 |
back to main page
The Hearing of Rufus Ridiculous
by John J. McNally
"Your
Honor, we are here today to determine the mental competency of the defendant,
Mr. Ridiculous. My client, William Smith, is his brother, and seeks to
get legal control of Mr. Ridiculous' affairs."
The judge glanced over to the defendant sitting, without counsel, on the
defendant's bench. The man certainly looked his name. He wore a pastel
blue shirt with an oversized red bow tie, and a bright yellow blazer.
Judge Harold Bartholomew frowned; he was not going to set off this loose
cannon in his court without someone to leash him, or lash him down if
necessary.
"Mr.
Ridiculous, please rise." The judge was tired from too much whiskey
the night before, and that blazer wasn't helping his hangover.
"Call
me Rufus, Your Honor." The man stood, revealing pants that matched
his shirt exactly, and a belt that matched his tie.
"Sir,"
the judge patted himself for sidestepping the issue. "Where is your
counsel?"
"At
home, Your Honor. They don't like to travel much, especially in the rain."
The
judge tried not to grab his head. Fortunately he would be able to get
this over with quickly.
"Just
exactly who is your counsel, sir?"
"Why,
Mr. Feebles, of course. Prescott C. Feebles - the finest feline felony
you ever met! Here's a picture."
This
drew a chuckle from the room, including the judge, though he tried not
to show it, therefore further encouraging the man.
"This
case will be held over until county psychologists can assess Mr. Ridiculous,
until such time he will be placed into a state facility for observation.
Is this acceptable to you, counsel? The judge looked directly at Mr. Sirrus,
the counsel for Mr. Smith.
"Yes,
Your Honor."
"Excuse
me, Your Honor, but you forgot to ask me." Mr. Ridiculous had maintained
a simplistic grin on his face throughout the proceedings, it didn't waver
now.
"Mr.
Ridiculous, it is my opinion that you are not currently competent to defend
yourself. I am putting it into the record that you are to be represented
with a public defender next time you appear in this court room."
"Well,
I certainly respect your opinion, after all, you're a very snappy dresser,
but I have not yet ascertained what my place is here, and I'm not sure
that you can make that decision for me. How do I know that this will not
interfere with my work?"
"Will
counsel please approach the bench." The thought that this man even
held some sort of job seemed unlikely to the judge, however there were
always programs.
"Is
Mr. Ridiculous employed?"
"We
don't know, Your Honor. Because of a prior restraining order, my client
is not allowed on the defendant's premises. Because of the defendant's
obvious mental imbalance, we are in the process of having that order removed."
The
judge sighed deeply; this was getting worse and worse. "Counsel,
I'm finding myself getting more than a little confused here. I would like
to see a copy of that restraining order, please."
Mr.
Sirrus went to his desk and pulled some papers out of his briefcase, and
brought them to the bench.
The
judge glanced quickly at the papers before him, it seemed that Mr.
Ridiculous
had filed a report with the police for an assault by his brother several
years ago. Since that was a different branch of the courts, however, it
didn't prevent Mr. Smith from taking legal action now, nor could the defendant
use it as part of his defense.
Judge
Bartholomew decided to bite the bullet and call Mr. Ridiculous forward.
"Now sir, I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"Yes,
Your Honor." Mr. Ridiculous beamed.
"You
mentioned that you are employed. Who do you work for?"
"Oh,
lots of people. I don't know them all by name. Lots of kids too, I love
kids. They're the only ones who make sense."
Stifling
an inward groan, the judge plowed on. "Do you get paid for this work?"
"Of
course! Sometimes I get hugs and kisses too, that's the best part!"
"Mr.
Ridiculous," the judge winced inwardly as he said the name. The remains
of his hangover dug in deep, causing pain to shoot through his temples.
"Is there anyone who helps you with your money, someone who manages
it for you?"
"Oh
yes, Your Honor, that would be Mr. Piddleman, he's real good with money."
"Excuse
me, Your Honor." Mr. Smith stood up. "For the record sir, Mr.
Piddleman is the name of Robert's teddy bear."
Unfazed
by the interruption, Mr. Ridiculous turned to his brother like a correcting
parent. "It's Rufus, dear. I had it legally changed - remember?"
"Order!"
the judge rapped his gavel once. "Mr. Ridiculous, I'm sorry for any
inconvenience that this may cause you, but I'm holding to my original
assessment. Furthermore, since there is obviously a history of disagreement
between you and your brother, after you have been examined we will hold
a formal hearing. Adjourned!"
The
bailiff came to lead Mr. Ridiculous away. "This wasn't in the script,"
said Mr. Ridiculous, he looked down at his shirt as he was led away. "Oh,
I see! Sure I can do that! But will you help me with the tough ones?"
The
bailiff just shook his head in wonderment. Despite the outlandish clothes
and strange behavior, he rather liked this guy, so he decided to be easy
when he cuffed him.
* * *
"Hello
Rufus. I'd like to ask you a few questions. " The man was Dr. Ettas,
a clinical psychologist.
"Sure,
Doc! They have some really great stuff here, but the food is awful! Why
won't they let me cook my own food?"
Dr.
Ettas smiled, "Well they can't risk any of the patients getting hurt
in the kitchen. Now Rufus, do you know what year this is?"
"By
which calendar?" asked Rufus. "I can give it to you in western,
Hebrew, Egyptian, or Incan."
"Um,
western would be fine." Dr. Ettas wondered if Rufus was a pathological
liar, or an idiot savant.
"The
year is 1998, the date is March 30th, and the time according to your watch
is 11:35, which I'll assume is based on Eastern Standard Time. If I was
home I could give you the local mean time as well."
Dr.
Ettas studied Rufus' smiling face and made a note on his pad. He was betting
on some kind of savant at this point.
"Rufus,
do you know how to read?" Dr. Ettas was fairly sure that Rufus did
read at some level, but this was a standard competency question.
"Yes
sir, in six languages, including Latin and Tolkien's Elvish script."
"Oh
really? And how did you learn that?"
"The
elves taught me, of course. Tolkien misinterpreted a lot of it, but the
basics were there to get started. The elves taught me the rest themselves."
"So
you don't believe that Tolkien's works were fiction?"
"To
be more precise, Doc, there's no such thing as fiction. Everything is
real."
"Hmm,"
the doctor marked his pad again. "Do you realize that most people
don't believe the same way as you?"
"I'd
think that was obvious!" Rufus almost sounded indignant. "Look
at the sad colorless way in which everyone dresses. There is no joy among
them. Where is your joy, Doc? Your clothes are as gray as your hair. Like
some battleship that learned to walk on land. Be honest - I'm the funniest
thing that's happened to you all day."
"Why
do you think everyone is less happy than you - simply by the way they
choose to dress?" Dr. Ettas was beginning to have a new respect for
this man. Perhaps he was not so insane as eccentric.
"It's
not just the clothes, though it's an obvious place to begin. Your desk
for example. On it is a picture of your wife and family. The picture is
old, stale. You haven't replaced it because they've become stale in your
head. The paper cup of coffee next to them is mostly full. You buy it
out of habit, fearing that you'll want it when it's not around, so it
sits and grows stale. Then there's the dust on your window sill and the
faded look of these cushions. You're a nice guy, Doc, but I gotta tell
ya, you've gone stale. If I had my clothes I'd give you my belt, it would
liven you up a lot."
"Well,
those are interesting observations, but we are here to talk about you."
Avoidance was a typical patient tactic. Dr. Ettas was no longer impressed.
"Why do you think you are here today?"
"Well,
it wasn't for the lunch, that's for sure! Actually I'm here to talk to
you, to let you know that things don't have to be stale just because time
passes. Buy new clothes."
"Uh
huh. Now, do you remember telling the judge about your cat?"
"Oh
yes, I don't think he liked me very much."
"I'm
sure the judge liked you just fine. I think he's just concerned for your
safety - we all are. Now, you told the judge that your lawyer was also
your cat, do you remember that?"
"Of
course. He's Mr. Feebles, I'd show you his picture but it's with my clothes.
How come these pajamas don't have any pockets, they're not very useful
without them."
"Now,
how can Mr. Feebles be both your cat and your lawyer?"
"Practice,
lots of practice, and an occasional can of tuna fish!" Mr. Ridiculous
chortled.
"Rufus,
it's impossible for a cat to be a lawyer, he's an animal."
"My,
your world is narrow! Of course he's an animal, with the exception of
your plant over there, we're all animals."
"But
he's got to be human to be a lawyer, don't you think so."
"You'd
think so wouldn't you," smiled Rufus. "I don't question how
he does it, after all he's a very good lawyer."
* * *
"Good
morning Mr. Ridiculous, my name is Mr. Danneum and I'll be representing
you in court. Do you know what that means?" Mark Danneum studied
his client with the same degree of disinterest that had ruled his professional
life for the last ten years.
"But
Mr. Feebles is my lawyer." explained Rufus.
Fortunately,
the psychologist had noted this in his report so Mark was ready for it..
"Yes, but he's not here, and the hearing is tomorrow. I'm here to
represent your best interests, to make sure we figure out what is best
for you, okay?"
"Sure,
but what's in it for you?" Rufus smiled at Mark like they were old
friends.
"This
is my job. I get paid to help people like you."
"Hmm,
then it stands to reason that you don't work very much, since there's
no one else like me. Good choice for a job man!"
Mark
couldn't tell if this man was kidding him or not. He smiled blandly and
continued on. "Is there someone else, besides your brother that is,
someone whom you would like to have take care of you?"
"I
don't need to be taken care of sir, as it is I'm carrying an awful burden
for the lot of you, just by agreeing to be here."
"That
may be so Mr. Ridiculous, but the psychologist's report says that you
are delusional; quite frankly I don't see anyway in which we can argue
against that."
"Mr.
Feebles will know. He's a great lawyer."
"Is
there anyway you can contact him?" Mark Danneum was rapidly losing
his patience. He wondered why he should even care about keeping this man
out of his brother's hands. Perhaps it was the feel of that man that Mark
didn't like. There was more going on there than the concerned brother
facade.
"Oh,
he knows I'm here, but he hates the rain, so he hasn't come for me yet.
He'll be here tomorrow."
"Well
if he does show up, I'll gladly turn over the defense to him." sighed
Mark.
"Until
then I'll try and track down any other family members, maybe there's someone
else who can help take care of you. Otherwise, I strongly advise that
we plead "no contest" and allow the court to give only restricted
privileges to your brother."
"That
will not be acceptable. Besides what fun would that be? You've got to
be having fun, Mr. Danneum. It's the only true motivating force in the
universe."
* * *
The next morning was the hearing - it was 9:00 a.m. and the sun was beaming
in through the windows of the counsel chambers. In an effort to make his
client presentable, Mark Danneum had brought an old gray sport jacket,
and a paisley tie for him to wear. Mr. Ridiculous, of course, flatly refused.
He would wear his clothes only. In the middle of the debate, a roundish
man in his forties walked into the room, smiling. The man wore a brown
suit, completely out of fashion and totally inappropriate for the courtroom.
To make matters worse, he wore the tiniest of red bow ties, making him
look almost as silly as Mr. Ridiculous.
"Mr.
Feebles at last!" Rufus jumped up and hugged the man. "This
has been fun but I miss our morning breakfasts with Mr. Piddleman."
"I
know Rufus, that's why he is here too. He'll be up in a second. Mr. Feebles
voice was smooth and coolly professional.
"You're
the famous Mr. Feebles that Mr. Ridiculous has spoken so highly of. I
hesitate to ask this sir, but are you really a lawyer?" Mark Daneum
had seen some interesting characters in the law profession. But all had
been carefully tailored to win juries. But this wasn't a jury trial, it
was a hearing. And Judge Bartholomew wasn't known for his good humor.
Mr.
Feebles laughed, a deep throaty kind of laugh. "Would you like to
see my diploma sir? Columbia University Class of 1977. He shook Mark's
hand with vigor. At that moment, a very large figure filled the doorway.
"Ahh,
Piddleman, so good of you to join us." Mr. Feebles said.
Rufus
jumped up and hugged the man while Mark studied him. He was at least six
foot four, and probably weighed around 300 pounds. He wore tiny horn rimmed
glasses, blue jeans, a bright green polo shirt, and a pastel blue vest.
Mark could only assume that they shopped in the same stores.
"Well,
I guess you won't be needing me anymore. I'll just be on my way,"
said Mark as he reached for his briefcase.
"No!
No sir, please!" said Rufus urgently. "You're the whole reason
we're here!"
"I'm
afraid that I don't understand."
"That's
part of your problem, sir, you are afraid not to understand! When you
look at life closely, nothing ever makes any sense. Remember that."
Rufus managed to somehow sound joyful and serious at the same time.
"Gentlemen,
I believe we are due in court," advised Mr. Feebles.
As
the group entered the courtroom, they drew stares and chuckles from the
onlookers. This was by far one of the most colorful and interesting sights
this courtroom had ever seen. By far though, the worst reaction came from
Rufus' brother.
"You!"
he exclaimed, pointing at Mr. Feebles. "Who the hell are you that
you represent my brother, then just disappear into the night! What sort
of sick agenda do you have going - " His words were cut off by Mr.
Sirrus' hand literally covering his mouth.
William
Smith glared across the room at the spectacle that was his brother, and
his companions. His brother had always been somewhat quirky, but untill
3 years ago, William had always been able to cover for him.
Three
years ago, Robert Smith legally changed his name to Rufus Ridiculous,
and summarily quit the respectable corporate job which William had provided
for him. Rufus had also been seen talking to himself quite frequently,
frankly he had become a personal and professional embarrasment to the
family.
William
had approached his brother at home, informing him that his behavior was
unacceptable and would not be tolerated. In some childish act of defiance,
Rufus had arranged some sort of trick, one that infuriated Will beyond
the point of reason. Rufus had some how managed to put a recording of
their dead father's voice inside his stuffed teddy bear. William slashed
open the bear, and accidently cut Rufus' hand in the process. Then within
seconds, that strange fat man in the brown suit had appeared, bringing
two police officers with him.
Judge
Bartholomew had made a promise to himself not to drink the night before
this hearing, then he broke it and drank twice as much to punish himself.
Before he stepped out of his chambers, he downed four aspirin. He heard
the commotion outside and silently vowed to throw whoever was responsible
in jail for contempt. Fortunately for Mr. Smith, things were settled as
the judge stepped outside.
As
they rose before the judge, he looked at the cartoonish group in the defendant's
box. The public defender looked as if he were trying to crawl away and
hide. "Will counsel please approach the bench," he said grimly.
His eyes began to water as Mr. Feebles walked up next to Mr. Daneum.
"Mr.
Sirrus, I recognize. Who may I ask are you two gentlemen."
"Mark
Danneum PD, Your Honor, we've met once before."
"Prescott
C. Feebles, Your Honor, attorney for Mr. Ridiculous."
"I
thought you were a cat." The judge glanced toward Mr. Ridiculous,
wondering if this whole thing were some elaborate April Fool's joke.
Mr. Feebles just smiled, "You would be surprised how often I hear
that."
"Is
it your intention, sir, to work with the public defender?" Judge
Bartholomew wanted to make it clear that the taxpayers weren't picking
up the tab for this one.
"Yes,
sir. We consider Mr. Danneum's presence invaluable."
"Then
are you prepared to cover the cost of his fee? The state will not pay
for his presence here."
"We
are prepared to assume full responsibility, Your Honor."
The judge agreed, wondering what the hell he would be getting into.
"Mr.
Sirrus, are you ready?"
"Yes,
Your Honor." Mr. Sirrus was dressed in a slate gray suit, his sky
blue tie just peaking through the vest. His thinning hair was also gray,
with small streaks of color running through it like forgotten children.
On some men this would have looked distinguished, but on Mr. Sirrus it
just looked sad.
"Your
Honor. My client, Mr. William Smith, is the brother of the defendant.
It is his belief, which has now been corroborated by the state appointed
psychiatrist, that Mr. Rufus Ridiculous, formerly known as Robert Smith,
is not mentally competent to handle his own affairs."
"Mr.
Feebles, how does your client respond to this charge?"
"Your
Honor, my client maintains that these allegations are totally false. His
brother is interested solely in taking control of my client's rather substantial
estate."
"That's
a lie, Your Honor!" Mr. Smith jumped up from his seat. "He's
barely got a pot to piss in! I don't even know how he's making ends meet!"
"Order!"
Judge Bartholomew slammed his gavel, then immediately regretted it.
"The
next outburst will result in a night in jail, is that clear, sir?"
"Yes,
Your Honor. I'm sorry." Mr. Smith sat down again, looking very meek.
"Your
Honor," said Mr. Sirrus. "I would like to call Mr. Ridiculous
to the stand."
Mr. Ridiculous bounded to his feet and practically ran to the witness
box. It was only then that Judge Bartholomew noticed that his shoes were
red too.
"Mr.
Ridiculous, how are you feeling this morning?" asked Mr. Sirrus.
"I'm
feeling great. My two best friends are with me, the earth is revolving
steadily, and you almost, not quite, but almost, have changed your plans
to give up on life."
"Your
Honor, may I request that the last remark be stricken from the record?"
Mr. Sirrus looked as if someone had stepped on his foot.
"Agreed.
Clerk, pleased delete Mr. Ridiculous' last remark from the record."
"Thank
you, Your Honor. Now, to continue: Do you know why your are here today
sir?"
"Depending
on the perspective, there are many reasons why I am here, would you like
the answer from the scientific perspective, beginning from the big bang?"
In
other circumstances, Mr Sirrus would have been more than happy to let
Mr. Ridiculous rant, fully damning himself in the process; however, Judge
Bartholemew wasn't known for his paitence.
"Perhaps
I should re-phrase the question. Mr. Ridiculous, can you explain to me
the purpose of this hearing?" This question showed concern for Mr.
Ridiculous' mental well being, while remaining completely harmless if
answered correctly.
"Oh
sure! That's easy." Mr. Ridiculous smiled to everyone in the room.
"The purpose of this hearing is an attempt of my brother William
to gain control over my life."
"You
do understand that your brother is only concerned for your well being?"
"No
sir, I do not. My brother no longer feels love, he hasn't for a long time.
He never recovered from the shock of our father's death many years ago.
He felt betrayed, angered, and he's made a concerted effort to tighten
his grip on everything he holds dear since then. You can't love someone
by strangling them dear brother, or attacking them with a knife."
Mr.
Sirrus looked quickly to his client to see that he didn't lose his cool.
"Your Honor, I move that everything after the words 'no sir I do
not.' be stricken from the record."
"Motion
denied." The judge's red rimmed eyes stared down at Mr. Sirrus. "The
defendant is allowed to express his opinion of his brother's motivations,
however the last sentence in which he addressed his brother directly,
will be stricken."
"Yes
your honor." Mr. Sirrus was blown back a bit by the judges rebuke.
However, he still had sufficent power to strike.
"Mr.
Ridiculous, when you were here last time, you claimed that your lawyer
was a cat. Do you recall this?"
"Yes,
sir. And I maintain that he is indeed a cat. Not your ordinary cat, I'll
agree, but a cat nonetheless." Mr. Ridiculous looked across the room,
his smile easily deflected his brother's acid gaze.
"Tell
me, Mr. Ridiculous, when you look at Mr. Feebles sitting across the room,
does he look like a cat?"
"No,
but that's the best part! Unless you're really observant, you'd never
know!" He laughed.
"I
see," said Mr. Sirrus satisfied that he made his point. "What
kind of work do you do, Mr. Ridiculous?
"It
depends on the circumstances. Today I'm working as a defendant, tomorrow
I might be entertaining children. There's really no reason to anything,
it's just the way we misinterpret the events of our lives." Mr. Ridiculous
smiled at the judge.
"But
you don't actually get paid for this work, do you, Mr. Ridiculous?"
"I
will accept pay as it comes to me, but it is not my motivation. I go where
I can do the most good, and have the most fun. That's my quest!"
"So
then, sir, how do you pay your bills?" Mr. Sirrus asked. Behind him,
Mr. Smith smirked.
"I
let Mr. Piddleman handle that. He's much better at that kind of thing."
"Mr.
Ridiculous, isn't it true that Mr. Piddleman is a teddy bear?" This
drew a chuckle from the spectators in the aisles.
"Yes,
sir, he is."
"Yet
you maintain that Mr. Piddleman is in charge of all your financial affairs."
"Yes,
sir."
"Your
Honor, we rest our case."
The
judge looked at the three smiling men, still wondering if there was some
April Fool's surprise waiting in the wings. "Mr. Feebles, do you
wish to question your client?"
"Yes,
Your Honor." He glided smoothly across the floor, his brown shoes
making almost no noise on the cold gray tiles. "Rufus, is Mr. Piddleman
in this room?"
"Of
course, he's right there." Rufus pointed out Mr. Piddleman, who was
waiting patiently.
Mr.
Smith and Mr.Sirrus were speaking in hushed whispers. Finally Mr. Sirrus
stood. "We object, Your Honor. We suspect duplicity on the part of
the defense."
Mr. Smith glared at Mr. Feebles. Where had his brother found this lunatic?
And how had he managed to outmaneuver his lawyers, his very expensive
Harvard graduate lawyers.
"Mr.
Feebles, please approach the bench." the judge looked down at him
through bushy eyebrows. "Are you prepared to have this Mr. Piddleman
testify?"
"Yes,
Your Honor. I will do so now if you like. However, I would like to reserve
the right to recall Rufus to the stand."
"Mr.
Sirrus, do you have any objection?"
"No,
Your Honor." Mr. Sirrus looked extremely happy. If he could prove
this Piddleman to be a fraud, both he and Feebles would be charged for
perjury, and Feebles would be permanently disbarred. What a victory!
Rufus stepped down and Mr. Piddleman stepped up to the box. It looked
like a child's high chair in comparison to his great bulk, but he seemed
comfortable enough.
"Mr.
Piddleman, it seems there is some question as to your credentials. Do
you have any identification to show the court?" Mr. Feebles smiled
warmly toward his old friend. Behind him, Mr. Sirrus was smiling too.
With one master stroke he would win this case for his client.
"Of
course." answered Mr. Piddleman. "Here is my driver's license,
a Visa card, and my library card. If further proof is required, I could
have someone fax me a copy of my passport."
"That
will be fine," said Judge Bartholomew. "I suppose that Mr. Sirrus
will want a recess while we verify the authenticity of these documents."
"Uh,
yes, that's correct, Your Honor." Mr. Sirrus' face clouded over.
The judge had quite obviously stolen his thunder.
"This
court will recess for lunch and resume again at 2:00 p.m." Judge
Bartholomew remembered to bang the gavel softly this time, and also remembered
the fifth of scotch that was waiting by his lunch.
As
the two parties filed out of the courtroom, Mr. Smith, who had chosen
to wear a nearly black suit because it made him look thinner and more
distinguished, snarled at Mr. Feebles. "We've got you this time,
you smug bastard! Mr. Piddleman is the name of my brother's teddy bear
from when we were kids. I don't know who this guy is, but he's going down
with you."
Mr.
Feebles just smiled. He was much too wise to respond to his opponent's
consternation. Mr. Sirrus was trying vainly to guide Mr. Smith in the
other direction.
"Well,
since we're out in the city today, my friends, I suggest we have lunch
at McDonalds," said Rufus. Mr. Feebles and Mr. Piddleman both agreed
heartily.
"Well guys, I'm afraid I'll have to skip. I have to watch what I
eat." Mark found himself regretting not having lunch with these three
men, but keeping to a proper diet was important to him.
"It
always comes back to fear with you, doesn't it, Mark?" Rufus looked
at him kindly. "Would it help if I promised that nothing bad will
happen if you eat in McDonalds today? Otherwise we could go wherever you
want."
Mark was truly flustered. He was afraid, but of what? It's not like going
off his diet once in a while was a problem, not even for the worst of
all possible evils, fast food. He was actually two pounds under optimal
weight when he woke up this morning, so he supposed he could risk it.
"Um,
no, that's okay, Rufus. McDonalds will be fine." Mark consoled himself
as they walked that McDonalds did serve salads, but he knew he wouldn't
order one.
After
a brief debate with the counter person over why Happy Meals weren't made
for adults as well, with the wise advice that every meal should be encouraged
to be as happy as possible, the four men settled into a booth and began
eating.
"So
what's the deal with you and your brother anyway? Why is he so determined
to get control of your affairs?" Mark asked while biting into his
Quarter Pounder.
Rufus, who had a face full of Big Mac, just kind of waved it off.. Mr.
Piddleman looked over at Mark.
"The
man is nuts, a total control freak. He stabbed me in a fit of anger many
years ago, I still have the scar."
"Geez.
I guess there's no accounting for genetics," said Mark, though in
the back of his mind he worried that there was, and that Rufus might some
how be capable of violence himself.
"So
tell me about your family, Mark. I noticed a picture of your wife on the
desk." Rufus managed to ask this while acting out a mock duel with
two french fries.
"Oh
yeah, Carol, she's the greatest, she loves me so much."
"Ahh,
but do you love her?"
"Of
course I love her!" Mark didn't like the direction this conversation
was going. He was used to keeping the spotlight on his clients.
"But,
do you love her as much as she loves you?" Rufus had finished playing
with his french fries, and was now folding a paper napkin.
"Uh,
yeah. I guess." Mark faltered. He tried to recall the techniques
he had learned for controlling conversations, but he went blank. Thank
god this wasn't in court, he thought.
"Poodle
turds!" exclaimed Rufus, which even made Mr. Feebles and Mr. Piddleman
look up. "You love her, you love her dearly and you know it. But
you won't let yourself love her with the same sort of abandon that she
gives you. It's that fear thing again. You're afraid to really commit
because you feel like you've got the edge here. You, sir, are safe. You
can see how much she loves you, and you love her back just enough to keep
her happy, but always hold back just a little, just so you can be sure
you're in control."
"It's
the same reason you two stopped seeing your friends," he continued
"You've
got this fear inside you that says that if you are alone with another
woman, you might get tempted into having sex with her. Well, I've got
a message for you, Marky, straight from the big Cahuna in the sky, and
yes, I do mean Jim Henson! The truth is that you love your wife too much
to ever cheat on her, so let go of your fears and live a little!"
Rufus
didn't even look at Mark, he had finished making paper airplanes out of
the napkin and looked down at his shirt pocket. "How'd I do?"
he asked.
"Dad
says that I did good, message delivered, we can go now." Rufus smiled
at a very dazed looking Mark.
"Um,
how do you know all of this?" Mark knew he'd probably regret this
question.
"It's
in your bearing, Marky, your handshake, your eyes when you talk to people.
If you want to experience the magic of life, you have to let go of those
barricades that surround you. And you do want to see the magic don't you?"
Mark felt as if he was being sold something, part of him wanted to squirm
away.
"There
is no magic, Rufus. I gave up in believing in magic a long time ago."
."Fortunately for you, the magic never stopped believing in you.
Open your eyes today and look around you, you'll be astonished at what
you see."
"It's
time for us to go back," Mr. Feebles announced.
* * *
Once back in the courtroom it was quickly established that Mr. Piddleman
was who he claimed to be. The judge had the accusation of duplicity stricken
from the record, and the proceeding continued.
"Mr.
Piddleman. May I ask how you are associated with Mr. Ridiculous?"
"Aside
from being long time friends, I serve as Mr. Ridiculous' accountant and
financial manager."
"So
you have in-depth knowledge of Mr. Ridiculous' finances?" Mr. Feebles
stepped lightly toward the prosecution, catching Mr. Smith's hateful gaze.
"Yes,
sir. Mr. Ridiculous always consults me before any major purchase. I also
pay the bills, and manage his bank accounts."
"It
was stated earlier that Mr. Ridiculous 'barely has a pot to piss in.'
Would you say that this is an accurate summation of his financial condition?"
"No,
sir, it is not. While it is true that Mr. Ridiculous does not own any
chamber pots that I am aware of, he has suitable funds to buy such an
item if he wished."
This drew a laugh from the courtroom. Judge Bartholomew glared at the
large figure sitting on the witness box. "Sir, please refrain from
snide remarks, and jokes while in my court."
"Yes,
Your Honor." Mr. Piddleman seemed genuinely confused by the judge's
admonishing.
"Can
you tell me roughly, how much Mr. Ridiculous has in his account right
now?" Mr. Feebles looked a little nervous at the judge's ire.
"Approximately
ten million dollars in cash and equities. The entirety of the estate would
take me longer to calculate."
This
bit of information even caused the judge to gasp. He called for order,
and looked once again at the figure of Mr. Piddleman.
"Can
you provide proof of this fortune, sir?"
"Yes,
Your Honor. I brought the latest series of account statements with me.
They're in my briefcase on the desk."
"Bailiff,
please bring Mr. Piddleman his briefcase."
After
producing the documents, the judge studied them, then motioned for Mr.
Sirrus to approach the bench.
"Sir,
was your client aware of his brother's financial condition?"
"No,
Your Honor, he was not. As I stated earlier, my client has had no direct
contact with his brother because of the restraining order."
Mr.
Piddleman looked as if he was going to say something, but Mr. Feebles
hushed him quickly.
"I
have no further questions for Mr. Piddleman, Your Honor, would my esteemed
colleague care to question him?"
"Yes,
thank you." Mr. Sirrus straightened his tie as he rose, somehow managing
to let less blue show through.
"Sir,
might I ask you how Mr. Ridiculous came to earn this rather considerable
bit of money?" Mr. Sirrus was hoping to find some weakness which
would still win this case for his client.
"A
large portion of the money came from the state, after Mr. Ridiculous won
the lottery several years ago."
Victory!
thought Mr. Sirrus, a crackpot like Mr. Ridiculous no doubt spent the
stuff freely. Proof of incompetent money handling would win this case
for sure.
"How much money did Mr. Ridiculous originally win?"
"Twenty
million dollars," answered Mr. Piddleman. Mr. Sirrus bit his tongue
to avoid showing any outward emotion.
"However,
after the initial taxes, he was left with a little under nine million."
The disappointment was obvious on Mr. Sirrus face. "No further questions,
Your Honor."
"Mr.
Piddleman you may step down from the bench."
"Your
Honor," said Mr. Feebles rising, " I would like to recall Mr.
Ridiculous to the stand."
"I'm
not sure that is necessary, Mr. Feebles. I'm tempted to dismiss this case
right now." It was obvious to the judge that this man wasn't suffering,
besides he still had half a bottle of scotch left.
A
panicked look from Mr. Smith brought action from Mr. Sirrus. "Objection
your honor. We have written testimony here that Mr. Ridiculous is delusional,
and cannot distinguish fantasy from reality. We have seen nothing from
the defense to refute that."
"Your
Honor," said Mr. Feebles calmly. "If my client returns to the
stand, I'm sure we can satisfy the court to his sanity."
"By
all means, continue," agreed the judge.
"Watch
this!" whispered Rufus to Mark, as he rolled forward tumbling over
the desk to his feet.
What
Mark was watching though was something completely different. Standing
on the floor where Mr. Feebles had been only moments ago, was a black
and brown cat. Mark turned his head to talk to Mr. Piddleman. "Did
you-!" But stopped cold when he saw an overstuffed three-foot teddy
bear sitting in the chair.
Mark
looked toward Judge Bartholomew, who looked as dour as ever, then over
toward the witness box. Rufus had just settled in, and to his relief,
Mr. Feebles was there again, about to begin his questions.
"Now
Rufus, I would like you to tell us why you decided to change your name
from Robert Smith several years ago. After all, Robert Smith is a perfectly
normal name."
"Yes,
sir, it is, and that was exactly the problem with it, because there is
no one in this society that is perfectly normal. Yet it's something so
many strive so hard for. We smash and squish our heart's desires into
uncomfortably acceptable metal boxes, rather than following them in their
noble intent. I realized quite sometime ago that outside of strictly biological
terms, life is quite ridiculous, with mine perhaps being the least ridiculous
of all."
"You
claim that you are the least ridiculous, yet you appear in these outlandish
clothes, and have been seen talking to your shirt pocket on occasion."
"I
am the least ridiculous, because I accept my own ridiculousness whole
heartedly. Our clothes reflect the colors of our hearts. And as you well
know, and my brother as well, I do not speak to my shirt pocket, but indeed
the ghost of my father, who resides inside that pocket."
"Mr.
Ridiculous, please address your comments to the court only," the
judge just shook his head.
"Your
witness counselor," Mr. Feebles glided back to his chair. Looking
at Mark's face he whispered, "You saw, didn't you?"
Mr.
Sirrus couldn't believe his good fortune. He would be able to snatch this
case back from the jaws of defeat, and it had been handed right to him
by that absurd little man.
"Mr.
Ridiculous, you claim that you can speak to the dead?"
"No,
Mr. Sirrus, I never made that claim." Rufus looked genuinely puzzled.
Deep
inside, Mr. Sirrus could feel the pressure building, as one jolt of lightning
would strike the fatal blow.
"May
I remind you, Mr. Ridiculous, you just said under oath that you speak
to the ghost of your dead father."
"No
sir, I'm afraid you misunderstood my meaning." Rufus spoke to Mr.
Sirrus like a patient kindergarten teacher. "In order for me to speak
to the dead, I would have to be able to communicate with the dead body
that once contained my father. I speak to his ghost which is quite alive."
"And
living in your pocket." Mr. Sirrus made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.
"Yes
sir, though I hear by your tone of voice that you are unwilling to entertain
such a prospect. A pity, for someone as lonely as you should be open to
new friends."
"And
sir, do you still insist that Mr. Feebles," he paused to gesture
toward Mr. Feebles, "and your accountant, Mr. Piddleman," which
he followed once more with a gesture, "are a cat and a toy bear."
"A
teddy bear to be precise, sir." Rufus corrected.
"But
you do make this claim, that these two gentlemen are indeed your cat and
teddy bear. You do not have a cat and teddy bear waiting at home who merely
share the same names as these gentlemen."
"Oh
no, if I had another cat and teddy bear at home, I'd have to buy more
furniture. Mr. Feebles is indeed a cat, though I'll admit he's a very
talented cat, and Mr. Piddleman is a teddy bear."
"How
can you claim this when I see two human beings sitting there?" The
lightning had struck home. Mr. Sirrus was doing his victory dance now.
"It
is your rather narrow view which presents the image of two human beings.
In accepting the truths of life that there are no reasons, no logic, and
above all no overriding mutual perception to our reality, I began to see
things more clearly. You might start by removing your glasses, sir, they
narrow your focus horribly."
"Enough!"
said the judge, rapping his gavel for attention. "I have seen enough
here to indicate that Mr. Ridiculous has a rather unique life philosophy,
but does not appear mentally impaired in any way. Case dismissed."
His beloved scotch had been waiting far too long, he could hear it calling
from his chambers.
Mr.
Sirrus lowered his head. How could he have lost it? It was right there!
He had demonstrated that this man clearly had lost his grip on reality.
He paused only briefly to pet the cat that was rubbing against his leg,
then gathered his briefcase and apologized to his client.
Mark
Daneum found himself in the middle of several group hugs and hearty handshakes.
At one point Rufus stared directly into his eyes and just said "Ahh
good." Eventually they all filed outside.
As
they said goodbye and piled into a cab, Mark waved. He tried not to be
surprised when instead of three large figures, he saw only Rufus, with
a furry ball on his lap, and a stuffed bear sitting next to him.
He
walked over to the nearest pay phone and immediately ordered a dozen roses
for his wife. He knew that deep in his heart of hearts he loved her dearly,
and it was time he made sure that she knew it too.
© 2000,
John J. McNally. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or distribute without
the author's permission.
About the Author: John J. McNally enjoys writing from the perspective that everything is possible, and very
likely to happen. Parabolic Mirror is his metaphysical weblog and Telepathic Frog is his t-shirt shop. He runs the Mind
Altering Fiction website and is co-owner of the Conscious
Creation website and the Food Follies weblog and recipe site with his partner Kristen. Click here to contact John.
back to main page
Sponsor
|
|
 |
|
