Do swear to tell the truth
Yes and nothing but
Do promise not to lie
And don’t ask why
Don’t ask why…
“Please state your name to the court?”
“Stephan.”
“Saint Stephan? Left-bank loner, non-practicing member of the North American Ukrainian Diaspora, unemployed copy editor, and most recently cofounder and co-creator of the Kyiv Unedited website?”
“Yes.”
“Well now…” scratches his head. “I thought you’d been murdered.”
A hullabaloo of hushed voices, rattling chairs and indignant sighs takes hold over the courtroom.
“That is to say, according to court records from early 2013, you were, while still employed as chief editor at Kyiv’s ‘Window to the World’ – the Poster – stabbed in the back and left to die a slow death, etc., etc.”
“That’s correct.”
“And very dramatic,” says the prosecutor, clearing his throat into a raised fist. “Then perhaps you would be kind enough to explain to this jury of your peers how you now sit before them, a reasonable picture of health, a living, breathing and arguably sane member of this fair city’s expatriate community… Please do tell us sir, how on earth you could now be considered ‘deceased’?”
“I can’t.”
More hubbub fills the courtroom.
“Well then perhaps I am addressing an apparition, a ghost from Christmas past – except that yesterday was only Thanksgiving. Maybe you’re a spirit, the spirit of artistic imagination, literary truth, sent to rid the world of banal prose and insidious lies. Is that it, Saint? Can we consider you a phantom trapped between two worlds – the one we’re in right now, which you so scathingly condemn in your so-called Commix…”
A man can be heard clearing his throat then violently choking in the back. He is promptly escorted to an exit by a bailiff.
“And that other world: lofty, pure… literary perfection…”
“Do you mean New Jersey?”
An uproar of raucous laughter drowns out all other sound, abating only in response to a steady cadence of vigorous gavel beating by the judge.
The prosecutor straightens his tie.
“I mean this!”
The courtroom lights are dimmed and a large screen to the left of the judge is unfurled to project various screenshots of the Kyiv Unedited website, now replete with cartoon caricatures of leading members of the city’s expatriate community. The projector is halted on a frame that depicts a demonical middle-aged man with a bald head and walleyes plowing an early model sedan through a scene of American urban decay.
“Look familiar?”
Stephan lowers his head in response, but his eyes break into a barely perceptible and gentle expression of pride on the way down.
“Let the record show that the person featured in this screenshot shows a striking and demonstrably undeniable resemblance to PR executive and Kyiv-based writer Welsh Losser.”
A subdued but fulsome sense of awe is emitted from the courtroom’s seating section.
“I will not dignify the defendant’s excuse for artistic expression, nor further offend the tastes and sensibilities of this court by reading this frame’s accompanying text. Suffice it to say that Mr. Losser, a published author and respected member of Kyiv’s business community, is time and again subjected to heartless lampooning and unmentionable character assassination throughout the materials of this dubious Internet publication.”
The prosecutor is now flicking his pointer up and down in short jerky movements no more than a few feet from Stephan’s bowed head, giving the impression to the jury and general public, first, of a man in deathly pursuit of a pesky fly, and then, gradually, of a schoolteacher turning angrily on an inattentive pupil.
The projector launches into fast forward. Images on the screen are taken up in a storm of color and light, the frames flapping like pages of a book in the wind until settling on the scene of the same baldheaded, walleyed middle-aged man bound to a table in a pair of green rubber briefs.
The prosecutor, now stoop-shouldered with a face warming to soft hues of strawberry red, nevertheless manages to swing back off his heels and thrust his pointer into action like a saber.
“And this one, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, hardly requires further clarification,” he exclaims, still half-shamefaced.
Again more oohs and awes from general seating, more hubbub, pointing of fingers and muffled commentary followed by the heavy gavel banging and a much welcomed break for lunch.
When the court reconvenes, the jury and public, visibly devitalized by their hearty midday meal and likely insufficient sleep the night before, now look with hostile indifference on the prosecutor, the proceedings and the accused alike. Even the judge has taken to picking his nose.
“Please state your profession to the court.”
“I’m a writer.”
The prosecutor’s pointer grows erect. And an indignant “huh” is launched from somewhere among the public seating.
“A writer, a reader, or a corrector of texts? Careful how you answer Stephan, or you could be held in contempt of court. Perjury is a crime in these parts…”
“Objection!”
“Sustained!? Let the defendant respond without further badgering.”
“Why don’t we let the defendant’s writing, as it were, do the talking… seeing as he’s a writer and all.”
“Prosecution may proceed.”
“I concede that you’re no stranger to the written word, Stephan. All evidence suggests a lifelong commitment to self-expression. Even tried your hand as an attorney, I see. Then there was that infamous stint in journalism – an episode in your tragic life all too well known to this court…”
“Objection, your honor!”
“Overruled. The defendant will have his chance to respond.”
“Thank you, your honor. But I have no intention of trying this man on innuendo, extemporaneous accusations or widely held perception. The facts, in fact, will speak for themselves. But I do intend to establish intent.”
The prosecutor levels the pointer at Stephan.
“You, sir, are no Welsh Losser.”
“I am not.”
“Your widowers don’t dance, and there’s no sixty minutes to wow. You couldn’t, in all fairness, get something published in kindergarten, much less Kindle, and the closest you’ve come to Amazon.com is ‘The Jungle Book’. Isn’t that RIGHT?”
Filed by Commix Writer 42M: Weekends, November 29, 2015