The Chameleon Shuffle

By Jere Krakoff

Is he Liberal? Or is he Conservative? The highest judge in the land can't make up his mind.

After languishing in The Depository for Foundlings and other Discarded Children, Leonard Zweig is adopted by staunch Conservative lawyer Milton and pious Liberal lawyer Miriam Zweig.

When the Zweigs launch a secret program to indoctrinate Leonard in the dogma of their respective sects, his impressionable adolescent's mind bifurcates, causing him to involuntarily oscillate between Liberalism and Conservatism every few days—an affliction he can't shake even through law school and eventually municipal judgeship.

Meanwhile, the Republic is mired in a judicial crisis. To stave off a leftward shift, Benito Ionesco, Leader of the Conservative-controlled legislature, searches for a viable way to end the crisis. Fortuitously, his secretary has recently read about Leonard's ideological switching in a tawdry tabloid.

Will the Liberal Chancellor be willing to nominate a part-time Conservative to the highest Bench in the land? And if Leonard is confirmed, will he be treated as a pariah by his colleagues? Or will an aversion conditioning program leave him with a single ideological bias? This satirical novel hilariously exposes our current political climate, judicial system, and leaders.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Books
• Release date: Jan 14, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463327302

Book preview

Part One

Justice Franz Babel

1.

Franz Babel, a Justice on the Republic’s High Court of Final Supplications, was a serial seducer. His third wife, like the previous two, refused to engage in atypical forms of sex with him. Unable to experiment at home, the elderly jurist found unconventional partners elsewhere, typically in traveling circuses.

Aware that carousing carried risks for a High Court Justice, especially a septuagenarian who espoused a belief in the sanctity of marriage, Babel was careful to wear disguises and use assumed names when on the prowl.

One evening, after a tedious hearing, he donned a fake beard and taxied to the Fettig Fairgrounds, the Capital City’s mecca for traveling circuses. His heart fluttered in feral anticipation as he purchased a front row, center aisle ticket. The featured act was The Flying Trotskys, a troupe of trapeze artists comprised of five men in tuxedoes and thirteen women in skimpy outfits. Squinting through opera glasses, he scanned meticulously until Isabella Trotsky came into view. Her powerful mid-air twists and leaps, muscular arms, taunt thighs, and bulging calves excited him. Closing his eyes for a brief reverie, he imagined a post-performance tryst with the flexible acrobat, replete with positions he had never seen before. Opening his eyes, he observed Trotsky hurtling airborne toward the waiting arms of a male trapeze artist. Unable to contain himself, he hastily removed a notepad from his overcoat and scribbled this message:

Mon Amour. Your moves are magnificent! You belong on the stage. As a playwright, producer, and director, I would like to meet you after the show to discuss a starring role in my next play, In the Eyes of the Beholder. You will see me in the first row. I am the handsome man with a beard and red beret. Wave to convey acceptance of my offer. From a secret admirer who is no longer a secret—Ishmael Cervantes.

Babel handed the message to a male Flying Trotsky temporarily stationed on the ground. Pointing to the object of his lust as she dangled upside down from a flimsy rope, the panting Justice said in a contrived Latinate accent, Señor, I would be honored if you deliver this to that muscular lady up there when you re-ascend. He watched the tuxedoed courier take flight and seamlessly deliver the note to his target. After she appeared to read the missive, he detected a faint wave. Although the gesture was less enthusiastic than Babel hoped for, it nevertheless buoyed his spirits. As Isabella Trotsky dangled upside down from a trapeze, the serial seducer thought: After I have introduced her to my incomparable repertoire, she will wave uncontrollably as I bid her adieu.

After the performance, Babel approached the acrobat outside her dressing room with beret in hand. Barely five feet tall, he stood on his toes to make himself appear taller. Looking up to Trotsky, the Justice effusively praised her moves, then identified himself as Cervantes, the note’s author. At your service, he intoned while gracefully bowing to feign respect for his prey. Before Trotsky had an opportunity to speak, he invited her to a high-end restaurant, ostensibly to discuss the lead role in his fictive play but actually to ply her with strong drinks, a key part of his modus operandi. The trapeze artist conditionally accepted the invitation, stating that they would have to dine in the dressing room since she lacked evening wear suitable for dining out. Wherever we meet, I shall be at your service, he cooed.

The supple woman took Babel by his tiny hand and led him into the dressing room. Things proceeded briskly from there. After ingesting a few crackers, the couple shared drinks from a bottle of cheap gin Trotsky kept on hand for such occasions. When both were suitably lubricated, they negotiated ground rules for foreplay, after-play, and other aspects of the tryst. Asked whether he had a prophylactic, he told Trotsky, "You needn’t worry, my angel, as I’m a skilled practitioner of the ancient art of coitus interruptus." As fate would have it, Babel was too excited to withdraw prior to seeding the trapeze artist with a volume of spermatozoa too small to notice.

Sated and desperate to leave, Babel straightened his fake beard, which had shifted during the raucous affair; kissed Trotsky gently on the forehead; nibbled on each ear; tenderly patted her cleft chin; and massaged both of the trapeze artist’s biceps. Wishing to create the impression he wasn’t a man who engaged in one-night encounters with floozies, the Justice disingenuously said he looked forward to another rendezvous when the circus returned to the Capital City. She politely rejected the overture, stating that she had no interest in seeing him again. Sexual repetition with the same person is boring, were her last words as she showed him the door.

Babel felt soiled by the trapeze artist’s post-coital remark. He skulked from the circus grounds, wondering how a woman with whom he had shared his aged body could be so insensitive. Perhaps the floozie noticed the beard-shift or prefers taller men, he rationalized while returning to his domicile and third wife.

2.

Thirty-one years after the Isabella Trotsky affair, Franz Babel died on the High Bench in the midst of an Oral Argument. He was a hundred and five years old and in poor health. Death occurred moments after Babel accused appellant’s attorney of speaking in tongues. As the lawyer subserviently thanked Babel for the insult, the Justice’s eyes closed, mouth gaped, and upper body slowly descended. His bewigged head came to rest on The Uniform Rules of Oral Conflict , a tome that occupied the space between him and Enrico Serpentine, the High Court’s Highest Justice. Babel emitted two faint belches, a feeble death rattle, and expired.

Should I continue…or what? the lawyer asked Serpentine, unsure of what to do.

Of course, continue! Serpentine barked malignantly. The wheels of justice stop for nothing!

Feigning reverence, the attorney genuflected and resumed his incoherent presentation. Over the ensuing hour, he spewed non sequiturs, mishandled the surviving Justices’ questions, and listened jealously to his opponent’s lucid rebuttal.

While these activities unfolded around Babel’s lifeless body, no one noticed he was dead. Not the six Justices who flanked his corpse. Not the two lawmongers who addressed his cadaver. Nor a single spectator who glanced at his remains.

No one noticed Babel was dead because everyone knew he habitually slept during Arguments. Pursuant to established protocol, the Courtroom usher informed attendees of that fact prior to the start of the proceeding. The gist of the message was sleeping was age-related, not a sign of boredom on the Justice’s part. Like most people in their hundreds, the usher explained, he sleeps a lot.

The first sign that something more than sleeping was involved was Babel’s failure to rise when the Argument ended. As on all Arguing Days, a jarring buzzer rang to signal it was time for the Justices to collectively rise and trundle from the Courtroom. A collective departure was a well-oiled charade to portray the High Court as a collegial body rather than an acrimonious amalgam of waring Conservative and Liberal ideologues riddled with hatred, discord, and festering grievances. Until then, Babel always rose on cue and never failed to trundle.

Alarmed by these unprecedented omissions, Highest Justice Serpentine studied Babel’s inert body for a sign of life. When he detected nothing consistent with living, he concluded that Babel was probably dead.

With his brow furrowed dramatically to reflect the magnitude of the loss, Serpentine reached into his judicial robe and retrieved the draft of a eulogy he prepared in the event Babel died on the Bench. Reading from the text, with only slight improvisations, he bleated mournfully:

It is with profound sadness that I announce the probable death of my esteemed colleague, collaborator, mentor, confidant, and ideological ally. This pillar of the Conservative Bloc died where he belonged…on the Bench. He will be remembered as a man of unusual dignity, as a humble public servant who never personally attacked a lawmonger appearing before him without good cause, and as a congenial person who was a pleasure to work with, except when he wasn’t. Though Justice Babel was only approximately five feet tall in elevator shoes, he was a judicial giant. I remove and doff my judicial wig out of respect for this larger than life figure and ask that everyone in this hallowed venue with a toupee, doff as well.

Emulating Highest Justice Serpentine, the other Justices, lawyers, ushers, bailiffs, and bald spectators sporting toupees doffed. Members of the audience with full heads of hair—not wanting to appear disrespectful—pretended to doff. When the ritual ended, Serpentine cleared the Courtroom, except for the three surviving members of the Conservative Bloc who would stand vigil over Babel’s corpse until a hearse arrived to take it away.

Justice Franz Babel

3.

When Justice Babel died, the Conservative Bloc’s 4-3 majority on the High Court died with him. More ominously for the rightwing survivors, the Bloc was virtually certain to be relegated to minority status since a Liberal Party candidate for Chancellor of the Republic had recently been elected to replace the Conservative Party incumbent and was expected to nominate someone on the ideological left to replace Babel. Losing the majority was all the grief-stricken survivors could think about as they hovered over their former cohort’s remains.

Why did the little runt have to die now? Justice Serpentine asked rhetorically, while tears streamed down his heavily corrugated cheeks toward his arid, chapped lips.

He should have had the decency to die before the election, said Justice Gunter Schadenfreude.

Or, prior to the inauguration, Justice Werner Schlock added.

The twerp was always selfish, said Serpentine.

I never liked him, said Schadenfreude.

He was a hypocritical womanizer, said Schlock.

"But he was our hypocritical womanizer," Schadenfreude clarified.

The schmuck wasn’t a nice person, said Schlock.

However, he was dependable, said Serpentine.

Yes, said Schlock. The pipsqueak never strayed from our fold.

We’ll miss his vote, said Schadenfreude. Before his miniscule body is cold, he’ll be replaced with a goddam Liberal.

We’ll be neutered, Serpentine moaned, relegated to writing dissents that barely see the light of day…swept into the dustbin of history…lost and forgotten.

Reduced to spinning our wheels like gerbils, getting nowhere fast, Schadenfreude lamented.

Our accomplishments will be wiped out! Serpentine moaned with escalating indignation, causing his sickly chalk-white complexion to turn beet red. No more Original Intent! Strict Constructionism will be passé! The Constitution will evolve! New rights will be invented! Legislative overreach will go unchecked! Corporations will suffer! Trusts will be busted! Crime will flourish! One by one…

The Highest Justice’s diatribe was interrupted by the laughter of a crew of body collectors who had come for Babel’s remains. Though appalled by the laughter, Serpentine was more concerned by the collectors recklessly bumping their gurney into the spectator pews as they wheeled it down the aisle. Fearing the corpse would be irreparably damaged if handled roughly, the Highest Justice belched, Be gentle, you clumsy thugs! The deceased’s bones are brittle! Assuming anything remains of his remains, tell the mortician to use extra coloring on his face, neck, and hands…and to iron his robe! He has to look presentable for the viewing!

Chastened by the Highest Justice’s directives, the collectors carefully removed Babel’s cadaver, gently deposited it on the gurney without causing any significant damage, and carefully navigated from the Courtroom with only a few insignificant collisions with the pews along the way. As Babel disappeared from view, the Justices doffed their wigs, dabbed their moist eyes, and cursed the jurist whose untimely death cost them the majority.

4.

While funeral parlor staff ironed Babel’s robe and tinted his face a subtle orange, conspiracy theories that he was the victim of foul play circulated throughout the Republic. The most popular hypothesis was one or more of the Liberal Justices conspired with the High Court’s chef to poison him in order to shift the balance of power. Although there was no basis for this speculation, it was widely accepted by people who traveled in suspicious circles.

Fettig’s Police Commissioner, an avid conspiracy theorist who had jurisdiction over crimes committed in the Capital City, was excited by the prospect of bringing whoever assassinated Babel to justice. He dispatched a squadron of officers to retrieve Babel’s corpse from the parlor and deliver it to the Chief Coroner for a head to toe autopsy.

Before the remains were placed on the autopsy table, the Coroner photographed every inch of Babel’s prune-like flesh: full frontal, partial sideways, and complete backwards. Seeing no discoloration, he ruled out strangulation, suffocation, simple assault, and numerous other popular forms of foul play that began with the letter S. Poisoning, however, remained a possibility. Wielding a scalpel, the Coroner cut through Babel’s gauzy skin to gain access to his internal organs. Each of the organs was meticulously sliced, diced, dissected and probed, then weighed and examined by microscope. Hours later, the exhausted scientist held a press conference, where he announced that Babel died from natural causes associated with heavily clogged arteries, spent lungs, and a jaundiced liver. Before giving up the microphone, he condemned the conspiracy nuts out there whose weird theories needlessly added to my already overburdened workload.

5.

Throughout Babel’s nearly half-century tenure on the High Court, the Conservative and Liberal Blocs were polar opposites. Their doctrinal differences were deep, wide, and irreconcilable. As a result, their twains never met.

The greatest differences involved constitutional and statutory interpretation. Conservative Justices proclaimed the Republic’s centuries-old Constitution was frozen in time and its meaning could only be ascertained by divining the Founding Fathers’ Original Intentions. They also insisted legislation dealing with discrimination and other such matters must be construed strictly to avoid the sacrilege of legislating from the Bench. In contrast, Liberal Justices believed the framers’ Original Intentions were only the starting point and the Constitution evolved over time. In addition, they took the view that laws targeting societal problems should be interpreted broadly. Conservatives treated deviation from their dogma as heretical, sinful, immoral, and unpardonable; Liberals condemned departures from their tenets as abominations that could never be forgiven.

Unsurprisingly, these doctrinal disputes eventually ignited bitter internecine warfare between the Blocs. Personal attacks occurred with predictable regularity, both on and off the Bench. Any pretense of civility was long abandoned. During Oral Arguments, words like stupid, inane, and asinine were among the kindest adjectives used by Justices to describe questions or comments made by colleagues from the rival Bloc. At Voting Conferences, where cases were decided, accusations of imbecility and insanity were commonplace. In written opinions, vitriolic exchanges between the Blocs routinely consumed more space than the legal analyses. Even during encounters in Courthouse hallways at state funerals, and other mandatory ceremonial functions, members of the opposing camps treated each other with contempt, greeting their opposites with vague nods, grunts, or eyerolls.

Fear of an outbreak of physical skirmishes between the rival camps made it necessary to design a plan to keep them apart as much as possible. The key element of the scheme was establishing separate facilities for the Blocs. Replicas of the private entrance to the Courthouse, dedicated elevator, dining hall, law library, steam room, and handball court were built for the Liberals’ exclusive use. The originals were assigned to the Conservatives. Sensing that having separate courtrooms for the Blocs was impractical from a logistical standpoint, since it would require lawyers to go from one venue to the other when arguing, no effort was made to build a second one.

Rancor between Conservative and Liberal Justices eventually spread beyond the Blocs. Lawyers with strong ideological bents refused to speak to attorneys who tilted in the opposite direction. Spouses, siblings, friends, and acquaintances dissolved relationships over disagreements about High Court rulings. Religious zealots changed places of worship or stopped attending services altogether when clerics embraced legal positions that conflicted with their deeply held jurisprudential beliefs. Newspaper readers cancelled subscriptions if editorials applauded or disagreed with High Court opinions that diverged from theirs. Boycotts of businesses owned by suspected Conservative or Liberal supporters were commonplace among those who cared strongly enough about High Court decisions to despise merchants who did not share their legal philosophies.

6.

Prior to Babel’s hundred-and-fifth birthday party, the natural laws of ageing didn’t seem to apply to him. His internal organs were in good working order. He navigated the Courthouse halls spryly. His posture was excellent. His mind remained as mediocre as ever. And, most important, enthusiasm for conventional sex with a much younger fourth wife and more elaborate trysts with circus performers hadn’t flagged.

It was at the party that the first signs of deterioration appeared. Surrounded by friends, family, and sycophants, he collapsed onto the floor while attempting to blow out more than a century’s worth of candles. Unable to get up, he pleaded for assistance. It was a fluke, he told his distraught great nephews as they lifted him to a standing position. Wanting to prove to them that the collapse was unrelated to his health, he attempted to cross the room, where his fourth wife was flirting with Highest Justice Serpentine. The attempt failed. His once brisk pace had devolved to an unsteady shuffle and his breathing was shallow. Fearing another fall, Babel turned back. I have nothing to prove, he told his nephews while they helped him to a sofa.

Not long after the party debacle, there were other signs of decline. He began sleeping on the Bench even when the attorneys’ arguments were interesting. Later, he developed galloping tone deafness, a disorder that interfered with his ability to hear counsel when they spoke in the upper ranges at Oral Arguments. Pain erupted in his joints, his upper intestines emitted strange sounds, and his former exemplary posture resembled a question mark. Eventually, he lost all sexual desire, which led to his spouse openly taking lovers. The indignity of witnessing her bringing strangers to the house exacerbated every existing ailment and spawned additional health problems.

As the months passed, Babel’s mind began to deteriorate, but at a less aggressive pace than the physical erosion. Though he was lucid most of the time, there were periods marred by forgetfulness and jumbled thinking. During minor spells, he couldn’t recall the names of his colleagues or why he despised the Liberal Bloc. When the fog of forgetfulness was especially thick, he wondered why he was in a courtroom, wearing a horsehair wig, surrounded by men in dark robes who quibbled about things he had no interest in.

Due to a combination of denial and lack of insight, Babel had no idea that his body and mind were slipping. In this compromised state, he continued bragging to his Conservative cohorts that he was as good as ever. Assessing the situation with cold objectivity, however, the cohorts estimated he had only a few months to live.

The realization Babel was on the verge of dying saddened Justices Serpentine, Schadenfreude, and Schlock. Their sadness didn’t stem from the fact that they were about to lose their ostensible friend but from a more pragmatic reason; the election for a new Chancellor was six weeks away. Newspapers universally predicted that the Liberal Party candidate would win. If the predictions were right and Babel didn’t die soon, the leftist victor was certain to appoint a Liberal to replace him, relegating the Conservative Bloc to minority status.

The trio decided there was only one way to protect themselves: convince Babel to resign while the incumbent Conservative Party Chancellor was still in office. Serpentine summoned the decrepit ally to his Chambers and diplomatically told him he wasn’t quite up to snuff and should immediately begin enjoying his golden years in retirement. Babel took Serpentine’s statement as a joke and guffawed. Irked by the mindless guffaws, the Highest Justice changed strategy and told his senile colleague, You can barely walk. Your posture is terrible. Your mind leaks like a sieve. And you look like death warmed over. A Liberal will soon be elected Chancellor. He’ll be sworn in in a few months. You’ll probably die after the inauguration. The goddam Liberal is certain to appoint a left-winger to replace you. If that happens, you’ll leave me, Schadenfreude, and Schlock in the lurch. The Court will fall into enemy hands. Resign now, while there’s still time!

This triggered another round of guffaws from Babel. Realizing his efforts to reason with Babel had failed miserably, Serpentine decided to try another tack; shock the witless jurist into submission.

Stop laughing and listen, you self-centered prick! the Highest Justice shouted. Dark clouds loom on the horizon! The future of our Bloc is at stake! If you don’t resign now, we’ll be roadkill; finished; kaput; adrift; powerless; in charge no more! Try to focus your pathetic mind for a few seconds on the damage you’ll cause if you don’t step down without further ado! For once in your selfish life, think of others! What do you say?

Babel said nothing. Instead he laughed hysterically until Serpentine had his usher remove him from the office.

7.

Two of Justice Serpentine’s worst fears soon came to fruition: Lucian Squid, the Liberal Party candidate, was elected Chancellor and Babel died a few days after Squid was sworn in. All that remained were for Squid to nominate a leftist replacement, the Inner Chamber to confirm, and the High Court to fall into enemy hands.

Although the Conservative Party held a solid majority in the Chamber and could easily quash anyone nominated, Serpentine doubted a quashing would occur. A century earlier, pragmatic legislators decided it was in both Parties’ interests to rubberstamp judicial nominations unless a nominee was patently unfit. This rare meeting of the minds was based on the maxims: To the victor goes the spoils; You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours; and What goes around comes around. Thus, for more than a hundred years, no nominee to the High Court or the Republic’s lower tribunals had been rejected on purely partisan grounds. In short, the tradition of rubberstamping was sacrosanct.

Benito Ionesco, a rabid Conservative, was Inner Chamber Leader when Babel died. He was a vain, vulgar, egomaniacal bully with poor impulse control and low self-esteem who flaunted many traditions since coming to power. However, he never dared to flaunt rubberstamping judicial nominees and routinely ordered his cronies to hold their noses and accept Liberals nominated to the lower Courts. This would be the first High Court nomination during his sixteen-year reign. Every political pundit who opined on the matter predicted the Leader would allow any ostensibly fit nominee put forward by Chancellor Squid to be confirmed. These predictions failed to take into consideration the influence wielded by Isadora Apostate, Ionesco’s secretary who also functioned as his dominatrix, adviser, and puppet master.

Benito Ionesco

8.

Benito Ionesco’s interest in politics began with his secondary school guidance counselor’s suggestion that he attend the Institute of Advanced Polemics, a breeding ground for aspiring rightwing strongmen. The counselor, who was impressed by young Benito’s preternatural narcissism, raw aggression, and tendency to indiscriminately flaunt school rules, thought these qualities would serve him well in a political career. Ionesco agreed. He enrolled in the Institute and majored in Demagoguery. Most of the faculty were deposed dictators awaiting return to power. He earned their praise for bullying fellow students during class discussions and his breathtaking delusions of grandeur. At the graduation ceremony, one of his mentors whispered, I predict great things for you, Benito. Buoyed by the tyrant’s praise, Ionesco decided to immediately dip his toes into the political waters.

Despite his youth and lack of practical experience in the world of politics, Ionesco declared his candidacy for the Inner Chamber, the Republic’s august legislative body, as a Conservative in a backward rural area where he didn’t reside. The seat came open when the incumbent was committed to the Warehouse for the Purportedly Insane after claiming he was a chimpanzee who recently escaped from a zoo. Impressed by Ionesco’s audacity to violate residential requirements in his first run for office, a devious ward healer volunteered to be his campaign manager, strategist, speech writer, and advance man.

Adopting the slogan A Big Voice for Little People, Ionesco hit the campaign trail in frayed shirts, garish suspenders, and worn-out shoes. Tall and obese, with a double-chin and premature jowls, he dressed in overalls, the clothing