Janissary of Nolas

 

Early in the morning, I was awakened by a terrible banging—and before I could open one eye—two thugs in Special Tribunal uniforms burst through the forced-open door. They pulled me from my bed, handcuffed my hands and feet, and then, like a sack of potatoes, threw me into the "bitch," only to be stuffed into the cage in the center of the Tribunal chamber less than an hour later. "

Get up, you rabble! The court is coming!" the usher announced in a booming voice.

I rose from my chair, and with me, the crowd gathered in the gallery.

The tall, ascetic judge took his seat at the table.

"Name!" his piercing whisper sounded like a fragmentation mine.

"Janko Chanowski."

"Does he use other names or pseudonyms?" "

They call me Janczar z Nolasu.

" "Oh yes... In the underground, he uses a pseudonym... Is he part of the organization's leadership?"

"No, please, High Tribunal."

"I mean, he's a rank-and-file member of a criminal organization..."

"But, Your Honor..."

"Don't let him answer without being asked," the judge shouted in a high-pitched voice, then leaned over the thick volume of the Special Code lying on the table.

"Yes..." he muttered, "membership in a subversive organization... doesn't belong to the authorities..." The penalty prescribed by the Code," he continued loudly, raising his head from the book, "is deprivation of membership, unless the accused"—he glanced at the Code again—"suffers from hemophilia..."

He frowned in deep thought, then began to ponder in a low voice. "...so, if someone suffers from hemophilia, they can engage in anti-state activities?"

He immersed himself in the study of the Code's provisions again. "...because this disease causes death by bleeding out. What?! I must have misunderstood something..." Right. The penalty prescribed by the Code is deprivation of membership.

The crowd in the gallery howled, "Mr. Jan, Mr. Jan, tomorrow he'll be castrated.

" "Does he have hemophilia?"

"No... I mean, yes.

" "Aha. Then we'll check what it says. Yes... if he has hemophilia, the death penalty is carried out by hanging. Clean and hygienic," he laughed sarcastically. "

Your Highest Tribunal," I shouted in horror. I said no, only adding that at least that's what I thought.

"Yeah, what else do we have here? Oh, he's a slacker. What about that slacker? And what does he do for a living?" "

I don't do slacker, I write about it. And that's how I make a living." "

From writing? So smart? And who taught him to write? "

"A priest.

" "A priest. We'll deal with him too when the time comes. So he says he makes a living from writing... He's probably the one who reported me to the Special Higher Tribunal, saying I'm stupid and taking bribes..."

"Not at all, Your Honor. If he were stupid, he wouldn't take bribes, and if he didn't take bribes, that would mean he was stupid. I couldn't have written anything like that.

" "If he couldn't write, he couldn't have written it, but since he can write, he could have written it. Therefore, we find the accused guilty and sentence him for this despicable act to..."—he began leafing through the book—"the amputation of two limbs."

The crowd in the gallery roared again: "Mr. Jan, Mr. Jan, tomorrow will be castrated." "

How many limbs does he have?" asked the judge with obvious interest.

"One," I replied, slightly embarrassed.

"Then how can we amputate two of his limbs?... I have to check that again.

" He returned to his study of the code. "...to amputate two limbs of his right index finger."

The crowd in the gallery began a chorus: "Mr. Jan, Mr. Jan, tomorrow will be amputated." "

I now declare a lunch break, but only for myself. The accused is to wait here!"

"Get up, you rabble! The court is leaving!" the usher announced.

I leaped violently from my chair, caught my handcuffs on my leg, and fell to the floor, losing consciousness.

When I awoke, I smelled the intense scent of a blooming linden tree and heard the buzzing of thousands of bees. I opened my eyes. I was in bed, in my own bedroom. With a certain timidity, I reached under the covers, feeling for the familiar spot. "There it is! A small thing, but it brings joy..."