12 October 20XX+1
My
Dear Lucilius:
The
crowd that met us at the storefront was just as large as the previous
day; apparently the potential death of a man rated above almost any
other activity that could be going on. In fact, I did not wonder if
there more people than the day before.
Cataline,
Terentia, and their advocates took their places. The crowd settled
into the chairs they had brought or rested against the walls. I did
note, somewhat disturbed, that Young Xerxes had apparently found even
more men I recognized vaguely, armed with sidearms.
The
Advocate for Cataline rose. He had only two witnesses to call, he
said. The first was Cataline.
Cataline
approached the chair and swore the oath. He looked exhausted, the
tired of a man who had been pushed to the brink and then almost over.
The
questioning commenced.
In
short order, his Advocate had established that he was from a Southern
State and had come to this part of the world for several years during
the Summer for employment in the Summer tourist activities that had
supported the economy of this region of the world for years. He and
his wife were caught off-guard by the switch in the economy and had
slightly overstayed their window of departure until departure was
impossible, or at least to go anywhere in the vehicle they called
home. They had lived with the others in the RV park, forming a sort
of society within the society, making things work.
Did
he know the man he was accused of killing? Not really, no.
Did
he go to his house to confront him? He did, yes. And did he go back
to the RV park, followed later by Terentia’s husband? Yes, he did.
The
Advocate looked him clearly in the eye. “Did you kill him?”
Cataline
looked through the walls at a sight none of us could see. “Yes”,
he sighed. “Yes I did”.
The
courtroom erupted. Terentia was crying and screaming, what appeared
to be her children from the witness stand yesterday crying out
“Murderer!” and “Justice”. The contingent from the RV park,
sitting behind Cataline’s table, were bunching into a knot, looking
for all the world as if they intended to rush the witness chair and
grab Cataline to get him out. Only by the dint of the banging of
the gavel and judicious shouting and pushing by the bailiffs did the
courtroom come back to a modicum of order.
When
the courtroom quieted, I did something that surprised even myself: I
raised my voice. “Let that happen again” I thundered “and
everyone will be out of this room”. This seemed to register, at
least a bit.
The
Advocate looked at Cataline again. “Why did you kill Terentia’s
husband?”
Cataline
shook his head and refused to speak.
The
Advocate turned to the Fashionable Woman.
“Your witness.”
The
Fashionable Woman had no questions, just a
slow smug smile.
Cataline
returned to his chair, looking as destroyed as a man could look.
The
Advocate called Cataline’s wife to the stand.
She
sat in the chair, a willowy young woman with the same aura of sadness
that Cataline wore. Did she know the deceased, the Advocate asked.
She slowly nodded her head. How did she know him, he asked with a
gentleness he had not used on Cataline.
Because
he was her lover, she replied.
The
courtroom erupted again. The gavel banging brought it back in line,
this time, although Terentia continued to scream and cry until the
Fashionable Woman
forcibly pressed her down in the chair and whispered ferociously in
her ear.
The
story came out in drips and dregs, covered in tears. Terentia’s
husband had approached her in the Spring. He knew their position:
away from all, without a manner of living or income. He was willing
offer her a level of sustenance – for a price.
And
so – because there was no other option – she paid the price.
The
argument had come, she said, when Cataline finally understood what
had been happening. Enraged, he went to confront Terentia’s
husband, then left before things got out of control. Terentia’s
husband had followed him back to the RV park, gun in hand to solve
the problem he had created. The two had argued and struggled.
The
kill, she said, had been in her defense.
The
Advocate nodded. “Your witness”, he said to the Fashionable
Woman.
The
Fashionable Woman sauntered – I have no other word – up to the
witness chair. “A convenient enough story” she said. “What
evidence do you have to back it up?”
Cataline’s
wife slowly reached into her pocket and pulled out what appeared to
be a ring. “Show this to her” she said, pointing to Terentia.
“He gave it to me. She will recognize it.”
The
Fashionable Woman took the ring – a large, diamond encrusted thing
– and took it to Terentia. She looked at it, her eyes in disbelief.
“My wedding ring” she finally managed to sputter out. “He
told me he had taken it to trade for food….” her voice trailed
off, looking at Cataline’s wife.
The
courtroom was silent, only the tears of Cataline’s wife and the
uneven breathing of Terentia filling the room.
The
defense rested without another word.
It
matched the silence and sadness of my heart for the rest of the
afternoon and evening.
Your
Obedient Servant, Seneca
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