Books Burn Badly - Manuel Rivas [115]
The Judge of Oklahoma pronounced sentence with the same inclination with which the painter Castiglione sketched his Young Man with Lowered Head.
In order to avoid protests in the courtroom, he had the public divided into three halves.
Return to the source! Look in the source! exclaimed the Judge of Oklahoma when indoctrinating future judges. Everyone thought he meant Roman Law, but he had in mind the blonde, northern mermaid splashing about in the Trevi Fountain.
In the field of law, had he been the only judge in the world, he’d have known no rival.
In his time as a member of the special tribunal, the Judge of Oklahoma would take pity on those who’d been sentenced to death and tell them, Not to worry. The day you die will be the last of your life.
Let the trial begin! declared the Judge of Oklahoma solemnly. And then he added, Show the culprit in!
On one of the folders, he saw the name John Black Eye. Inside was a carbon copy of one letter and the original of another. The first was dated in Coruña and addressed to the publisher of the Far Off West series. The person writing introduced themselves as ‘an unconditional follower of John Black Eye’ and quoted some of his titles as examples of ‘masterpieces in the western genre’.
‘Such galloping prose,’ it said, ‘is only possible against the backdrop of a vast culture, whose qualities are stressed in the learned historical and ethnographical references and detailed geographical descriptions. What stands out, however, is the ironic style, the great subtlety, the unmistakable talent that suggest the presence of a great and hidden artist.’
Finally the letter’s author enquired about John Black Eye’s real identity or, if this were not possible, his address so that he could send him ‘an admirer’s humble tribute’.
There was one surprising detail in the letter. It was signed R. Mandivi and it took Gabriel some time to realise this was his father’s initial and second surname. He wasn’t the one who asked questions. The questions came to him. Why not put his own name?
The other letter, written at a later date, came from Barcelona. The typed text was brief:
Dear Mr Mandivi,
We passed on your request to John Black Eye, who in turn expressed his heartfelt gratitude for your comments. It is his rule not to enter into correspondence with readers. He was delighted, however, to comply with another of your requests, for which we enclose a signed copy of Word of Colt. Please accept our apologies and our own thanks for your interest.
Yours, Salomé Senra
He carried on excavating. The title of one novel in the Far Off West series was indeed The Judge of Oklahoma. There was also The Mysterious Outsider, The Yoke Collector, The Peace of Graveyards . . . But what he anxiously sought, and could not find, was Word of Colt. There was something else, however, a folder that had nothing to do with westerns, marked ‘12 Panadeiras Street’.
The Mysterious Outsider
On one occasion, just one, the judge lost his effigy’s composure, his immutable presence that paralysed so many defendants and only the odd mischief-maker would parody in a whisper, far away from the Palace of Justice, recalling that monumental slip-up, ‘Let the trial begin! Show the culprit in!’
The one time his face fell, and he couldn’t help thumping the palm of his left hand with his right fist like a mallet, was when the defendant in question, who was up on charges of ‘disorderly conduct’ and ‘being a public nuisance’, turned out to be someone who looked like his twin. An exact copy, as if out of a mould. His first impulse, having ordered him to stand up and give his name, was to demand an explanation. He felt a chill on seeing that they were exactly the same. Not even a marked difference in their clothes could detract from their awful similarity. He glanced at the people in the courtroom. No one seemed to have spotted what for the judge was a case of mistaken physiognomy. And it wasn’t that they were blind, since he himself agreed