THE MAGISTRATE
After a few days, when the City had already gotten back into its normal happy pace of life, there appeared on the streets, a person who drew attention to himself: a healthy middle aged man with a ruddy complexion and mature stature. He was well-dressed in a black suit, white shirt and bow tie and carried a lustrous cane with a gold handle. His carefully combed, white hair contrasted with his thick black moustache, which turned up at the ends. Always alone, he spoke with no one, not even to say good day. He was serious and sullen. Perhaps there existed in his nature some hidden friendliness that would someday blossom, but when people first saw him, they doubted it. His mysterious presence eventually was proved positive, however. In fact, he personally helped elevate the level of civilization in the City.
He was a judge.
At first, only important people had access to him. His first friends were Priest, Mayor and Chief of Police. As time went by, other worthy citizens got to know him. The rest of the population waited hopefully for the contagious vitality of the City to transform the Judge.
They didn’t have to wait long.
The transformation began with his face. Little by little muscles relaxed. Then his eyes softened as did his gestures. Sometimes he even smiled. Yet, he still only spoke with a select few, in closed social circles. Living in moderation, avoiding frivolous behavior, he perhaps believed that familiarity with the people of the City would diminish his prestige and the people’s respect for his position. Chief of Police became his closest companion due to their common interest in the law.
Just as the Brazilian proverb decrees that dripping water erodes stone,
the friendliness of the people in the City wore down the wall the judge had built around himself.
When Chief of Police arrived in the City, he had acted in the same manner — distant and reserved to the point of looking annoyed. With time, however, he changed and began to love the City. To show his affection, he built the jail — The Maximum Security Prison — without a doubt a useless project, considering that since it opened, only one person, I myself, have been
detained. Loneliness made me hope that the second was on the way.
The people close to Judge took it upon themselves to convince the City that the magistrate was not the insensitive brute he seemed to be. They spread the word that he was serene, humane and above all, fair. They explained that he didn’t speak to people because he had been born quiet, raised quiet, and couldn’t change this innate quality.
It was only with Priest, that Judge felt at ease in conversation. They spent hours in erudite dialogues, exchanging profound thoughts. In one of these debates, Judge revealed his belief that from the time of each person’s birth, along with original sin he or she carried an obligation: a duty to preserve the heritage left by ancestors, assuring a legacy for future generations.
“A better place than the City does not exist for those determined to fulfill this obligation,” Judge stated, as if revealing an extraordinary secret to the Priest.
With this idea in mind, Judge asked my father draw up a plan for a building dedicated to justice. It was this act that convinced the people that in spite of his appearance and demeanor, Judge had changed. Like all of the others, he too had been changed by the contagious love for the City.
My father was ecstatic to have another opportunity to achieve a professional dream. While previously he had focused on the urban landscaping of public works, his current project would permit him to affirm his talents, in the execution of both the external and internal design of the building.
From the very beginning, the subtlety of my father’s plan was evident. The external walls of the building created the impression that they hovered lightly above the ground, barely touching the earth.
Every day, Judge visited the construction site.
He accompanied progress from excavating the foundation and raising walls to the hanging of doors and other finishing touches. He observed each step with great interest. At one point while enjoying the rhythm of the construction team at work, he felt mildly perturbed when on of the men asked him a question.
“What building is this, your honor?”
“The Forum,” he answered.
“A forum? What’s that?”
“The place where the departments of Justice do their work.”
“Is it the same as the Court Building?”
“Yes.”
The tone of the Judge’s voice should have let the worker know that the magistrate was cutting him off, but instead, he persisted.
“When will the inauguration be?”
Judge did not even answer. He ignored the question and walked away irritated.
The judge thought to himself that the day chosen was, in fact, very meaningful. The commemoration of the creation of the Brazilian Supreme Court was also on September 18, but date was being kept a secret. Not even Judge’s close friends knew, so why should he tell
a mere busybody?
Throughout history, people have gotten into trouble for sticking their noses into other people’s business, and quite frankly Judge was tempted to use his gold handled cane to knock some sense into the thick head of the pest who had approached him. Controlling himself, he thought it better to leave. He walked away thinking about the inauguration. He wanted the ceremony to be simple, without speeches, without food and drinks, without fanfare. The Forum would simply open for business, and at the right moment, he would call the authorities to let them know. He hoped to call as little attention as possible to the building.
The population, however, had different ideas, and arrived in multitudes. On September 18, from outside on the surrounding sidewalks up into the interior of the building, the crowds wanted to participate and honor another step in the City’s progress.
A simple blessing of the building had been planned in keeping with the religious nature of the
people. In fact, however, the Priest had barely finished his prayer, when Judge got down to work. Without letting any emotion rise to his cool surface, he sat at his desk and started signing papers, writing dispatches, taking notes and writing observations. He went about his work as
if the opening of the building meant nothing.
Focused.
Competent.
Secure.
Without hesitating, he did his job like the intelligent veteran he was.
On the sidewalks, a line wound around the building. Men and women holding papers waited to
have documents notarized. It was their way of thanking him for building the Courthouse, so that the Judge would not think that his efforts had been in vain. In fact, the City did need a Forum. The proof was evident in the number of people being attended.
It was a busy day.
The judge wisely solved many cases and gave out sentences. Because the City was so orderly, however, there weren’t any criminal cases for him to handle. If there had been, he would undoubtedly have meted out justice to whomever and however it applied. Once when he heard a clergyman saying that Death did not distinguish the rich from the poor, he added:
“Nor does the law. Like Death, no one can escape justice.”
Such declarations reflected the Judge’s austere dignity. He was serene in his decision making
and considered fair by everyone. And if anyone can be sure of that, it is I.
I was the first in the City to be condemned for a criminal act, and am now facing my sentence of nine days in the Maximum Security Prison.
I was condemned; nevertheless, I do not bear any grudges against the Judge himself nor the judicial system that put me here.
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