DURA LEX,
SED LEX
The City became accustomed to the presence of the honorable judge. No longer was anyone startled by his impeccable demeanor, complete with silk bow ties and the gold handled cane. His scowling face was now a common sight. No longer were his aloofness and indifferent tone of voice motives for gossip. Matter of fatly, the population had accepted the judge. At home, the judge’s eccentricities were apparent in his methodic existence. He considered his routine inviolable, except in the most extreme circumstances. From the time he opened his eyes in the morning until he shut them at night, he followed a sequence of steps that had become so automatic that he could accomplish each task blindfolded.
Only on weekends did he permit slight changes. Today, for example, a festive Sunday had dismantled his schedule. Though it was against his will, he had woken up to the thundering canons and started preparing for the celebration. Conscious that his office carried with it the responsibility to participate in civic events, he viewed the day’s events as dull, but inevitable duties. In fact, as soon as he cut the CSC’s inaugural ribbons and freed Champion’s birds, he hurried home as if a more important engagement were awaiting him there.
At noon, his lunch was served. Generally, he spent an hour and a half at each meal. He needed this much time to chew his food. According to the demanding criteria he had established, rice needed to be chewed seventeen times; beans, nineteen; vegetables, fourteen; meat and fish, twenty-two; and so on. He had been using this counting system so long that the differentiated mastication had become his second nature.
A walk following lunch had also become habitual. In measured rhythmical paces, he walked approximately five hundred meters around his dining room table — two hundred and fifty clockwise and two hundred and fifty counterclockwise. The last footstep of this carefully planned stroll was always completed in less than ten minutes, after which he enjoyed a relaxing nap reclining in his lounge chair. He would snooze until precisely two forty-five, when his alarm awakened him. On Saturdays, Sundays and holidays, he would allow himself to rest until four o’clock. Afterwards, he would listen to music and news on the radio.
The news being broadcast this afternoon was festive. The City Radio network transmitting directly from the CSC, was going to cover the soccer match which would soon begin. In an especially excited voice, the broadcaster announced the City Club team’s line up:
“And now...entering the field are the City Club’s athletes. First in line is “El Paradon” Pilungo, and right behind him the brothers Captain and Central. Following them are Catuca, Centerfield, Cururu, and finally the offense, our spectacular attackers. Here they come: Caçamba, Caboré, Commander, Capote, and last, but not least the phenomenal Calunga!”
Upon hearing my name, the judge couldn’t believe his ears. He jumped out of his chair, and spoke right out loud.
“No! It can’t be! The broadcaster must be mistaken!”
He reviewed the facts in his mind. He was sure that he had condemned me to serve nine days time. He recalled the details that led to his decision: excessive violence committed against an outsider who had provoked him, violence in legitimate defense of a third party, Pilungo. He remembered that the victim had lost teeth, broken ribs and a broken nose, et cetera, et cetera. He knew that the criminal behavior had occurred last Tuesday. And if he remembered all of these details, why in the world would he forget the sentence and the fact that the prisoner should still be in jail. The judge was determined to clear up this mess and to clear it up now. He changed clothes quickly but meticulously; and since it was his chauffeur’s day off, drove himself. Within twenty minutes he arrived at the Maximum Security Prison.
“Good afternoon, Jailer.”
When he opened his sleepy eyes, the zombie’s knees began to shake. Awkwardly, he knocked the radio’s earphones out of his ears, and stuttered so badly that his words came out backwards.
“Honor your good afternoon.”
He tried to cover up his nervousness with what he thought to be a well turned phrase.
“And what fair winds have brought you here on this lovely, luminous afternoon, your honor?”
“I’ve come to inspect the prisoners,” the judge seethed.
“But, your honor, today is Sunday, the day set aside by our Creator for pleasure and rest. Your honor should be enjoying the City’s festivities or else enjoying the peaceful comfort of your own home.”
Jailer was trying to avoid the inspection, which he knew would result in his disgrace. Yet, his arguments were in vain. Fuming to the high heavens, the Judge cut him off.
“Give me the list of prisoners detained in the Maximum Security Prison.”
Caught red-handed — guilty of aiding a prisoner’s escape—Jailer stood before a raging storm. He knew that soon lightning bolts would fall upon him, but tried his best to remain calm. From his bottom desk drawer, he retrieved the list, which consisted only of my name: Calunga.
“Here it is, your honor, the complete list.”
According to official protocol, Judge ordered that the prisoners be led to the patio in single file so that he could hold an inspection.
There was no way out for Jailer. The judge had cornered him. Checkmate.
“Your honor, I swear by everything that is holy,” he said as he made the sign of the cross, “that I only permitted the incarcerated’s translocation out of love for the City. You must be aware that Calunga is the City Club’s best player, and that if he couldn’t play in this afternoon’s competition, with all certainty, the Loner’s Trophy would go to those neighboring low down,
conniving rivals. But I guarantee you that as soon as the match is over, Calunga will return to the Maximum Security Prison to pay the rest of the sentence, imposed upon him so wisely by your honor.
Jailer’s tearful confession and justification did no good at all, for according to the judge, “The law must be observed by all, even when the costs are high.”
“I also love the City,” the judge spoke in a voice as harsh as his sentence. “But you know that the Law must be above all personal interests. You also know that it is a crime to assist prisoners in an escape, and for this crime, put yourself in a cell and stay there until Tuesday.
Jailer knew that it would do no good to argue once the sentence was declared. And came it did in that thundering voice, “Stay in jail until Tuesday.”
It was Jailer’s duty to execute the law. It was Jailer’s only option to respect the judge’s authority.
Humbly, he stepped into a cell. Using the chain, bolt and key, he locked the barred door, thus complying with the Law. Suddenly a fleeting thought passed through his mind. He remembered that before the judge’s arrival he had been dreaming a confused dream in which a vehicle traveled simultaneously in two directions. Perhaps his current situation had something to do with that dream. But he didn’t want to think about it; he preferred to listen to the City Club’s opening game.
For Judge, Jailer’s crime was now a thing of the past. What was important now was to capture me and take me back to prison. He had to be fast or else the game would end and I would turn myself in. I had promised Jailer and would keep my word. Judge knew that.
He rushed out to look for Chief of Police, who would have to be involved. Even though he feared interrupting Chief's rest on a Sunday afternoon, he went straight to his home. Judge didn’t have to knock at the door, however, because as soon as his car approached, someone came out announcing, “Your honor, Chief of Police's not here. He went to see the game.”
Chief of Police at the CSC! What great news. Judge was nervous because time was short, but now he’d have a chance to serve Justice. He’d have everything he needed right at the game: the police, and me, the fugitive.
Better yet, at the game he’d be surroundedm by admirers, the same crowd that had cheered him at the inauguration of the Forum. He was confident that the population would back up his decision to uphold the Law.
What more could he ask for?
Anxious to gain time, he floored the accelerator.
The Law was on his side.
