kyiv is now in session; the Dishonorable William Bill Publowsky presiding.
A snout of a face framed by frizzy, tinsel-like hair takes the bench. A large, protruding beer gut can easily be discerned from under his judge’s robe.
Judge: Esteemed citizens of expatriate Kyiv (snort), we are here to try one of the more infamous crimes that our community has witnessed since the independence of this fair nation over two decades ago. Standing accused before you – or somewhere; actually, I didn’t notice where the little turd was sitting when I came into the courtroom (burps up digestive gas, causing the Sergeant-at-Arms to make a sour face) – is The Ferret, whose weasel-like antics need no introduction…
Defense Attorney: I object! (shouts a fire hydrant of a man in small glasses with a bald head)
It’s none other than Welsh Losser, known for his Internet legal practice in defense of defamed expatriate authors.
Defense Attorney: You’re denigrating the reputation of my client, and you’re supposed to be the judge in this trial. This goes against…
Judge: Poof! (farts loudly and then stands and begins to shake the back folds of his robe to disperse the foul-smelling gas)
The Sergeant-at-Arms squints and lowers his head, pretending to rub his nose, but is really holding it closed. Publowsky then starts beating his gavel like an infant orangutan. Losser clutches the pleats of his suit trousers and sits down smugly, repositioning his latest Internet-published novel with an airbrushed photo of himself on the jacket cover so that the television cameras can pick it up as they pan the courtroom.
Judge: I won’t have any more outbursts in this court, counselor! Now, as I was saying, The Ferret here – where is he anyway…?
The Sergeant-at-Arms, Vasily, a small but well-built old Ukrainian who looks like he could have served as a commando during World War II, and who at one time worked as a night watchman for Ukraine’s leading English-language newspaper, walks purposely toward Losser, leans down and pulls a pale, toad-like figure dressed in puppet pants and a black jacket from under an empty chair next to Losser’s, and then seats him on it. It’s The Ferret.
Defendant: I was just checking my email, heh, heh…
Judge: (eyes bulging out) Thank you Sergeant-at-Arms. Now listen here, Ferret: you stay put on that chair or I’ll have you tarred and feathered.
Defense Attorney: Now, see here, Your Dishonor…
Judge: Sergeant-at-Arms!
Losser sits down, this time more quickly, seeing the Sergeant-at-Arms reach for his billy club.
Prosecutor: Your Dishonor, may I?
Judge: (scratching his head) Okay, go ahead, but make it fast, because we have pub lunch in 40 minutes.
Prosecutor: The Ferret stands accused of killing the reputation and livelihood of one Saint Stephan, a long-time member of Kyiv’s expatriate community, a journalist and writer of Diasporan stock.
The prosecution will show during the course of this trial that leading up to the Christmas holidays of 2007, The Ferret hatched and carried out a plot in conspiracy with certain other members of the editorial staff of this city’s leading English-language newspaper to have Stephan summarily fired from his position as chief editor of the said newspaper, with no recourse to appeal and limited financial compensation…
Defense Attorney: (looking indignant) He got a month’s salary, which is more than my earnings from a career of Internet publication…
Judge: (belches obnoxiously) Shut up!
Prosecutor: It will be shown that The Ferret, ultimately for personal financial gain, weaved an intricate and highly secret web within the paper that played on the egos and envious natures of his fellow expatriates and coworkers, who acted as agents of his weasel-like manipulation.
Defense Attorney: I object, Your Dishonor. The identities of these so-called coconspirators have yet to be released to the defense.
Judge: (looking suddenly thoughtful) Where did you go to law school, Losser?
Defense Attorney: Uh, er, I attended courses at Washington… in addition, of course, to my significant experience as an executive at Boss Lard’s PR agency.
Judge: So we have a law school dropout defending a pre-med moron. I’ve seen it all now. Now sit tight fireplug, and maybe you might learn something.
Because whether you know it or not, and I suspect that you don’t, I worked several years as a librarian for Magistrates and Partners law firm in Kyiv, and picked up a few tricks myself – not to mention this job as a judge (belches louder than ever, leading Losser to wince).
The Ferret is no mystery to me – not for one minute. I’ve suffered at his hands (or probably better to say paws), too.
Yes, I too did a stint at that leading English-language newspaper, where that sawed-off son of a bitch plied his trade.
I had made it clear that I needed time to adjust to the rigors of journalistic practice, that it was perfectly normal for a man to take occasional breaks which could include some frothy alcoholic delight, and lucky for me there was an establishment below the editorial office that served such refreshments…
Some loser in the back: The Grungy Grapefruit! Ha, ha, ha…
Judge: Yes, I believe that was it. Anyway, The Ferret took offense at this harmless behavior, and almost immediately began plotting my demise. As at the time, my finances had limited liquidity and I was between apartments…
Prosecutor: Psst… Maybe we had better get on with prosecuting The Ferret … Remember the pub lunch?
Judge: What have ye to say for yourself, Ferret? (belches again)
Defendant: I had nothing to do with anything, heh, heh. I don’t know what any of this is about getting people fired. I’m a Ukrainian Nationalist…
Loser in back: (who is almost certainly from the Ukrainian Diaspora) String the lying piece of shit up!
Judge: Keep to the point, Ferret.
Defendant: Heh, heh, I didn’t fire him, I liked him, heh, heh. I was just a consultant…
Prosecutor: May I call the first witness, Your Dishonor?
Judge: Belches in assent – then makes a face as if he’s disgusted by the smell of his own mouth fart.
Prosecutor: The people of expat Kyiv call Zippy Zamazda to take the stand.
A slouch-shouldered “man” with wide hips and an arrogant glare walks forward and raises his right hand.
Prosecutor: Do you swear to tell the truth, all of it and no bullshit, or risk taking an ass kicking after the trial?
Zamazda: (looking scared) I do.
TO BE CONTINUED
Filed February 11, 2013, Author Uncertain