Page 77 of Theo of Golden

“I know y’all prob’ly gon’ do something to him but, Mr. Derrick, I think he’s been through enough already. My little girl says the same thing. So, that’s how I feel about it. You can tell the judge and that lady. That’s how I feel about it.”

Derrick wrote a few words on the legal pad he was holding, asked some follow-up questions, and tried to explain immigration law to the extent he understood that tangled web himself. Kendrick asked a couple of questions and repeated his thoughts concerning the sentence.

“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Whitaker,” Derrick said, “especially after all that the defendant has cost you. I don’t know if I could ever see it that way.”

Kendrick lifted his head and looked directly into Derrick’s eyes. “You got a daughter?”

The question caught Derrick off guard. He stammered an answer. “No, my wife and I don’t have any children… yet.”

“Well, when you get a child, you’ll understand. If you was that little man, would you do what he did? Try to get back to your daughter so you could help her? I would. I’d crawl over glass. I think you would too. So, I’m just trying to do unto others as I wish to be done by.”

That archaic phrase — “do unto others as you wish to be done by” — was one Kendrick had heard frequently from his grandmother. He had not always practiced it as he should have, but something from recent months had brought its wisdom to light in his soul.

Derrick said, “Well, I don’t know how the judge will feel about it, but I’ll pass it on to him when we make a recommendation. And I’ll be in touch with you when we set a sentencing date.”

“Lawyer Derrick, can I ask you one more thing?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but you don’t remember me, do ya?”

Derrick looked closely at the young man across the desk. He frowned, then shook his head. “No, sir, Mr. Whitaker, I don’t. Where would I know you from?”

“From the courthouse, about eighteen months ago. I think maybe you don’t remember me ‘cause you never looked at me. You didn’t look at me a single time. You put me in jail eighteen months ago for something I didden do. My little girl was seven. I was in jail almost a year. When she nearly died, I was in jail.”

Derrick shifted uncomfortably in his leather chair. “Mr. Whitaker, I’m sorry but I don’t remember anything about that. I handle a whole lot of cases. Sometimes too many and too quickly. I admit, I don’t really have time to look at everybody. What was your case about?”

“Oh, it don’t really make any difference. My real crime was that I was too poor to hire my own lawyer. The lawyer the court appoints, he don’t have time to look at nobody’s faces either. I told him I hadn’t done nothing wrong, and I could prove it. But he said if I was smart, I’d plead guilty to something and do a little time. So, that’s what I did. I pleaded guilty, even though I didn’t do one thing wrong. I know you hear people say that all the time, even when they’re guilty, but sometimes it’s true. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Mr. Derrick, and I know you deal with some mighty bad people, but it might do you good to look at some faces sometimes. There are some real people in those faces.”

Derrick sat quietly.

“Mr. Derrick. Let me tell you what changed me yesterday. About that little man. Up till yesterday, all I had in my head was an idea about him. He was the ‘thing’ that hurt my little girl. And I didn’t mind what y’all did to that ‘thing.’ But what changed me was I looked at his face. Did you look? I mean really look? Not glance. Not a quick peek. I mean look?”

The young prosecutor did not answer. He was beginning to understand what it felt like to be cross-examined.

“Well, Mr. Derrick, I looked. Real good. Real hard. I looked at him. His eyes had tears in ‘em. And I saw hurt and fear, and it changed me. And when he leaves court tomorrow, I hope he’ll know somebody looked at him and didn’t see a thing or an idea or a label but a man with a soul. And a man with a child. Even if y’all put a hard sentence on him, I hope he’ll know somebody saw his face. The eye of God sees it. Sees you and me too.”

Kendrick looked down at his hands, worried that he might have overstepped his bounds.

“Mr. Derrick, I met this old man a few months ago. Named Mr. Theo. He’s from Portugal. And he gave me a portrait that an artist had done of me. And I learned something from Mr. Theo. God gave us faces so we can see each other better. I used to not look at people’s faces so much. But I’m learning. Just like I’m looking at you right now. Mr. Derrick, eighteen months ago, I hated you. But I never one time looked at your face. But I’m looking now. Mr. Derrick, I believe you’re a good man. I think there’s a lot of goodness down in you.”

The two men sat quietly. Kendrick once again broke the silence. “Well, I guess that’s all I wanted to say. I need to get on home to my daughter. You need anything else from me?”

Derrick hesitated. “No, sir, I think that’s about all I need. But Mr. Whitaker, I apologize I didn’t look at you. I’m gonna think about that.”

Kendrick stood to leave. Derrick stood too and stepped from behind his desk. The two men shook hands. Kendrick looked into Derrick’s eyes. Derrick was looking firmly back at him.

They parted ways. Mr. Derrick and Mr. Whitaker.

Kendrick caught bus number 37 home and quickly fell asleep. It had been a long night.

CHAPTER 43

October arrived, and with it, a welcome drop in temperatures.

Consistently cool days were still weeks away, but Theo had begun wearing sweaters on a regular basis.

The days shortened. Reduced hours of daylight were more than compensated for by the arrival of autumn color. The oaks of the Promenade and trees throughout the city put on an arboreal display that, while not quite New England, was striking, especially along the Oxbow at morning and evening.