formality. The members of the tribunal had one foot out of the hall. He began with some comments about justice which I’d say he was making up, but you could get the gist. And then he spoke about lemons and Dombodán. Dombodán was a big lad, good as bread and just a little bit retarded, one of those we call the innocents hereabouts. He was arrested with some miners from Lousame on their way to defend Coruña with dynamite. He’d joined them on the lorry and they’d let him, because Dombodán would always follow the miners wherever they went, like a mascot. He was waiting in chapel to be executed. He didn’t even understand that he was about to be killed. Doctor Da Barca didn’t say a word about himself, and I think that’s what annoyed the tribunal the most. That and the fact it was lunchtime.”
“Gentlemen of the tribunal,” Doctor Da Barca had said, “justice belongs to the field of the soul’s forces. Hence it can appearin the most unlikely places. If you call for it, it will come. It may have a bandage over its eyes, but it will be able to listen. We cannot know for certain where it has come from, like something preceding judges, the accused and the written laws themselves.” “Get to the point,” the presiding judge said with a note of severity, “this is not an Athenaeum.” “Of course, sir. At the time of the great sea voyages, the primary cause of mortality was scurvy, more than shipwrecks and naval warfare. Hence it became known as ‘this foul and fatal mischief’. On long journeys, only twenty out of every hundred made it back alive. Halfway through the 18th century, Captain James Cook included a cask of lemon juice among his supplies and discovered that …” “I’m going to withdraw the permission to speak.” “But, sir, this is my testament.” “I don’t think you’re so old that we have to go back to Christopher Columbus.” “All that is needed, gentlemen, to circumvent hardship that has not been pronounced by any tribunal is a small provision of lemons. I have tried through various channels to obtain them, as well as bandages and iodine, given that the infirmary …” “Have you quite finished?” “Sir, as far as I am concerned, modesty aside, I should like to offer an extenuating circumstance. I have used this unexpected break from my captivity for a spot of analysis and have discovered, not without surprise on my part, a psychic anomaly. When it comes to health, even we doctors are unable to pull the wool over our eyes. My case might best be described as a slight but chronic mental handicap, the result possibly of a difficult birth or a poor diet in my childhood.Some people in the same situation, but without the same emotional support, were mistakenly thought of as lunatics and admitted to the asylum at Conxo. I was taken in by the community, who made some room for me, gave me jobs to do that were infinitely childlike, such as going to the fountain for water or to the oven for bread, jobs that might require the driving force hidden beneath my docility, such as carrying wood for the fireplace, stones for a wall and even a calf in my arms. In payment, with subtle wisdom, the people called me an innocent instead of an idiot. The miners considered me their friend. They bought me drinks in the bar, took me to festivities, and I would drink and dance as if I left work alongside them every day. Wherever they went, I would follow. And they never called me an idiot. That, gentlemen of the tribunal, is I, an innocent. Dombodán, The Kid.”
Dombodán’s name echoed like a firework in the belly of the courtroom. The presiding judge rose to his feet, visibly shaken, and ordered Doctor Da Barca to be quiet, laying hand to his sabre. “Enough theatre. The trial is over. Ready for sentencing.” They would willingly have buried him there and then.
11
THE INTERNATIONAL CAMPAIGNFOR ONCE BORE fruit. At the last moment. In response to the government of Cuba’s request, Doctor Da Barca
“Gentlemen of the tribunal,” Doctor Da Barca had said, “justice belongs to the field of the soul’s forces. Hence it can appearin the most unlikely places. If you call for it, it will come. It may have a bandage over its eyes, but it will be able to listen. We cannot know for certain where it has come from, like something preceding judges, the accused and the written laws themselves.” “Get to the point,” the presiding judge said with a note of severity, “this is not an Athenaeum.” “Of course, sir. At the time of the great sea voyages, the primary cause of mortality was scurvy, more than shipwrecks and naval warfare. Hence it became known as ‘this foul and fatal mischief’. On long journeys, only twenty out of every hundred made it back alive. Halfway through the 18th century, Captain James Cook included a cask of lemon juice among his supplies and discovered that …” “I’m going to withdraw the permission to speak.” “But, sir, this is my testament.” “I don’t think you’re so old that we have to go back to Christopher Columbus.” “All that is needed, gentlemen, to circumvent hardship that has not been pronounced by any tribunal is a small provision of lemons. I have tried through various channels to obtain them, as well as bandages and iodine, given that the infirmary …” “Have you quite finished?” “Sir, as far as I am concerned, modesty aside, I should like to offer an extenuating circumstance. I have used this unexpected break from my captivity for a spot of analysis and have discovered, not without surprise on my part, a psychic anomaly. When it comes to health, even we doctors are unable to pull the wool over our eyes. My case might best be described as a slight but chronic mental handicap, the result possibly of a difficult birth or a poor diet in my childhood.Some people in the same situation, but without the same emotional support, were mistakenly thought of as lunatics and admitted to the asylum at Conxo. I was taken in by the community, who made some room for me, gave me jobs to do that were infinitely childlike, such as going to the fountain for water or to the oven for bread, jobs that might require the driving force hidden beneath my docility, such as carrying wood for the fireplace, stones for a wall and even a calf in my arms. In payment, with subtle wisdom, the people called me an innocent instead of an idiot. The miners considered me their friend. They bought me drinks in the bar, took me to festivities, and I would drink and dance as if I left work alongside them every day. Wherever they went, I would follow. And they never called me an idiot. That, gentlemen of the tribunal, is I, an innocent. Dombodán, The Kid.”
Dombodán’s name echoed like a firework in the belly of the courtroom. The presiding judge rose to his feet, visibly shaken, and ordered Doctor Da Barca to be quiet, laying hand to his sabre. “Enough theatre. The trial is over. Ready for sentencing.” They would willingly have buried him there and then.
11
THE INTERNATIONAL CAMPAIGNFOR ONCE BORE fruit. At the last moment. In response to the government of Cuba’s request, Doctor Da Barca
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