As I removed my gown in order to flee the Courtroom and make my condemned way to Judge Travesty, I noticed that Arata was still sitting in the witness box as if nothing at all had happened and thinking this was all part of the great Courtroom show he was now part of as he patiently waited for his next cue.
Judge Travesty quickly closed the screen of her laptop as I entered her Chambers. Her face seemed slightly flushed and I wondered what exactly she had been viewing on her computer. Ever the pro, it didn’t stop her from continuing her spewing forth of magma that was even hotter than the temperature on the surface of the sun.
“Mr Varkel, how long have you been practising law?”
I looked at her as if this was to be the final question of who wants to be a dead millionaire. “Twenty years Judge” I replied.
“And in your twenty years Mr Varkel of dealing with the general melee of mentally ill delinquent debtors, criminals passing themselves off as businessmen, giants of commerce trying not to appear to the Court as pathological liars, psychotically spurned lesbian women, submissive husbands turning on their wives and adopted children turning on parents, the people which your ilk call clients, and which I, truth be told, consider to be a lower form of life, but which the blasted Court unfortunately is duty bound to call litigants, have you ever Mr Varkel seen such a display of judicial contempt by a litigant as was displayed by your client in Court a short while ago?”
I was thinking that I may need to call a friend. But just as I opened my mouth to answer her, she cut me off: “Mr Varkel, I’ve been chomping at this legal bit now for forty years. Next year I will be 70. I could have retired ten years ago, but no. You know why I didn’t Mr Varkel? Because I like my high cholesterol, my gastric bypass and my anti-depression medication. And even if I didn’t, coming here to work in this asylum every single day is far better than sitting at home watching my husband stare lecherously at that Sky news weather girl, what’s her name again, oh yes rhymes with the k-word. So Mr Varkel, your client is a long way from Tipperary or in his case, Tokyo, so you had better keep him on a short leash. You’re excused Mr Varkel. And close the door behind you will you. I have an urgent Judges’ annual flower show to arrange” she said with an almost pursed ironic smile.
I left promptly and I must confess that I felt a sense of relief that I wasn’t invited to the Keerom Street rosebud club.
A scene from Barry Varkel’s “Nigiri Law” – to be continued…