A number of witnesses had been called for the purposes of character reference and assassination. Even Trudy made an appearance in newly purchased lace and gingham. She sat quietly upon the stand, legs tight together, hands upon her lap, sitting in what she believed was her most wholesome, if grotesquely uncomfortable, pose.
Miriam accompanied Ted on each court date, leaning upon his arm, dressed in a very housewifely navy blue suit with matching hat and veil. Miriam left Ted’s side only once, and that was when Trudy, on her way to take her place on the stand, bent and whispered something in her ear. Miriam had leapt from her seat and fled.
Finally, the judge surprised everyone by inviting Ted and Lorraine, and Marge and Leo, to meet with him one Saturday afternoon in his chambers. He said there would be no need for them to bring their “attack dogs,” meaning attorneys, for it would be an informal session: he was not interested in hearing further arguments on either parent’s behalf. He said he wanted no others in attendance and referred specifically to Trudy and Miriam. The judge said he wanted to speak only with the parents and the grandparents. And the boy. He especially wanted to speak with the boy.
Leo had difficulty readying the truck that morning, and there was no time to return Junior to his grandmother’s before we had to leave for the courthouse. On the ride over, Junior sat between Marge and Leo, and I sat on Marge’s lap. Junior and I were exhausted from the morning’s events, drained of our animosity; during the trip downtown, Junior watched Leo drive, and I looked out onto the autumn afternoon, sneaking occasional sucks at my thumb.
When we arrived at the courthouse, I walked between Marge and Leo, taking large steps, holding each by the hand as we hurried down the cold marble hallway. Junior walked at Leo’s side, quiet and wide-eyed. Three of us were dressed in our Sunday best: Leo in his white shirt and rumpled brown suit, his fedora cocked over one eye; Marge in her orange-flowered dress, white sequined hat and matching handbag; me in my reindeer Christmas sweater and slacks, shoes polished and strung with new strings. Marge had brushed Junior’s overalls as clean as she could get them, but his shirt had been hopelessly stained with blood. She had dressed him in one of Leo’s work shirts, telling him to keep his coat on so that no one would notice that the shoulders hung halfway to his elbows.
We came upon a janitor who had cordoned a section of floor for waxing and was making slow, easy passes with his mop. He and Leo exchanged nods as we walked by. The only other person we had seen since stepping out of the elevator was a woman sitting on a high-backed wooden bench under the leaded windows at the end of the hall. As we approached, we could see she was dressed in beige, except for a gold peacock broach set with green stones, pinned over her breast; she was reading from a small, black-bound book which rested in her lap, but when we drew near, she stood and waved her hand, as though we would have trouble finding her in the empty hall. The stones of her peacock sparkled like fire as she stepped into the sun slanting in through the windows.
The woman held herself remarkably straight, heels together, shoulders thrown back; she clasped the black book with both hands, tightly to her breast, as if it were a beloved thing. We could feel her watching us, scrutinizing our every move, as if she wished to peel away our skins to see what lay beneath. Junior hid himself by falling into step behind Leo. I lowered my eyes and looked down at my shoes as they slipped and slid along the polished marble. When the four of us stopped before her, she extended her beige-gloved hand to Leo, but looked at Marge.
“Mrs. Thurgood Riley,” she announced. “Mr. and Mrs. Woodard?”
Leo removed his hat and took the woman’s hand.
“Leo. Leo Woodard.”
The woman’s gloved hand disappeared into Leo’s thick fist, and the white birds embroidered at the edges of her beige veil trembled vigorously as Leo gave her hand two strong shakes.
Leo nodded to Marge. “My wife Marge.”
Still smiling, but seeming less sure of her situation, the judge’s wife extracted her hand from Leo’s grip and offered it to Marge. The women grasped the ends of one another’s fingers.
“How’d you do, Mrs. Riley,” Marge said. “Good of your husband takin’ his Saturday.”
“Judge Riley is very conscientious. He believes that the interest of the child is paramount in … such matters.” She smiled down at me, but her face fell as she appreciated the bruising over my eye. “My goodness!”
“Banged it on the side of the garage this morning,” Leo said. “These two had a little tussle.”
Junior peered around Leo’s hip.
“Him,” I said, pointing.
“My goodness!” The woman stared at Junior’s swollen lip.
“This is Clovis Gill’m,” Leo said. “A … friend of Teddie’s.”
“Have these children seen a doctor?” The woman stepped back, fingering her broach.
“We put ice right away,” Marge said.
“I fixed Junior’s—Clovis’—lip,” Leo said. “Just a regular kid fight. They’ll be fine. Old Teddie’s got a head like his grandpa’s. Hard as a rock.”
The judge’s wife turned to Leo. She stood before him, looking up into his face, standing carefully erect, as if she were balancing something heavy on her head. Her voice was now gilt with authority, softened only by the lightest touch of a southern accent.
“Judge Riley asked to speak with Mr. and Mrs. Durbin before you arrived with Theodore, but I think they must have finished by now.” She looked past Leo’s shoulder. “It’s that door there. Please go right in.”
Marge took my hand, but the judge’s wife stepped in front of her.
“Judge Riley asked that you leave Theodore with me for a few minutes, that he might speak with the adults before allowing the child.”
The woman smiled and reached out to touch my head, but I pulled back and grasped Marge’s leg.
“You’re not afraid of Mrs. Riley now, are you, Theodore?” she said, bending low.
“Teddie,” Leo and I said together.
The woman’s smile diminished somewhat.
“Teddie, then. Look at this nice book I’ve brought for us to read. With wonderful pictures of the young boy, Jesus, when He was just about your age. You like stories about Jesus, don’t you, Teddie?”
Leo shifted his weight and was about to speak, but Marge lay her hand on Leo’s arm.
“We’re a Bible house,” Marge said. “Always been.” She put her hand under my chin and raised my face so that we looked into each other’s eyes.
“Teddie, you and Junior stay with nice Mrs. Riley while me and Grandpa talk to the judge. Show Mrs. Riley how you read. You can come in with Grandma and Grandpa in a couple of minutes.”
I put my thumb in my mouth and Marge pushed it away. I looked at Leo.
“You read with the lady, Teddie. I’ll come and get you before you can say Jack Jelly Bean.”
“Jack Jelly Bean,” I said.
Leo pointed to the bench, and I boosted myself up and sat down. Junior took a seat at the opposite end, as far from the woman as possible. As Marge and Leo walked toward the door, the judge’s wife arranged herself beside me.
Marge turned as Leo opened the door for her.
“Behave yourself, Teddie. You too, Junior.”
Junior nodded, and I scooted back on the bench. We both watched Marge and Leo until the door closed behind them.
The judge’s wife opened the book and began to page through it, stopping at the pictures of Jesus and the apostles. She asked the apostles’ names, where Jesus was born, the name of the day when He rose from the dead. As she passed her hand over the pictures, telling stories, she asked questions about Ted and Miriam, Lorraine and Trudy, Marge and Leo. She asked what I liked to eat, where I liked to sleep, whose house I liked most. She reached out to touch the swelling above my eye. I pushed her hand away.
“Don’t.”
“What happened, Teddie? Did that boy hit you?” She inclined her head toward Junior.
Junior stirred but did no
t speak.
“Swords.”
“What?”
“Swords!”
The judge’s wife sighed and looked away. I waited for her to begin another story, but, when she did not, I took the book from her hands and put it on my lap. I began reading aloud, slowly, pointing to each syllable as I spoke.
“‘In the be-gin-ning was the Wo … Wo …’”
“‘Word’,” the woman said, moving closer and looking over the top of my head.
“‘Word. And the Word was with …’”
“‘God’.”
“‘God’. And the … Word was … God.’”
The judge’s wife put her hand over the page. “Teddie. You can read.”
“I know.”
“He can,” Junior said. “I seen him.”
“Who taught you to read?”
“I don’t know.”
“Someone taught you to read.”
“His grandma,” Junior answered. “I seen her.”
I lifted the woman’s hand from the page and continued for awhile, but, soon, the words became too difficult and I stumbled frequently. After a few minutes, I slapped the book closed, handed it back, and slid from the bench.
“Don’t like this one.”
The door creaked and Marge appeared in the doorway. The judge’s wife looked at her, and Marge crooked her finger. The judge’s wife reached down to take me by the hand, but I shook free and ran to Marge. She picked me up and gathered me to her breasts; I threw my arms around her neck and tugged hard, making faces.
“You been good for Mrs. Riley?”
The judge’s wife walked up. “This child is reading.”
“He’s a good boy.”
“At his age, especially considering … his situation. Who taught him?”
“Oh, ever’body. When we read, we point to the word parts. One day there it was. He just picked it up.”
“Remarkable.”
“He’s a good boy.” Marge looked at Junior. “You set there and mind your P’s and Q’s, Junior. We’ll be out in a little bit.”
The judge’s chambers seemed very large, dark and cold. There was a row of windows high along the far wall where it met the ceiling, but these were shuttered with thick curtains. Three brass lamps—two sitting on the judge’s desk, the third a floor lamp sitting behind his chair—were the room’s only light. The lamps had heavy green shades so that their soft glow illuminated little more than the judge, the desk top, and the faces of the people who sat around it. I was captivated by the way the light caught the brass studs in the leather furnishings, how it glinted on the gold appointments of the desk and fired the gold lettering on the books which lined the shelves, floor to ceiling.
For all of this, the greater part of the light fell upon the judge. His black suit, white shirt, black string tie. The judge was a small man with delicate hands and a thin-boned face, a shock of straight white hair, and a flawless white goatee. He sat behind his huge mahogany desk, raised upon a rich, high-backed leather chair, studying a sheaf of papers which he held in one hand. His half-glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose, and with one finger, he absently pushed them back in place. He did not look up as Marge and I entered the room, but cleared his throat and shifted his position.
Ted and Leo were sitting at opposite corners of the desk, across from the judge, legs crossed, their bodies angled away from one another; Lorraine had taken a seat between them, next to Leo, with Marge’s empty seat between her and Ted. All sat in low, red leather chairs, facing the judge, and Ted and Lorraine turned in unison as Marge and I entered the room. Leo remained slouched down in his chair, arms stretched upon the rests, watching the judge as he studied the papers.
Ted and Lorraine made the slightest moves in my direction; I felt them reaching out to me, each hoping that Marge would bring me to them so they might hold me during the proceedings. I knew that Marge was aware of their desires: I felt the trembling indecision in her arms.
Finally, Marge put me down between them, allowing me to choose.
Unsure of what was expected, I climbed up and stood in Marge’s empty chair. The leather cushion was deep and soft, and I hopped up and down, creating bulges, then stamping them down. Marge sighed and walked to the back of the chair. She rested her hands on my shoulders, and I quieted down.
The judge’s wife moved to her husband’s side, and the judge swiveled toward her when she touched his arm. He did not look up, but bowed his head as she bent to his ear and began to whisper. The judge listened intently, smoothing the lapel of his suit and shaking his head. At the end of her dialogue, the judge’s wife looked at me. Her eyes were shining with reflected gold.
The judge patted the back of her hand. “I understand.”
The judge said this softly, thoughtfully, then turned to face the people gathered before him. He tossed the sheaf of papers onto the desk and placed his glasses on top of them. Rubbing his eyes, he turned his gaunt, tired face toward me. He crossed his legs, smoothed his tie, and began to swivel his chair from side to side; the room was silent except for the chair’s rhythmic squeak.
I felt the tension of each person probing, measuring.
Ted sat at the edge of his chair in a borrowed blue suit a size too small for him. He hunched forward, leaning his elbows on his wide-splayed knees. The bottoms of his pants were rumpled and pulled high, and static electricity flattened the cuffs against his droopy white socks.
Lorraine drew her arms about her and sank deep into her chair. Her face was grey and waif-like. She was too thin for her white, schoolgirl blouse and brown woolen skirt, and she seemed lost in them, like a doll hung with the wrong paper clothes.
Marge kept her hands on my shoulders, and I felt them quiver as she restrained me against the back of the seat.
Only Leo seemed calm. His expression was empty, modeled after the flat, cynical wall I have since imagined as his prison yard face.
I needed to use the toilet, but, instead of asking, I began to jump again on the seat of the chair.
“Teddie, now.” Marge attempted to press me down with her hands.
The judge laughed. “Appears you’ve a wild one on your hands, Mrs. Woodard.” His laughter was thin. Like a boy’s.
I shrugged out of Marge’s grasp, jumped high, and sat down with a thump onto the soft leather.
Leo smiled and sat up in his chair when the judge laughed. For the first time that day, Leo seemed pleased.
“That’s all now, Teddie,” Marge said.
“Quite alright, Mrs. Woodard,” the judge said. “Can’t fault the boy—condemned to the company of stuffy old adults on such a beautiful fall afternoon.” A hint of light shone in his eyes which, for a moment, healed his face.
“Mrs. Riley tells me you’re quite the reader, Theodore.”
His wife bent and whispered again.
“Teddie, I should say.” There were two chairs pulled close to him behind the desk. He looked at his wife and pointed to the one farthest from him. “Time is pressing, Amanda. If you will take your seat, I believe we can get on …”
His wife bent to his ear and whispered once more. The light left the judge’s face.
“I understand, dear.”
The judge’s wife took her place, sitting in the middle of the cushion, not sitting back. She placed her handbag and her New Testament on her lap, and put on her best smile. She motioned to me, patting the chair between her and her husband.
“Come sit down by me, Teddie. Judge Riley wants to speak to you.”
“Go on, Teddie,” Lorraine said. Her voice was husky, unsteady, but she managed to smile. Her face was ashen; there were heavy black circles beneath her eyes. She had worked the graveyard shift the night before, and, she was so nervous about our meeting with the judge, she had been unable to sleep.
“Judge Riley’s a good man,” Lorraine said. “You do what he tells you. He only wants to … to ask you … to talk about …” Her voice wavered, and I thought she would burst into tears.
“Mom’ll handle it, Lorraine,” Ted said. He had been drinking, but was not drunk. Despite his best efforts to appear otherwise, his words seemed threatening, inappropriately loud. “We said we’d let Mom handle him.”
“It’s alright, Teddie,” Marge said. “Go on.” She pushed me in the middle of my back, and I stood.
I turned to Leo. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye and winked. “Go on. Sit over there by the lady. We’ll head home soon as you talk to the judge. Quicker we’re done, quicker we’ll go.”
I turned toward the judge and stared. I asked the question I had wanted to ask since Marge and I had first entered the room.
“What’s that on him?” I pointed to the judge’s goatee.
“Teddie!” Lorraine said.
Leo and the judge laughed.
Marge closed her eyes and sighed. The judge’s wife hid a smile behind her hand.
“Just an old man’s whiskers, Teddie,” the judge answered.
“Old Teddie’s not afraid of a couple of whiskers, are you?” Leo said.
“Nope.”
“Go on, then. Ain’t nobody going to bite you.”
“Come on over here, Teddie,” the judge said, smiling. “You can feel them, if you’ve a mind.”
I shook my head. “Don’t want to.”
“You go on over there by the judge. We got to get home so’s you can help Grandpa finish his work ‘fore it gets dark.”
“Junior ain’t coming,” I said.
“We’re dropping Junior off on the way home.”
The judge raised his eyebrows.
Leo pointed to my eye. “The kid he tangled with. Waiting outside.” Leo snapped his fingers—once, softly. “Come on, Teddie, get on up there. We’re wastin’ daylight.”
I walked to the chair placed between the judge and his wife and climbed up.
The Violent Child Page 19
