Peter and The Judge
I wrote this piece four and a half years ago. Tomorrow Peter would be gone seven years. I love and miss him with all my being, but this year I want to remember the happy Peter, the witty Peter, the Peter with a wry sense of humour. This year I would like to make you chuckle when you think of him.
Peter, you are always in my heart. I miss you and love you forever and ever.
Peter was always dedicated to his clients. That is why they were faithful to him and truly loved him. Recently l heard from one of them. She called me in a panic. “What shall I do,” she uttered in despair, “ I need an attorney and I do not have anyone!”
It just so happened that one of Peter’s friends, an attorney, had sent me a text saying she would like to come over for coffee. Everything about this seemed perfect. This attorney is smart, young, gentle and compassionate, yet tough enough to fight for what’s right. Her calling me just then seemed almost God sent. She is from Guyana as is Peter’s client. They would be a nice fit.
Peter first represented this family some thirty or so years ago. His first clients were the grandparents. They were immigrants from Guyana. They needed to buy a house and needed an attorney. They had twelve children who through the years also needed legal advice. He represented them through three generations. Peter represented all of them. They needed real estate transactions, business transactions, wills, marriages, divorces, and help with young men with raging hormones and teenage excessive exuberance. Peter helped them with all of that and more.
Soon we were invited to their various functions. I remember being invited to one of the elder’s birthdays. This was not just any ordinary party. The Moslem religious advisor was holding special prayers to bless the elder. Having lived in a Moslem country, I was familiar with these rites.
“Peter, we shall be taking off our shoes and sitting on the floor,” I advised before we left the house. He looked at me in puzzlement. Sure enough, we walked in and removed our shoes and placed them by a pile of other shoes by the door. We stuck out like a sore thumb. We were the only ones who were not family, and I was the only woman to be bare-headed. The religious advisor graciously approached us. He made a slight bow. ’’Salaam aleykum. Welcome,” he said. Peter bowed his head and thanked him. “Aleykum el salaam,” I replied. The man did a double-take. He did not expect me to reply in Arabic. For the rest of the time, he observed us closely from a distance. When they offered incense for prayers, I held my upturned palms to receive it. The man continued to watch us. I seemed to be familiar with their religious rites. When the ceremony was over, he approached us one more time. He clasped Peter’s hand in both of his hands. He had a beaming smile on his face. “You are very fortunate to have such a fine upstanding Moslem wife,” he said.
‘’I am indeed very fortunate,’’ replied my husband. “but my wife is not of your faith. She is the granddaughter of a rabbi from Baghdad,” he replied.
“There are Jews in Baghdad?” the Moslem clergy asked in astonishment as he turned to look at me more closely.
“There were, but not anymore.” Peter replied dryly.
Throughout the years, Peter represented this family countless times. Because of that, he was invited to share in their different family occasions. Sometimes he would still have to go to help the grandparents with some documents. He would take me along. The grandmother would hurry into the kitchen, ‘’Are you hungry Peter?’’ she would ask as she busily took out leavened dough from a pot by the stove to make roti. The pot was always ready to feed anyone at a moment’s notice with the delicious roti. It seemed to have a permanent home by the stove. She did not need an answer. She already was preparing a small meal.
‘’Sit down! Sit down,’’ she would urge. ’’Eat! Eat!” In her eyes, he had become as one of her children. Summers, we would sit on their little raised patio overlooking their small lovingly tended garden. At the end of the day, the aroma of the herbs and various flowers would perfume the air. It felt peaceful as I sat next to Peter as he patiently explained things to them.
A few years ago, one of the younger boys got into trouble with the law. Of course, Peter was there to take care of matters. In the courtroom, the judge sentenced the young man to a period in prison. Peter jumped up very indignantly and said, ’’You cannot do that your Honour! I have known this boy since he was a baby. I know his family for almost thirty years. They are a good hard-working family. Have you forgotten what it was like being a youngster? Didn’t you ever get into scrapes and skirmishes?”
The people in the courtroom were witnessing Peter at his best. He could have succeeded as an actor if he hadn’t chosen law. He had a quick wit and a deep sense of humor. He used to call me melodramatic, but I do not hold a candle to him! The people in the courtroom all perked up from the boredom they felt from the dreary hours of sitting waiting for their cases to be heard.
Peter and the Judge were old friends. Since this was really not a serious case, they were both having a bit of fun. With eyes twinkling, the judge said, tongue in cheek, “If you feel so passionately about this young man, then I shall assign him to you. He is to sleep in your house for one month. His mother shall drop him off each evening and pick him up every morning.”
’’Done!” exclaimed Peter with a beaming smile.
The judge hesitated, “Aren’t you going to ask your wife first?”
“She won’t object,” Peter cooly replied.
“Still, I prefer you ask her before you answer,” the Judge said.
Right in the middle of that full courtroom, with great flamboyance, Peter whipped out his cell phone and called me. He explained the situation briefly. I agreed. I was used to Peter’s different requests. Sometimes they were unreasonable, but they were never boring. With a big grin on his face, he turned to look at the judge triumphantly.
The people sitting there had never witnessed such theatrics in a courtroom. At that point, the courtroom went into an uproar. One would think they were in a theatre and not a courtroom! They laughed! They cheered! They clapped! The client’s mother smiled proudly. Peter was their very own family attorney! Everyone asked her where she had found such an attorney! Everyone in that room asked for his business card. Such an attorney was rare indeed! The judge kept pounding his gavel. “Order in the Court! Order in the Court!’’ he exclaimed. But it was quite a while before order was restored!
The boy stayed with us for a month of evenings. He was very polite, well-behaved, and very considerate. One time, however, he asked Peter if he could skip just one night. There was a family function, and he wanted to be there. Peter became very stern. He told him that if he did not show up, Peter would personally make sure he would be sentenced for another month, but this time he would spend time in prison!
“Young man, my word is my word!” he declared.
A year later Peter sadly passed away. The mother told her sons, ’’You better behave. Peter is no longer here to keep an eye on you.” They did. They did not get into any more escapades.
Three and a half years have passed since Peter passed away. A few weeks ago, she called to say she needed an attorney.
As we spoke, she filled in the details on the story of Peter and the Judge. As she told the story, I couldn’t help but chuckle. How typical of Peter that was. I am almost sure that Peter was looking down from heaven as she narrated this tale to me. I could hear his laughter as he listened to us talk about him that morning.
“Aah yes, I remember that day very well!” he seemed to say.