The judge is a walrus. There are long, unintentional whiskers sprouting from his cratered chin. His skin surface is smothered with tiny pinched tags and murky crevices. The prosecutor prowls like a cornered lion. I can see his long teeth, saliva-tinged, bared at the defendant.
The defendant's arms are swinging by his sides and his lips are pursed in bewilderment. He scratches his head and looks down. He might reach out and pick fleas from the reporter's hair in a moment.
The judge's purple-veined jowls quiver as he growls his instructions to me and the other eleven wise owls. We will leave our roost and be caged elsewhere to impart our sage words to one another. There's a snowy owl at the end. His white silky mop of hair flops over his eyes as he nods off. I can spot the screech owl already. She'll want to be the foreman, I can tell. I can imagine her proclaiming the poor chimp's guilt with her great meaty arms stretched out and her talons digging in for the kill.
In this man-trap together, I put my head on one side to study the accused. I warm to his simplicity, his big, puzzled face, his sorrowful brown eyes. He didn't have the wit to commit a murder. There is no complexity here, just a primitive. Framed, he will soon languish for twenty years behind bars. Owls are predators and they are hungry for blood. Apart from that, we have been here for three weeks and some want to spread their wings and fly free.
The Walrus wants us to free the chimp, I can sense the direction in which we are being led. He is feeding us the truth in easily digestible chunks. He is throwing into our cage the lifeline for the primate opposite. The key to his freedom lies with us.
The court is restless. I look at the victim's relatives staring down at us all in our cages. They can offer nothing. They simply watch and wait. They will applaud and leap in the air if we come back with the right word. If we perform to the required standard, we will be clapped, loved.
My attention is caught by a sobbing lady in a dark coat. She weeps quietly into her sodden tissue. Throbbing with life is a ruby rose pinned to her black lapel. I think of the slain girl in a ditch. I glance at the accused. Maybe he is more of a evil fox with his red hair and cruel lips...
Then I see her mouth 'I love you' in his direction and she puts her hands together in prayer.
Copyright © 2008 Rob Richardson. All Rights Reserved.