My Ex Parte X

    At forty eight I found myself in a deep funk. I went to see my doctor and he told me in that special voice tinged in sepulchral tones and underwritten by Big Pharma drug money that I was suffering from a case of the 'unindividuated blues.'
    The diagnosis caught me by surprise. "How's that possible, Doc?"
    "Simple," he replied, pulling a Welby move by sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose, "too much of your life has been spent in celebrity pursuit."
    "How could this have happened?" I asked, a hint of fear creeping into my voice, "
    "The causes? A thousand mothers. But without further tests I can only give you my opinion."
    "Please Doc!"
    The doctor shot me an earnest look. "I'd say too much time has been wasted on the usual suspects. You know info-tainment shows, talk shows, reality shows, behind the scenes bio-pics, and their spawn," he replied, "need I go on?"
     I lowered my head in embarrassment and waggled it slowly from side to side like the last few rotations of a wash spin cycle.
     "You make me sound like I have no life," I protested.
     "Denial is a powerful, self preservation function," he countered. He moved in closer. So close I could almost feel his five o'clock shadow and it was only ten in the morning.
     "Now, my friend," he added, "you've got to own up to the fact that you're nothing but a barnacle attached to the ship of popular culture and cling to it in hope of finding sustenance. But you haven't yet realized is that it's nothing more than a manufactured culture for the mass of unindividuated individuals!"
     I looked at him askance, "Unindividuated individuals," I replied, my tongue tripping over the words.
    "Merely atomized beings able to feel alive only in their frenzied response to empty celebrity," he answered in a dry clinical tone.
    "Wow! that's heavy, Doc. You think that up yourself?"
    "Of course." He then averted his eyes sheepishly toward his shoes. "Ok, maybe not all of it… some I lifted from Hannah Arendt."
    He paused for a second to regain the natural arrogance that came with his trade.
    "Oddly, the paradox of the celebrity age is that the more you see of movie stars, the less you learn about them. Which is the antecedent to your present condition."
    "Can you put that in layman's terms, Doc?"
    "Your brain's been hosed by too much dopamine and no longer can respond to celebrity stimuli frenziedly."
    His words froze me. "Is there a cure... something... something that can be done?"
    "Not that I know. Nothing I can recall from Lancet or NEJM," he replied, pausing, "there was a colleague who had some research going but he needed a new line of stem cells and the National Institute of Health told him to take hike."
    "So there is nothing that can be done?" 
    "Not with current meds. But consider other possibilities. One, you might try the cold turkey approach. Exile yourself to a remote island where print and television media is non-existent or failing that…"
    I shot him a hopeful look.
    "Become a celebrity yourself!"
    Fat chance, I thought. Since I possessed little talent in the key areas of song and dance, acting, comedy, or sports that option seemed most unpromising.
    I left his office that afternoon where I rejoined my life in progress. Now carrying the dark knowledge of my atomized existence, knowing full well that there would be no more frenzied responses over a celebrity in my crippled mental state.

…

     Two months later I bumped into an old girlfriend Charlotte at 84th and Broadway. She had just returned from a field trip to Papeo, a distant island in Oceana where she had documented the mating rituals of the island's people. She invited me for dinner the following night.
     Dinner at Charlottes' was always an adventure. Many of the dishes she served up were specialties indigenous to places where her anthropological treks had taken her. Once as former boyfriend I played the part of in-house guinea pig subject to whatever newly found culinary passion she wanted to dish out. She took great pride in describing each recipe by ingredients and preparation. But now as her 'ex' I made her swear to the culinary equivalent of 'don't ask, don't tell'.
     After dinner we watched some footage from her work in Papeo. There was one scene that involved a marriage ritual that struck me with a profound sense of déjà vu. At my request she replayed it several times which produced a moment of transcendence that would animate my behavior for the next several months.

...

     The next day I dialed Larry Richetti,. He was a former college chum who at times was either a partner in hare brained entrepreneurial schemes or my lawyer.
    "Larry, have I got news for you."
    "What… spit it out!" he replied acidly, he had little patience for trifling.
    "I'm married!"
    "Hmm... so, who's the lucky lady?"
     I revealed her name only after he promised not only to never to reveal it outside of the lawyer-client privilege but also within the territorial borders of the USA and its two hundred mile economic zone along with its contiguous continental shelf.
    When I uttered her name his response was a scathing, "Are you insane?"
    "Perhaps. But I'll do anything to shake these undifferentiated blues," I cried.
    "Guess there's some truth to that adage if you can't be one, marry one!"

…

    In the annals of law there is the question that Lord Ellenborough once posed. Could the Island of Tobago pass a law that could legally bind the whole world?

    Two weeks later we filed our case in federal district court. Larry based his pleading on an inversion of logic found in the 1980 landmark case of Filartiga v. Pena-Irala. In this case the court ruled that the Alien Tort Act of 1789 permitted victims of serious violations of international law abroad the ability to seek civil damages in U.S. courts against its perpetrators.
     Our case was tossed because the court said we had no standing.
    "Such judicial pettiness," he said bitterly, on the steps of the courthouse moments after the decision was handed down. "Demanding that you be an alien!"
     A month passed before I heard from Larry again. "That was a bonehead move on my part, Jeff. We should have filed where judicial activism still springs eternal… how are you set with money?"
    "I have some, but... but... why?"
    Due to a wrongful death suit that was successfully argued by the inestimable Lawrence Richetti in London's Chancellery Court I was sitting on a what was once a sizable pile of cash but was now threatening a future smallness discernible only by microscope.
    "Grab your passport because we're on our way to Belgium."
    "Belgium… why Belgium?"
    "That's where the action is."
    "Not at The Hague?"
    "The ICJ? Way too old school for us!"
    "But what about those Rwanda and Yugoslavia trials I read about in the papers?"
    "Do you see me holding in my hand a Security Council resolution," he countered, "without which makes the ICJ as useless to us as a toothless crone."

…

     When word of our federal court case made its rounds throughout the corridors of the nation's capital a dramatic thing happened. The defendant previously known as Madame X, a woman of international fame, wealth and power, refused to stand as a defendant thereby exposing herself to a default judgment. But in a bold stroke that caught us by surprise the US Government filed on her behalf. This effected two things: 1) it re-designated the case as Ex Parte X – a rare filing for the US. Usually it was the other way around like in the case of Ex Parte Milligan where a man found himself tossed in prison under Lincoln's martial law without writ of habeas corpus. And 2) the other substantive effect was it removed my name from the case. Larry made a motion for a reversal but it was denied. According to the wisdom of the court I was a world class nobody and did not deserve the reciprocity afforded Madame X.
    The government's case was represented by Steven Splurgeon and Dick Shiver of the prestigious Washington law firm of Pinchback, Shiver, & Splurgeon.
                                                                   ...
    Fourteen days later our plane touched down in the magnificent city of Brussels.      
    On our first day in the Belgian court a number of motions for dismissal were made by the defense all of which were denied by the judge, one Gaius De Bary.
    At day's end right after the ritual break when coffee and chocolate are served on sterling service the judge motioned Richetti toward the bench. "I am concerned," he said, imperiously, "whether your client has standing in this international court of law. From first blush he looks to be merely a private citizen not a nation state."
    "Your honor," replied Larry, "In nearly all situations you would be right. But given that the breach is international in scope and deals with pre-emptive norms the plaintiff you see before you is now elevated beyond that of a mere individual to a placeholder if you will for the entire class defined as the peoples of Papeo."
    That day's final minutes ended in a small tiff between my advocate and the Judge De Bary who was prone to exchange quips in French with the defense counsel even though legal procedure dictated that the trial be like the conversations of air traffic controllers conducted in English.
    "With all due respect, your Honor, that while I find your bon motes not only witty, that is, quite rare for a courtroom I humbly beseech that you refrain from such future utterances not only for the sake of procedure but the fact that it places my client at a disadvantage."
     Although, the judge took umbrage to Larry's remark - muttering a slight about the defects of Anglo-Saxon based languages – he nevertheless acceded to his demand.

...

    The next morning Lawrence Richetti was directed to state our case.
    "My pleasure, your Honor," he replied, "The island nation of Papeo shares a contiguous land mass demarcated between it and the neighboring nation of Popeil. Thirty years ago they were one country. But then a civil war cleaved the country in half. Unlike most civil wars that turn on either religion or politics this one was the result of a singular instance of theft."
    "Fascinating," replied the judge, "What kind of theft could lead to such a monstrous schism?"
    "Monstrous? The word doesn't do justice to such a theft. Not only did it throw off kilter their economical well being but more importantly it tore their spiritual well being asunder," he answered, pausing for emphasis.  
    "May I ask if your Honor is a fisherman?"
     Shiver rose from the defense and objected vehemently. "It's irrelevant!" The judge waved away his objection. "If not for this job I would be out at this moment deep in the stream bed in my waders," he chortled.
    "I assume that you have heard of Popeil's Pocket Fisherman?" inquired Larry.
    Judge De Bary nodded approvingly. Larry continued, "The invention of fishing technology has been ascribed to Ron Popeil. But it's a fiction dreamed up by those on the island's northern side to hide their black, larcenous hearts."
     Another objection was voiced by the opposition. It was shot down and Larry continued on. "The true inventors of this device lived on the island's southern side which is now called Papeo. Since it is a communal society..."
     De Bary interrupted. "Communal? As in communist?"
    "Communal yes! Marxist-Leninist no!," Richetti replied, "They, the Papeons, did not file an international patent for two reasons, 1) totally dependent on the oral tradition they lacked a writing system and 2) their deep spiritual centering produced an unfortunate side effect – an ingrained naïveté as to the wicked ways of the world. But when those on the northern side, the Popeilons, got their hands on the Fisherman they wasted no time filing for the patent since they possessed both a writing system introduced by a cargo cult from Toga and, more importantly, lacked any spiritual constraint whatsoever."
     Counselor Splurgeon testily interrupted, "Where exactly are you going with this Papeo history lesson?"
    "My learned friend... I believe Papeo should be pronounced with a short vowel a and a long vowel a on the diphthong eo," Richetti shot back, biting his lip ever so slightly.
    This sent the defense table into a snit.
    "Your honor," replied Shiver in a semi-prone position from his ornately carved oak chair, "this is what we expected from Mr. Richetti. Here in Belgium he's new. A Tabla Rosa. But stateside his reputation dogs him throughout every court in the land!"
    The judge looked at Larry questioningly.
    "Sounds like he's impinging my honor... your Honor."
    "He's known in many a circles," added Shiver, "as the king of legal frivolity?"
    "I always say tis' better to be king than knave!" Larry shot back.
     Richetti continued, "Nothing more that a characterization piped by ingrates and hypocrites, your Honor." The defense quickly submitted a written motion to the bench. Initially, the judge refused to accept it but then he finally relented. Some minutes passed while he read it.
    "A very interesting amicus curie brief I must say Counselor Richetti. Makes a lot of hay out of your attempt to force the New York Central Park Conservancy to..."
    He paused for dramatic effect, "To plow a farm in Central Park!"
    Larry replied, somewhat defensively, "Your Honor, it was only for a day… not an eternity."
    The judge seemed wearied by the argument and motioned him to proceed.
    Richetti recounted how the Papeons once apprised of the skullduggery that had befallen them vowed forevermore a life of serene quietism. But then one day seventeen years later word reached them that one of their most sacred rituals was performed without material consequence. The news unbalanced the entire mental state of their nation.
    "Counsellor," said the judge, "where did you say this island is located?"
    "Oceana."
     Before the judge adjourned Richetti asked the court to allow the inclusion of a new witness not included in the pre-trial witness list.
    "I will take it under advisement. Dismissed," he answered laconically.

…

    My night's rest was unsettled by qualms. Was it right that I was using the court to force a woman to be my wife. Wasn't this turning women's emancipation on its head?
    The next morning I met Larry outside of the Beaux Arts court house. He was eating a cone of fries with a dollop of mayonnaise on the side.
    "Damn good frites," he said, "all I can say is thank God for Lipitor!"
    When I told him of my nocturnal perturbations he laced into me. "Now's not the time to go soft on me, Jeff! Remember, this isn't just about you… or even Madame X. The mental health of an entire nation of people is at stake here!"
    He filled his mouth full of fries before continuing. "And it's not like you'll be together till death do you part… Your shotgun marriage by judicial writ won't last longer than the Nazi-Soviet Pact."
    I stood there stunned by his audacity.
    "The most un-American thing you can do is not litigate." He swallowed a few more fries before adding, "only in Brussels can you try your case and eat your frites too."
    Before he was able to gather his things and alight on foot I asked him if the judge would allow his witness request. "I have no doubt," he replied, "judges spend most of their life adjudicating boring cases just waiting for the chance for real drama. When it arises out pops the ham in all of them as if they were center stage in a Gilbert and Sullivan road show revival."

…

    That morning I was called to the witness stand where the defense fired a salvo of questions to get me either to perjure myself or, at the very least, piss myself.
    "Plaintiff, let's assume that the narrative happened exactly the way you have stated. Why then did you that crucial day in January fail to perform the last, most crucial step?" asked Pinchback.
    Stunned by the question I sat there momentarily mute.
He continued, "By simply by asking her out?"
    The moment my voice box returned I explained that because of her international fame since she was not just any woman this created a chilling effect on me."
    "You clammed up… yes?"
    I shook my head.
    "The history of the world is chock full of examples of those unable to," he replied, dropping his voice, "close the deal."
    He then glanced toward the empty jury box and said, "In essence this is just amorous bungling on your part, is it not plaintiff?"
    "Cut me some slack! I just met her… I'm not professing that I knew then and there I'd be forever madly in love with her," I replied, the heat on my forward rising.
    "And she to you?"
    "Who knows the course of another's heart?"
    "Your Honor," Larry shot back from his chair, "counsel is being argumentative."
    "I was just trying to get at the heart of the issue which is time. Seventeen years. If the plaintiff had been indisposed by say a trip to Mars say…"
    Richetti rocketed from his seat. "This ridiculing of my client…"
    "Sustained," said the judge.
    "Please allow me to rephrase. Doesn't seventeen years seem like a long time to you?"
    "Depends."
    Splugeon sidled up to the side of his partner and put in his two cents. "I think what my learned colleague is implying is that a statue of limitations is in play here."
    "Limitations on love?" I mumurred.
    "Your honor," Larry exclaimed heatedly, "I object to this line of questioning with the proviso that the cultures of the world have already spoken on this issue."
    This rattled the judge out of his near somnambulistic state. "How say you counselor?"
   "Through their great art that fills the world they have proved that love is limitless, and by extension therefore, timeless."
    The judge shook his head affirmatively.
    "But you just said that you weren't in love with her," replied
    "My client has made it amply clear that the potentia existed," shouted Larry.
    "But seventeen years later… it seems rather odd."
    I caught Larry giving a hard look toward their ring fingers and then smile with a slight maniacal curl to his lips. "I take it that it's been awhile since either of you have been single, counselors," he replied, "It's not your fathers courting world out there anymore. You think the dating exigencies of a Hobbesian New York are explained away by television fare like Sex and the City?" he snapped contemptuously, "Hardly, it's tooth and nail way all the way, baby. So when presented with such opportunity the plaintiff had no choice but to carpe diem."
    "But why now… not five or even ten years ago?" chortled Shiver.
    "When I read in the papers of her marriage in the summer of 1986 I assumed that I had blown my chance forever," I replied, "That was until I ran into Charlotte."
    "Charlotte?" asked Shiver, "Who is she?"
    "If counsel had bothered to read Dr. Charlotte C's affidavit he would not be wasting the Court's time," Larry retorted.
    Shiver shot back, "Your Honor as you may not be aware we were assigned to this case at the eleventh hour when Ted Olson, the Solicitor General of the U.S., who was set to argue it got tied up with an illegal Guantánamo detention case. So, if the Court would kindly allow me to quiz the defendant briefly to fill in the gaps."
    The judge motioned him on.
    "How does Charlotte play into all of this?"
    "When we were dating she introduced me to primate behavior."
    Though the look on Shiver's was one of withering disbelief it failed to deter me from continuing. "How it affects the way we date in the city. She said alpha male behavior is totally overrated. In order to control their harem alphas spend most of the time fighting other suitors giving the beta male, or what's usually referred to as the sneaky male, time to steal into the harem and have his pick with little cost to him."
    "Now that you have given the court an overview of male behavior from the early hominid to the current homo sapien how about…" Splurgeon chimed in.
    Richetti was out of his chair in a heartbeat cutting him off. "Your Honor, I object to counselors ad hominem attack on my client!"
    The judge concurred and warned the defense that no personal broadsides would be entertained any further. For the next few hours I was peppered with questions from the defense over certain particulars in Charlotte's documentary on the ritualistic practices of the people of Papeo.    
    I started the day questioning the rightness of bringing the case in the first place but by day's end had become totally emboldened to its cause; the judge, on the other, hand had heard enough and adjourned for the day.
    The next day I resumed my place on the witness stand where the few questions lobed my way were far less belligerent.
    Scheduled next was a court room showing of Dr. Cerf's documentary, which nearly did not happen when the Court found that the audio visual personnel scheduled for that day were beyond their mandated hours under European labor law.
    "I could issue an order en banc but that would seem not only most uncivil but smack of go-it-alone Americanism as well," mused the Judge. A mad scramble ensued to find suitable replacements. The bailiff saved the day by going to a nearby high school and rounding up a couple of kids in the film club who had nothing better to do scheduled that day with the mere exception of after school detention.
    "Your honor, if it pleases the court may I introduce a new witness not included on the list?" asked Larry.
    "I shall take that under advisement."
    The film was shown in its entirety with only one small glitch - its three reels were shown out of sequence.
    "I apologize to the court for the mistake. It seems either that that kids simply mixed up the reels or are budding auteurs who possess a strange passion for fragmented story telling á la Quentin Tarantino," mused Richetti.
    At a point in the projection Larry stopped the film and asked the court to allow him to present the new witness. At first the judge refused but my counsel pleaded with the stubbornness of a badger that the testimony of the witness was germane to the case. The judge acquiesced, finally, not necessarily due to a point of law but out of what looked to be shear exhaustion. Wearily, he ordered the bailiff to escort the witness into the court room and within minutes in walked one Dick Cramwell, a smallish man sporting both the traditional garb of Yorkshire, similar to that of a leprechaun but without a pipe which he made up for with a broad, slightly lop-sided maniacal grin. He marched in tandem with the bailiff down the aisle in a martial style save for the way he swung his arms from side to side like two asynchronous pendulums.
A key scene from the film was replayed a number of times. It showed a man and women in tribal garb dancing what looked to be a herky jerky minuet and at its conclusion they exchanged what looked to be books.
     After a short break Cramwell was seated on the witness stand and asked by Larry if that scene brought anything particular to mind.
    "Call me Dick, govner'. First thing to mind, you say… I shouldya hit the loo for a leak before coming in…"
    A few guffaws were heard throughout the court room forcing the judge to do something he had not yet done – bang the gavel for order.
    "Besides that Mr. Crom… er, I mean Dick, anything else outside of your personal bodily functions that came to mind while watching the film?"
    "It reminded me of a dance me daddy told me about that he once witnessed many years ago."
    The defense objected that not only was this hearsay but hearsay way past it's evidentiary shelf life.
    "Let me remind our learned counsels that the use of hearsay is proper under international law and I might add was very useful in getting to the truth during the proceedings of the South African Truth Commission," rebuked the judge.
    "Some things your da tells ya you never forget," piped Cramwell in a side of mouth style.      
    "But Dick… not to cast aspersions on your excellent memory but wasn't there something else… something on paper?"
    "Oh ya… you mean the sketch?"
    "Yes, I do… do you have that sketch on your person today?"
    He smiled his lunatic grin again and pulled from his breast pocket an old slightly soiled piece of folded paper.
    Larry snatched the paper from Cramwell's hand and said, "May I introduce this as exhibit R, your honor?"
    The judge motioned him to hand him the slip of paper.    

    "Your honor, what you have in your hand is a dance diagram… something that say might be given to a beginner as a kind of dance by numbers…"
    Perturbed, de Bary cut him off, "Counselor, since you're not from around here you might not be aware that before I put on the powdered wig I was quite a hoofer. They called me the Astaire de Bruxelles," he replied haughtily. "Hmm, yes, it's a dance alright, difficult perhaps in that it pushes the body to its maximum pliability but it is still quite danceable. The bench therefore deems the evidence acceptable."
    I saw a look of extreme satisfaction cross Larry's face when he finished his questioning and moved back to the table. Splurgeon wasted no time with his cross examination.
    "You are the son of Richard Cramwell? Better known as Tumble Down Dick."
    "You offend me speakin' about my da like that," cried Cramwell.
    "But in the circles he worked wasn't that his moniker?"
    "Now you callin' me da a monkey?"
    "Oh no, Mr. Cramwell, I have nothing but respect for him even if he happened to be a paparazzi!"
    "No, da was no paparazzi… he was into the fine arts."
    "So your father was an art photographer?" Shiver chimed in, which brought an appreciatively nod from the witness.
    "Did he ever do any work for any German publications?"
    "He had many customers… some payin' some not."
    "Do you remember a magazine called Nucleonics Week?"
    Cramwell thought long on this before answering that yes he did.
    "Yes, it had nice pictures of atoms and things we can't see with the naked eye."
    "But Mr. Cramwell, or should I say Dick though he was paid by Nucleonics the actual work was for an underground Nazi pornographic magazine Die Gruppensex Gesellschaft or DGG for short."
    Cramwell became quite agitated. "Guv'ner I'm not taking anymore of your shite, ya hear. Ok, Dad might have moonlighted at times as a paparazzi but he wuz no Nazi! On his deathbed, see, he made me promise never to swear allegiance to the monarchy. He said they were nothing but
pretenders to the throne. The House of Windsor, blimey… Saxe-Coburg more like it. The last, only true English king was Bonnie Prince Charles!"
    "What is the relevancy of that statement to the question posed by counsel," inquired the judge, curiously.
    "Now you attackin' me relatives, too!"
    "Mr. Richard Cramwell, please hear me out well on this, I have no desire to bring down you or as your relatives but the legitimacy of the English crown is not on trial here!"
    "With due respect your h'ner if there be justice here on Earth those interlopers should be in the docket too," he replied with evident satisfaction.
    "For the love of Lord Coke," de Bary replied contemptuously, "one more remark like that and I'll have you bound and gagged. I do not know if you're familiar with the paintings of Brueghel and his famous inquisitor's wheel but you keep this up and that is going to look like holiday camp with what I have in mind for you."
    Larry employed a diversionary tactic. "But Dick, we all know the crowns of Europe have engaged in certain shenanigans… take for example Leopold of Belgium in the Congo."
    This Court was not amused. "Counselor, you are not by chance disparaging the former king of Belgium who has no bearing on this proceeding.
    Cramwell replied, "I asked him likesay, after he gave me that paper how he came to it? A few weeks before he was hired by a tabloid to stalk the lady in question. Although, publicly engaged a rumor floated that had her seeing another man on the sly. He took the guise of an old graduate student and spent the next fortnight haunting the halls of law in search of his prey. Then, on that one day he witnessed a strange dance performed by her and another young man that made him reconsider the assignment.
    "Ethical considerations?"
    "Me da and ethics in the same line. That's a laugh. He did it for medical reasons, thought she might be having a seizure and did not want to get hit with a Good Samaritan. You know required to aid a person in need. And then when I saw that dance in the movie I thought bloody hell!
    Richetti: No more questions, your honor.
    Judge: You may step down Mr. Cramwell.
    Larry took a long pregnant pause before continuing. He underscored to the Court that the mating ritual seen in the documentary is a highly stylized event. He pointed out that in western societies the bride and groom usually meet the parents of the opposite side many times beforehand. But in Papeo where attainment of serenity is of the highest importance this practice is not only frowned upon but proscribed by law. Ritually, all that is required is that at some point along the time continuum up to the day of the matrimonial binding you must meet with either with a parent or a blood relative so their spirits can intermingle no matter how brief or indirect said meeting is.
    Richetti: If it please the Court may I introduce exhibit F.
    Judge: Proceed.
    Richetti: It is a black and white photograph taken in early May 1968 in Vincennes, Indiana. The photo depicts from left to right the roughly eleven year old daughter of K, the candidate Mr. K. - as with Madame X an alias has been used to hide his identity - and finally, Mayor Earl C. Lawson.
    He hands the photo to the judge.
    Judge: I fail to see the relevance of this piece of evidence to your case.
    Richetti: If you look to the left elbow of Mayor Lawson, you will see a small hand clutching the sleeve of his jacket. A hand I may add that belongs to the plaintiff.
    Judge (peering closely at the photograph) Looks like just a hand to me.
    Richetti: Is it right or even proper to lay fault at the plaintiff's feet because the rest of his body, unbeknownst to him, was cropped from the picture for reasons of political or even artistic expediency? That answer must be no. To a palm reader as every palm is different so is the back of every hand to a back of the hand reader.
    Shiver (bolts from his seat) – This is nonsense, your Honor, a back of the hand reader… who ever heard of such twaddle?
    Judge: Proceed, counselor.
    Richetti: (coolly) Thank you… I anticipated your honor's response so I would like to present exhibit G to the court. (He hands up a sheath of photographs to the judge.)
    Richetti: In that packet you will find three photographs. One is a computer enhanced blow up of the hand in question from exhibit F. The second is a current picture of the plaintiff's right hand. And the third is a computer enhancement of the second photo where the ravaging effects of thirty five years of aging have been electronically removed. As you will ascertain they are one and the same.
    The judge studied the packet of photographic evidence for a few minutes
    Judge: But, counsel, I still find myself in a quandary in that this piece of evidence so vital to proving that the plaintiff fulfilled his ritualistic duties under the tribal code of Papeo. I'm still faced with the fact that this case with all its implications might turn on a hand… a small one at that! Using sound legal principles I might have to rule…    
    Richetti: (interrupting) I understand your honor's hesitancy... But since this court is deciding a case that falls squarely within the bounds of international law as opposed to say national law not only are many avenues of evidence open to it but this court is in no way shackled by the concept of stare decisis as it might be if this were brought before an American court where said concept is tantamount to its underlying legal order.
    Judge: I am having trouble following your logic. If I hear you correctly you are making the claim that legal precedent should not be determinate.
    Richetti: Precisely, your honor. There are a many countries in the world today that don't adhere to Anglo-Saxon legal principles. In many of the remaining socialist countries like say Vietnam or China decisions are made on a case to case basis with little or no reference to past cases. On the island nation of Papeo who are still followers in the most fundamentalist way of the oral tradition stare decisis holds no water for the simple reason that people for serenity's sake try and keep their memory as short as possible.
    Splurgeon – May I approach the bench?
    Judge – (waves him forward) Yes, you may.
    Splurgeon – My learned counsel just contradicted himself.
    Richetti – How so?
    Splurgeon – You said that one, the island nation of Papeo does not have a formal writing system. And two, therefore, they are dependent on the oral tradition. So, my point is how do they remember if they try to forget?
    Judge (arching his eyebrow) Yes, that is a conundrum.
    Richetti – And easily solved your Honor. In Papeo they have a special class called the anointed ones. This class is the memory bearer of their people.
    Judge – (musing) That said… still is the hand enough?
Richetti - In many criminal cases a mere palm print on a gun barrel is sufficient to prove guilt. I point you to investigations in certain assassinations that took place in the USA during the 1960s. And even recently the case in Virginia against the suspected sniper. And, on a more popular note, I am not sure your honor has a chance to read The da Vinci Code, given your heavy judicial calendar, that turns on the depiction of a distended arm near the Christ figure in da Vinci's painting of the Last Supper.
    (the judge looks at him skeptically … looks back to the photo analysis.)
    Richetti (continuing) And then there is the album cover of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Do you know of this particular image.
    Judge - Yes, vaguely, although in my youth I thought they were ponces…(stops himself, embarrassed)… I… I preferred Johnny Holiday…counsel, may I ask where you are going with this?
    Richetti: The open hand above Paul's head. Remember how much significance it took on. I believe in the Sicilian tradition it was the sign of a dead man.
    Judge: (exasperated) I will accept that the evidence proves out your claim on said ownership of hand… but I must say, in an aside, his hands have sure taken a beating over the years.
Counselor, are we not still faced with the Gordian knot of standing.
    Richetti: As I cited earlier because now the Papeon people have had their serenity broken en masse it catapults this case from a private tort to a case of global consequences. And their serenity can only be made whole again when their grievance is redressed by a court ordered fulfillment of the rituals last step.
    Judge: I think your argument seems awfully tortured.
   Richetti: I'll do my best your honor to remove the kinks. (laughs) One more point about the photo. My client as a child called his grandfather affectionately Pappaw. Little did he know that it is a word of great magical significance in Papeo. He was quite unawares at that time that by saying that word in front of the defendant's blood relation he had placed himself inexorably on a ritualistic path that would end in his unconscious betrothal.
    Judge: This case becomes curiouser and curiouser.
    Richetti: I have no further statements, your honor.
    He was followed immediately by the defenses cross-examination.     
    Pinchback: Is it not true that you failed to perform the last step of the ritual because of Madame X's fame and your shriveling insignificance in the face of it?
    Plantiff: (nervously) Umm… not really.
    Pinchback: There you were in that small closet like bookstore at Columbia University Law School standing next to an icon of your generation. And what did you feel? Like the two bit hustling punk you are!
    Richetti: Your honor I'm not going to sit here and allow my client to be barraged by these vicious ad hominem attacks.
    Judge: Counselor Pinchback, one more outburst like that and I will order the bailiff to gag you right here and now.
    Pinchback: My humble excuses. I lost my temper… where was I? Oh yes… So, you didn't have the guts to go for the big shot. You burned in the celebratory heat… her very family name was causing you to choke… you couldn't breathe… so you ran, didn't you?
    Plantiff: If you call slinking running…
    Pinchback: No more questions, your honor.
    The last salvo from the defense was based on the introduction of a document that threw Larry for a loop. It was a signed affidavit from Madame X herself in which she swore she never met me nor harbors any wish to ever meet me. Richetti tried his best to have the document not admitted but we opened up the possibility when we added Cramwell to the list.
    "The case is Ex Parte which means she can't be party to it…."
    Richetti began his re-direct..
    Richetti: What, sir, may I ask were you wearing that day?
    Plantiff: That day I was wearing a sky blue hand knitted Tibetan sweater set off by a certain design pattern stitched in white wool.
    Splurgeon cutting in, "Objection. I don't see how this is material. What veracity can we pin on the defendant's memory. Myself, I'd be hard pressed to remember what I wore last Friday."
"Denied."
    Richetti: Please continue.
    Plantiff: When I returned to my apartment I told my girlfriend that Ms. X gave me a come hither look. She said it had nothing at all to do with me at all but rather with the sweater I was wearing. Like I had gone to a posh prep school and she was just identifying with a member of her tribe.
    The judge guffawed sarcastically.
    Judge: What relevance does the sweater have to do with this case?     
    Richetti: I am trying to show the plaintiff himself was held within a state of mental duress and grave intimidation by his former girlfriend. He was incapable of free will. Short of an intervention it was not possible for him to extend an invitation to Madame X. The defense seems overly focused on the ultimate step. The plaintiff has fulfilled enough of the ritualistic requirements to reach critical mass.
    Judge: So counselor, in your mind what put him over the top.
    Richetti: The moment he exchanged books with Madame X in which each book contained the requisite mention of Papeo. The Madame's book of contract law case cited a case that mentioned Papeo in a suit brought by the owner of a steamship line that ran aground in that country. Conversely, the plaintiff's book was a mimeographed set of readings on law and foreign intelligence that contained therein an FBI report on the whereabouts of renegade spy Philip Agee who was believed living on Papeo.
    The rest of the day was taken up by a series of meaningless motions all of which were denied by the judge.                                                                        ...
Larry Richetti's pithy summation consisted of the following: "In essence this case is not so much about my client. He is just the libation bearer." - he did a dramatic double take toward the back benches and when he turned back a visible tear was evident in his eye - "Yes, he wants freed of his unindividuated blues but what is more important for world peace is for this court to redress the grievance of an entire island people, the Papeons. I beseech you to allow them through your unbridled judicial activism to return to the life they once lived; a life of quietism and serenity!"

…

     Exactly one week to the hour the Supreme Court of Belgium handed down its ruling. It was read from the bench by Raoul De Bary, Juge d'Instruction.
    Whereas, under the customs and traditions of the nation of Papeo… where nothing is codified and never written down there seems to exist one ritual missing from the evidence. The plaintiff has testified that after he exchange of books and smiles he did not ask her to lunch whether out of shyness or embarrassment the emotional state of the plaintiff is not at issue here.
    We do not find in his favor the right to invoke a crime against humanity citing as he did sources reaching back to Grotius and then to the present Rome Accords.
    Following the ritualistic procedure of the island nation of Papeo we find that the plaintiff performed all required actions save for a lunch date or even high tea with the defendant Madame X. We reject his claim that he was unable to fulfill that last sole requirement as a result of mental incapacitation due to a fear instilled in him by his then current girlfriend, described here as a twenty seven year old woman of fiery Irish temperament, and possessing the requisite size and strength, via her former training that led to a New England swimming championship, that made intimidation thru fear possible. Even if the court accepts that she did use the word 'pulverize' on numerous occasions for intimidation to be a proved the component of hovering on the day in question must also be proved. Which it was not. And her offhand comment about his blue ski sweater after the fact doesn't prove an a priori action on her part was a given if the plaintiff had consummated the meeting.
    Nor can we in good faith strike down the marriage of Madame X in July 1986 where she found herself totally unaware that she was already bound to another man via the tribal customs of Papeo to a man she hardly knew. She entered into a matrimonial bond with so called clean hands. This situation is further complicated by that fact that the defendant in the years since 1986 bore a number of children.
    At judgment end each side was given a chance to comment. The defense, pleased with the verdict, declined. We on the other hand demurred.
    Richetti: Your honor, where's the relief?
    Judge: Outside of the chance or arranged meeting of the plaintiff and defendant on the island nation of Papeo there is little redress to be had. Yet, the plaintiff might find solace in that their tribal code places no statutory time limit on fulfilling the requirements of their matrimonial ritual.
Richetti: So, there lies his one glimmer of hope!
    Judge: Yes, but even if he were to affect it I do see one hitch.
    Plantiff: Hitch, your honor?
    Judge: Since her prior marriage is not vacated the plantiff would be in violation of your own national law if he married her.
    Richetti: Polygamy in Papeo is no crime.
    Judge: In your nation it is, therefore it is enforceable via the extra-territoriality powers of the United States… or as more aptly put by your president, "the long arm of the law."
    Richetti: But let's say the marriage isn't consummated. That's it more like an honorarium. I think American law would allow that and not see it as a breach.
    Judge: Perhaps, what would be your plaintiff's point for engaging in such a platonic affair?
    Richetti: Buzz for one. Nearness to such a power center might just jumpstart his life to usefulness. Such a celebrity glow recently catapulted one of her relatives into power.

    The denouement:
    For the next six months Richetti usually decked out in fedora trench coat monitored X's travel activity. He went through my retainer in record time tossing fifties around like nickels as he developed a number of pigeons at many of the city's finest travel agencies.
    Based on the nuances of sovereignty and reciprocity as defined in the Vienna Convention we could depose her and thereby finish the last step if she happened to visit a country with formal diplomatic relations with Papeo.
   I had about given up until the phone rang one day. One of Larry's travel agencies' 'boots on the ground' had tipped him off that Madame X and her family were on their way to Tibet.
   "How does that help us?"
   "Tibet recently established diplomatic relations with Papeo… my advice, call your travel agent."
    I followed my lawyer's advice and together we made haste to Tibet looking ever so much like dime store knockoffs of Peter Lorre and Sydney Greenstreet in their pursuit of the Maltese Falcon. The day we arrived word came to us that Tibet had on the previous day signed a bilateral agreement with America overriding the prosecution powers of the Rome Accords.
    We were stunned. "Now that's what I call a show of power," Richetti muttered under his breath, "well, at least now, I know how Capote felt."
   "Do you think I'll ever get another opportunity to fulfill the last step?" I asked.
   His answer was less than sanguine.
   Twenty years ago if you asked me if one day I would be involved in a case of international law that rested on the question as to whether through the exact performance of a bronze age ritual I was indeed married de facto to a woman of international fame, wealth and power without either of our knowledge I would have laughed in your face.
    But, strangely, the moment I arrived back in America those unindividuated blues left me. Never in my wildest imagination would I dream that it would take the work of a world organization based in Europe, derided as an extension of an irrelevant debating society to help me find my own individualism. Yet, no longer did I feel atomized. I now felt molecular.
    In the end the question remains whether I will ever act on the judicial mandate handed down to me. Who is to say that on one fine spring day if word came to me that Madame X was on her way to one of the four countries left on the planet not signed to a bi-lateral agreement with the US: Quemoy, Matsu, Iran or North Korea, who's to say I might not take the plunge?