Free Flash and Filigree by Terry Southern Page B

Tucson, I believe. Tucson, Arizona. Did you say you have a Hearing? Today?”
    “Yes. But, just a moment—you say that Judge Lester is from Arizona ? Isn’t that unusual, that he should be from out of state? This is a County matter, is it not?”
    “Not at all!” replied the old man knowingly. “Not-at-all. Judge Fisher was born in Vienna himself! An American citizen though. His mom and dad were both Americans. His dad—I knew Judge Fisher’s daddy—was with the State Department in Vienna. Mark Fisher! A grand old man! Markham R. Fisher.” He ended somewhat lamely, and it was obvious that he had really exaggerated how well he had known the elder Fisher.
    “I’m afraid you don’t understand,” said Dr. Eichner almost coldly. “What I’m referring to is Judge Lester’s County record, his past decisions.”
    The old man, perhaps only at a loss being told he did not understand, seemed taken aback. Then he tightened his clasped hands and said with a child-like haughtiness, “I’m afraid we don’t give out that type of information.”
    Dr. Eichner started to speak, but glanced at his watch instead. He was already ten minutes late for the Hearing. “I believe that’s my door there, isn’t it?” he asked in a more formal, friendly way, gesturing toward where the other had pointed before.
    “That’s right. At the end of the hall,” replied the old man gloomily.
    “Well, thanks for your trouble,” said the Doctor with a wave of his hand, “and good morning.”
    The other responded with a sulky nod, but as Dr. Eichner turned to move away, he called after him warmly: “It ain’t the Judge that matters at a Hearin’, it’s the Jury!” and he even gave him a smile of hope.
    “Yes, of course,” said the Doctor almost without hearing, for he had suddenly recalled the name, Lester, and seemed convinced now that it was a bad lookout all around.

Chapter VIII
    W HEN D R. E ICHNER reached 8th Sessions antechamber, he was more than ten minutes late, and the Hearing had already begun. He was admitted at once by a shabbily uniformed attendant who gave him a strange look as he quietly opened the courtroom door.
    Here was a small amphitheater of the kind in use in most European universities, arranged in circular rows of seats, rising tier upon tier, and falling back in ascension like the walls of a wooden bowl. The dominant impression was the room’s structure and the wooden-eye emptiness of the seats, the Jury taking a mere four rows of six seats each, besides which there were only present the Judge, Court Clerk, one or two minor attendants and a smattering of spectators, since these Hearings were, by and large, closed sessions. Above the top row of seats was a rim of sky-lights under the flat ceiling and, through the use of murals in concentrically graduated perspective, this had nearly the illusion of being vaulted.
    The room was in silence when the Doctor entered with the attendant, the process having apparently reached a stage where nothing more could be done without the presence of the principal party. The two went directly to the wooden stand placed in the center of the floor, just in front of the raised presidium where Judge Lester sat.
    All thin and silver outside his black robes, Judge Lester would have borne a strong resemblance to the actor, Lewis Stone, except that he wore heavy, shell-rimmed glasses.
    The attendant, addressing first the Judge, and then the Jury, which was seated in a body on the Judge’s left, twenty-four variously dressed men and women, all seemingly serious and middle-aged, announced the Dr. Eichner and indicated by a polite movement of his arm that he should take his place in the stand. The Doctor nodded gravely toward both Judge and Jury before stepping up into the low railed box.
    “I am very sorry to be late,” he said. “I was unexpectedly detained. I ask this Court’s indulgence.” Here, he almost imperceptibly lowered his head, as in apology to the Court. This gesture,