“I did no such thing!”
“Oh, yes, you did, Johanna. Evelyn snatched you off my lap and apologized and said that you had a bed-wetting problem. Can’t say as to that—my daughter lied easily.”
“Judge, are you going to sit there and let that—that person—insult the memory of my dead mother?”
“Mrs. Seward, your counsel cautioned you. If you don’t heed his caution, this Court is capable of nailing you into a barrel and letting you speak only when I say to pull out the bung. Or some such. Squelch her, Alec. Suppress her the way they did in the trial in ‘Alice in Wonderland’—which this is beginning to resemble. She’s not a party to this; she is here only to give evidence in case the Court needs it. Miss Smith—”
“Yes, sir?”
“Your opinions as to the veracity of your putative descendants are not evidential. Can you think of anything that Johann Smith would know and that I would know or could check on—but which Jake Salomon could not possibly have briefed you on?”
“That’s a tough one, Your Honor.”
“So it is. But the alternative—today—is for me to assume that you are an imposter most carefully coached and then to question you endlessly in an attempt to trip you. I don’t want to do that…because final identification—now that the matter has been raised—will have to be by evidence as conclusive as fingerprints. You see that, don’t you?”
“Yes, I see it but I don’t quite see how.” She smiled and spread her graceful hands. “My fingerprints—and everything about me that can be seen—are those of my donor.”
“Yes, yes, surely—but there are more ways of killing a cat than buttering it with parsnips. Later.”
“Harrumph!”
“Yes, Jake?”
“Judge, in the interests of my client I cannot concede that physical means of identifying this body are relevant. The question is: Is this the individual designated by Social Security number 551-20-0052 and known to the world as Johann Sebastian Bach Smith? I suggest that ‘Estate of Henry M. Parsons v. Rhode Island,’ while not on all fours, is relevant.”
McCampbell said mildly, “Jake, you are much older. than I am and I’m reasonably sure you know the law more thoroughly than I do. Nevertheless, here today, I am the Judge.”
“Certainly, Your Honor! May it please the Court, I—”
“So quit being so damned respectful in my chambers. You sat on my orals and voted to pass me, so you must think I know some law. Of course the Parsons case is relevant; we’ll get to it later. In the meantime I’m trying to find a basis for a pro-tem ruling. Well, Miss Smith?”
“Judge, I don’t care whether I’m identified or not. In the words of a gallant gentleman: ‘Broke don’t scare me.’” She suddenly chuckled and glanced at her granddaughters. “May I tell you something funny—privately?”
“Mmm… I could clear the room of everyone but you and your counsel; nevertheless you had better save any jokes until after we adjourn.”
“Yes, sir. May I address one irrelevant remark to my granddaughters?”
“Hmmph. I may strike it from the record. Go ahead.”
“Thank you, Judge. Girls—Johanna, Marla, June, Elinor—look at me. For thirty-odd years you have been waiting for me to die. Now you hope to prove that I am dead, else this silly business would never have come up. Girls, I hope you get away with it…for I can’t wait to see your faces when my will is read.” (You zapped ’em, Boss! Look at those expressions!) (I surely did, darling. Now shut up; we’re not home free.)
“Your Honor—”
“Yes, Alec?”
“May I suggest that this is not relevant?”
Joan cut in. “But I said it would be irrelevant, Mr. Train. Just the same, they had better start thinking about how to break my will, instead of this nonsense.” She added thoughtfully, “Perhaps I had better set up a lifetime trust that will make them slightly better off with me alive than dead…to protect myself against patricidal assassination. Judge, is ‘patricidal’ the right word? Now that I’m female?”
“Blessed if I know. Better make it ‘avicidal’—no, ‘avicide’ already means the killing of birds and has nothing to do with ‘avus.’ Never mind, Miss Smith, take up such matters with your attorney and let us return to our muttons. Have you thought of anything which Jake Salomon could not have coached you on?”
“It’s difficult. Jake has been handling my affairs for most of a generation. Mmm, Judge, will you shake hands with me?”
“Eh?”
“We had best do it under the table, or out of sight of anyone but Mr. Train.”
Looking puzzled, the Judge went along with her request. Then he said, “Be damned! Excuse me. Miss Smith—shake hands with Alec.”
Joan did so, letting her body cover it from spectators. Mr. Train looked surprised, whispered something to her which she answered in a whisper. (Boss, what was what?) (Greek. Tell you later, dear—though girls aren’t supposed to know.)
McCampbell said, “Mr. Salomon could not have coached you?”
“Ask him. Jake was a Barb, not a Greek.”
“Of course I was a Barb,” Salomon growled. “I had no stomach for being the exhibit Jew in a chapter that did not want its charter lifted. What is this?”
Train said, “Well, it seems that Miss Smith is a fraternity brother of the Judge and myself. Mmm…‘sister,’ I suppose. Judge, it’s easy to check this on both Johann Smith and Mr. Salomon. In the meantime I find it persuasive.”
“Perhaps I can add to it,” Joan said. “Mr. Train—Brother Alec—of course you should check on both Jake and myself. But look me up in our fraternal archives under ‘Schmidt’ rather than ‘Smith’ as I changed my name in forty-one. Which my granddaughters know. But you both know of our fraternal Distress Fund?”
“Yes.”
“Certainly, Miss Smith.”
“The fund did not exist when I was pledged—my senior year it was, after I made Phi Beta Kappa and because our local chapter needed a greasy grind and had an alumnus willing to pay for my initiation. The fund was started during World War Two; I helped augment it some years later and was one of its trustees from fifty-six until late in the eighties when I dropped most outside activities. Judge, you tapped the fund for fifteen hundred in the spring of seventy-eight.”
“Eh? So I did. But I paid it back, eventually—then donated the same amount at a later time, according to our customs.”
“I’m glad to hear it. The latter, I mean; you were off the hook before I resigned as a trustee. I was a hard-nosed trustee, Judge, and never okayed a loan until I was certain that it was a distress case and not just a convenience to a lazy undergraduate. Shall I relate the circumstances which caused me to okay your loan?”
The Judge blinked. “I would rather you did not, at least not now. Alec knows them.”
“Yes,” agreed Train. “Would have lent him the money myself if I had had it.” (What is this, Boss?) (Case of ‘rheumatic fever,’ sweet.) (Abortion money?) (No, no—he married the girl—and here I am digging up the skeleton.) (Bitch.) (No, Eunice—my granddaughters don’t know what I’m talking about, nor does Jake.)
“I see no reason to discuss it,” Miss Smith went on, “unless the Judge wants to question me privately—and if you do, Judge, do remind me to tell you a real giggle about the ancestries of my so loving granddaughters. Odd things happen even in the best families—and the Schmidt family was never one of the best. We’re a vulgar lot, me and my descendants—our only claim to prominence is too much money.”
“Later perhaps, Miss Smith. I am now ready to hand down a decision—temporary and conservative. Counsels?”
“Ready, Judge.”
“Nothing to add, Your Honor.”
McCampbell fitted his fingertips together. “Identity. It need not depend on fingerprints or retinal patterns or similar customary evidence. John Doe could lose both hands and both feet, have both eyes gouged out, be so scarred and damaged that even his dentist could not identify him—and he would
still be John Doe, with the same Social Security number. Something like that happened to you, Miss Smith, assuming that you are indeed Johann Sebastian Bach Smith—though I am happy to see”—he smiled—“that no scars show.
“This Court finds persuasive the evidence of your identity brought out in this hearing. We assume, pro tern, that you are Johann Sebastian Bach Smith.
“However”—the Judge looked at Salomon—“we now get to the Parsons case. Inasmuch as the Supreme Court has ruled that the question of life or death resides in the brain and nowhere else, this Court now rules that identity must therefore reside in the brain and nowhere else. In the past it has never been necessary to decide this point; now it is necessary. We find that to rule in any other fashion would be inconsistent with the intent of the Supreme Court in ‘Estate of Henry M. Parsons v. Rhode Island.’ To rule in any other way would create chaos in future cases in any way similar to this one: Identity must lie in the brain.
“Now, Jake, I am in effect going to shove the burden of the proof over onto you and your client. At a later time you must be prepared to prove beyond any possible doubt that Johann Sebastian Bach Smith’s brain was removed from his body and transplanted into this body”—McCampbell pointed.
Jake nodded. “I realize that, Judge. A person who wants to cash a check must prove his identity—this is on all fours. But today we were taken by surprise.”
“So was the Court—and, Alec, I’m going to take you by surprise someday…with something better than a pie bed or an exploding cigar. Damn it, you should have warned Court and Counsel.”
“I apologize, Your Honor. I received my instructions quite late.”
“You should have at once asked for a continuance, not let this hearing open. You know better. Never mind, the hearing has been instructive. Miss Smith—Miss Johann Sebastian Bach Smith subject to remarks above—you were made a ward of this Court and placed under the guardianship of Mr. Jacob Salomon for one reason alone: You were at the time not competent to manage your affairs by reason of post-operative incapacity. Let the record show that neither insanity in the legal sense nor mental illness in the medical sense had anything to do with it; you were in an extended condition of unconsciousness following surgery and that was all. You are no longer unconscious, you appear to be in good health, and the Court takes judicial notice that during this hearing you appeared always to be alert and clearheaded. Since the sole condition—unconsciousness—on which you were made a ward no longer obtains, you are now no longer a ward and Mr. Salomon is discharged of his guardianship—what’s the trouble, Alec?”
“May it please the Court!—as Counsel for the Petitioners I must ask to have an objection entered into the record.”
“On what grounds?”
“Why, lack of expert witnesses as to, uh, ‘Miss Smith’s’ competence.”
“Do you have expert witnesses ready to examine her?”
“Of course.”
“Jake?”
“Certainly. Waiting on call.”
“How many?”
“Harrumph! One more than Alec has, however many he qualifies.”
“So I expected, and if we start qualifying expert witnesses now and let each one exercise his little ego, those fish in Nova Scotia would die of old age. Keep your shirt on, Alec. No expert witnesses were used to show this person’s incompetence; the gross condition of unconsciousness was stipulated—and now no longer exists. Alec, your objection goes into the record but I am putting you on notice that your claim of need for expert witnesses lacks foundation—and this time the burden of proof is on you. Petitioners will have to show something more than great anxiety to get their hands on the large sums of money at stake in this matter. Every citizen, every person, is conditionally presumed to be competent—and that means everyone—you, me, Jake, Miss Smith, Petitioners, and the illiterate who fills that bar and cleans out the empties. This Court will not set the extremely bad precedent of allowing you, or anyone, to conduct a fishing expedition into the matter of a person’s competency without proper foundation. However—Jake.”
“Yes, Judge.”
“We all know what this hearing is really about. Money. Lots of money. You might explain to Miss Smith that her competence may be challenged at some later time.”
“We’re prepared for it.”
“While I’ve discharged you as her guardian, you will stay on as conservator of the property of Johann Sebastian Bach Smith pending positive proof of identity—and I do mean positive; you’ve got to trace Smith’s brain into this body every step of the way. What was the name of that surgeon? Boyle? I suppose you’ll need him. And several others. I’m not going to take anything for granted, nor permit any stipulations; there is too much at stake and I don’t intend to be reversed. Alec, if you are going to challenge competency, you will have to wait until after that time and—if it’s in my court—show foundation for such challenge. That satisfy you?”
“I guess it will have to.”
“I guess so, too. Court’s adjourned.”
Mrs. Seward stood up, red-faced, and said to Alec Train, “You’re fired!”
McCampbell said coldly, “Madam, consider yourself lucky that you saved that outburst until after Court adjourned. Now, get out of my chambers. You other three ladies may leave, too.”
Johanna’s sister June said as she stood up: “Judge, may I ask a question?”
“Certainly, Mrs. Frabish.”
“You’ve turned this person loose—that’s all right, I’m not criticizing. But are you leaving her in our grandfather’s house? I think you ought to know that it is loaded, simply loaded, with valuable works of art. What is to keep her from gutting it while we are proving that she can’t be our grandfather?”
“Oh. Madam, Mr. Salomon knows the duties and responsibilities of a conservator. However—Jake, it would be prudent not to permit any objects of sentimental or artistic value to leave that house during this waiting period.”
“No problem. Since I’ve had to manage the household, I’ve been staying there much of the time. But I’ll have a word with Johann’s chief guard.”
“Judge, may I say something?”
“Certain, my—Miss Smith.”
“I’d like protection against them. June doesn’t know what objets d’art I own. Not one of them has been inside my house since it was built. During my long illness and confinement not one of them called on me or sent flowers or anything. And the same for my post-surgery convalescence—except that I learned that Johanna—Mrs. Seward—tried to crash in right after my operation. I don’t trust them; I’d like the Court’s protection.”
“Jake?”
“I wasn’t there but I heard it from Johann’s chief guard.”
“Mrs. Seward?”
She sniffed. “I had a perfect right! Next of kin.”
“I think I understand it. All right, you four ladies—listen carefully, then leave. You will refrain from visiting the home or offices or other properties of Johann Sebastian Bach Smith. You will refrain from making any attempt to see or to speak with this young lady I have been addressing as ‘Miss Smith.’ If you need to communicate with her or with the Court’s appointed conservator, Mr. Salomon, you will do so only through this Court or through your attorney, whoever he may be, to Mr. Salomon and never directly to Miss Smith. This is an order to all four of you and each of you will obey under pain of severe penalties for contempt. Do you understand? Are there any questions?”
McCampbell waited, then went on, “Very well. Now all four of you leave.”
The Judge remained standing while they filed out. When the door sealed, he sighed. “Whew! Miss Smith—or should I say ‘Brother Schmidt’?—will you have that Glen Grant on rocks now? Glenlivet actually, I don’t have Glen Grant.”
She smiled. “Truly, I haven’t tried anything that potent on this new body. Jake and I should leave—you and Brother Alec have a date with a fish.”
“Oh, do sit down. Alec has his gear in his car in the basement a
nd my copter is picking us up from the roof in about an hour. Another Coke?”
“Is there sherry? I get a very pleasant buzz on just a glass of sherry—I conclude that my donor did not drink at all.” (Almost never, Boss—and you’re giving me a taste for the stuff.) (Quiet, darling—later.) (All right…but ask him about our name. Isn’t Judgie Wudgie a darling? Wonder what he’s like in bed?) (You and your one-track mind! I’ll ask him about our name. Now shut up!)
“Sherry it shall be. Jake? Ned? Alec?”
“Judge, since Jake doesn’t need me, I’ll ask to be excused.”
“Okay, Ned. Alec, serve yourself and take care of Jake; I want to stare at Brother Schmidt. I probably won’t be seeing you again, Miss Smith. Your granddaughters are almost certain to try to move it into a higher court. That business of proving who you are by our fraternity grip—that tore it. All I could do today was to give you a little protection in the interim.”
“Which I appreciated, sir. Here’s an odd thing about this sex change. When I was an old man, frail and helpless, I was afraid of nothing. Now I’m young and healthy and strong. But female. To my surprise I find that I want to be protected.”
Alec Train said over his shoulder from the bar, “I’ll protect you, Brother Schmidt! Don’t trust Brother McCampbell—he was the worst wolf in our chapter. Step aside, Brother Wolf—it’s my turn to stare at our new brother.”
“Boys, I am not a ‘new brother,’ I was pledged years before you were born. But I’m not surprised that you like to stare at me, as my donor—Jake, do they know?”
“It’s not much of a secret, Johann. Judge McCampbell knows, I think Alec knows, too.” (Joan, if he doesn’t know, tell him. And don’t forget our name!) (What do you think I’m leading up to?)