More writing by Bruce Taylor
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Kafka's Uncle: The Unfortunate Sequel
and Other Insults to the Morally Perfect
Justice in Amerry-Ka
You see the giant spiders sitting at the bench. One is black. The other white. They play a game of chess. You've got really fine vision and you see that all the pieces on the board are - you. The spiders are dressed in judicial robes; the black one wears a white robe, the white one wears a black one. You have this intense sense of foreboding. Somehow this does not look good. Your lawyer stands beside you. He has eyes all over his body. You wonder how a lawyer could have so many eyes. "Comes with the profession," he once hissed. Your lawyer doesn't miss a thing. Not a fucking thing.
"Check," says the black spider in the white robes. "Your king is in check."
"I noticed," says the other spider. "No matter what you do - "
"I know," says the spider dressed in black. "No matter what I do - "
"You move into check."
The white spider then turns to you. "Now, how do you plead?"
You don't know what to say.
"Say something," your lawyer says.
"What?"
"Something!"
"Something," you say.
"Guilty as charged," replies the spider in white.
Your lawyer rises in your defense. "But," he turns to you, "before I defend you any further, your case has already cost $78,000."
Internally, you crash. "But - but - but - " you whimper, "I thought we'd discuss cost after the case - you said so - $78,000 is a lot to defend me - "
"You got it wrong - I changed my mind. I decided not to wait. And - " he smiles, "it's $78,000 - so far."
"But - but - but you've only defended me for five minutes."
"Picky, picky, picky. Legal stuff is costly. Can you afford me or not?"
You don't know what to say. Mentally, you tally your assets: clothing: $50.00, wages: $l00 dollars a day. House: 70% depreciation from the last, Corporate Managed Economic Adjustment - from $50,000 yesterday to now being worth only $5,000 today. You realize that, as far as affording this, you're fucked.
"There's no way I can afford this," you whisper.
"Tsk," says the lawyer. He ups and leaves. But of course, he leaves his bill: $79,000 - while you were fretting, the cost went up $l,000.00. You look at the bottom of the bill: in faded letters, it reads: "Your Patronage Is Appreciated."
The giant white spider in black robes leaps upon a large, unsuspecting fly and as it wraps the fly in silk, it says to you, "Does the witness wish to respond to the accusations before him?"
Somewhere, you regain enough strength to say, "I - I'd like to know the charges against me - "
"You should know them," says the spider in black, somehow focusing all his eight eyes on you.
"Maybe I should. But I don't."
The black spider in white robes sighs, or maybe it hisses. It's hard to say which. "Which of the many charges do you wish to hear?" It goes back to sucking the juices from the fly.
"All of them."
"Take too long," says the black-robed spider judge. "How about the best ones? I've got some outstanding ones that I've highlighted in yellow day-glow marker."
"That'd be fine."
"You were born."
You gulp. "But I can't help that."
"Guilty of Original Sin. Born Bad. Guilty as charged."
"M-may I hear the other charges?"
"Petting a cat the wrong way. The cat alleged willful misconduct and abuse - "
"But - but - but she was purring!"
"Just because she was purring doesn't mean she likes abuse. Guilty as charged."
You look up beseechingly to the judges. "What are my other crimes?"
"Being hit by an ambulance while in a crosswalk."
"But - but - but - " you say, "They hit me while I was in a crosswalk - "
"No excuse. Police personnel, fire department employees, paramedics, city, county and state officers and workers, any official working for the Public Good and Order, building inspectors, pest control and all their agents, judges, accountants, corporate heads and trustees and members of the board thereof cannot be sued. You were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Guilty as charged."
You look up wonderingly. "Who can be sued?"
"Anyone else. Especially if you're poor, mentally ill, have no health insurance, don't speak English, are a woman or in a minority."
"That's an awful lot of people," you say.
"So?" says the judge in black.
"Mercy?" you try.
"Hahahahahahahaha," laugh the judges. "Guilty as charged."
The black-robed spider flings the carcass of the sucked-out fly at you and it lands with a moist squarsh on the table right in front of you. You sit there speechless. Then, as you dumbly wipe off fly guts, you realize you are indeed, fucked. Fucked big time. Fucked without end. Fucked like you never dreamed you could be fucked. Fucked without rhyme, without reason. Fucked without meaning to be fucked. Fucked beyond all comprehension. Fucked beyond your worst nightmare. Fucked like you've never believed it was possible to be fucked.
The white-robed judge snickers. "Wanna hear your sentence?"
You feel like your guts are caving in.
"Torture," says the judge. He takes a ball of silk and throws it at you; it hits you in the face and you are smothered. "Torture," says the judge, "I've always loved torture."
You wonder how this can possibly be justice.
"I bet you're wondering how this can possibly be justice," says the justice in white robes. "I'll tell you how it's justice. It makes me feel good to squash people like you who have no socially redeeming value by my standards. Your little miserable lives deserve to be snuffed out. That's the way it is. Some die, some win. Social Darwinism. Survival of the richest. Money equals power equals control. No money? No power. No power? No control. It's your fault. Wanna hear your punishment?"
You stand as if naked in the winds of the capricious order of things; standing before an existential firing squad who just sees this as another day, another paycheck and who could give a rat's ass about you. You're just target practice and that's all you are.
"Slow torture," says the spider judge, dressed in black, "by being dragged through hot coals, busted glass and then through a colony of fire ants."
"Then," says the judge in white robes, drooling, "we do it again. And again. And again. You will be given transplants and new skin to keep you alive forever."
Oh, God, you think, oh, God, this guy has read the Greeks - who was it that keep regrowing his liver again only to have it torn out by a vulture every night?
And before you know it, your slimy lawyer friend is there beside you. "Don't forget to pay your bill." Then, "Cheer up, it could be worse. You could be dead."
You realize the truth of this and you discover that you are grateful indeed, indeed grateful. Yes, it could be worse. You don't know how it could be but you are glad to know this. But you have to admit that right now, is death worse than what you're are going though? Somehow you just aren't . . . convinced . . .
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