Resonance

Chapter Six

"Rest assured, Mr. Smithers, I'm sure to get your brother acquitted. I'm the best public defender in Springfield." Ezekiel Hutz boastfully adjusted his tie.

"You're the only public defender in Springfield," said Waylon.

"Which means there's nobody better!"

He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "It also means there's nobody worse."

"Well, unless you can afford to hire someone better, I'll be defending your brother."

"Afford. I can't, but I know someone who can." He reached over and grabbed the phone on Hutz's desk and began to dial. Once he'd finished dialing, he looked up and gestured as if to ask permission to use the phone. Before Hutz could respond, however, Mr. Burns picked up the phone.

"Ahoy-hoy?"

"Mr. Burns, I need you to come to the police station as soon as possible."

"Waylon? What the devil is going on? It's unlike you to have skirmishes with the law."

"Please, I implore you, sir, just get there and let me explain in person."

"No. If you wish for me to bail you out, you'll tell me what you've done this instant. I can't have my reputation soiled by association with any unsavory exploits."

"It's nothing I did. I'm not the one incarcerated."

"Then I have no interest in providing any assistance."

"Please, sir! It's my brother! He's in dire need, and father has disowned him."

"The petty drama of the Smithers family is hardly my concern."

"We can't afford a lawyer, and he desperately needs one."

"I said, 'not interested.'"

"I'm begging, hands-and-knees begging you, sir. He was caught with his lover, another man, who betrayed him. Sterling lied and said Clayton forced him."

"He... betrayed him."

"Yes. My brother is in the jail holding cell right now, and father won't pay for a lawyer, so –"

"So you thought you'd tip your begging cap to Monty Burns."

"Will you help us, sir?"

"Yes. Indeed, I will."

"Great, so the sooner you can get here, the –"

"No. You will meet me here in one hour."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I'll see you then, sir."

An hour later, Waylon arrived at the gate to Burns Manor, then swiftly made his way up the hill. Before he could knock at the door, Burns swung it open, shook his hand, and said, "Come this way." He led Waylon down corridors his shadow had never darkened until finally they stopped at an unremarkable door, and Burns retrieved a key from his robe and used it to twist the knob.

The room was pitch black, and so Burns seized a nearby torch and lit it with a match, then led them inside, tilting his torch to the wicks of candles in gilded holders mounted on the walls as they entered. As he spread the flame, illuminating the room candle by candle, the light unveiled a lavish and opulent master bedroom adorned with elegant fixtures of gold, silver, and platinum, a fireplace, a bed with the silkiest of sheets, paintings of his grandfather Wainwright and his father, an antique desk, quill pen perched above inkwell as though they had been been used just a day ago, photographs framed and mounted on the wall. Waylon shut the door behind them. "Mr. Burns, what is this place? And why did you take me here?"

"You're the only one besides myself to have laid eyes on this room in twenty years." He set the torch on a holder, then made his way to the bed and sat down. Waylon followed suit and sat beside him. "It was my bedroom. I was sixteen, and I had invited a school chum over. We were quite close and would wrestle with each other as boys will. One day, when he had me in a hold, I realized I didn't want to get out of it." He sighed and opened the drawer to the nightstand and took into his hand a faded color photograph of a boy with curly chestnut hair. "We never did anything more than lie together, but that was enough to enrage my father when he walked into my room and found me huddled up against him."

"Oh, no..."

"My father beat me with a switch, forbade me to enter this room again, and sealed the door, my possessions locked inside, and I never set foot here again, until he met with an 'unfortunate accident.'" He looked at the pillow and felt the sheets in his fingers, smiling at the memories it evoked. How happy he had felt in that young man's arms! He set the photograph on top of the nightstand and looked Waylon straight in the eyes. "You are the only person I've told this."

"I didn't realize you were a confirmed bachelor."

"Oh, no, I fancy women. But I never let that stop me from taking advantage of an opportunity to be with a beautiful young man." His eyelids lowered as he delighted in Waylon's face and physique.

Waylon smiled a bit, nervously. "So, about my brother..."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Do you know something about the Stanton family we might be able to use against them? If one of his family has some deep secret of his own, we could persuade him to testify against Sterling in exchange for our silence."

Burns grinned. "I like the way you think." He stood and clasped his hands behind his back as he approached the fireplace. "Unfortunately, his family has a reputation for being squeaky-clean. However, I shall hire some private investigators to unearth any sordid business they might be hiding. In the meantime," he said, turning back to him, "I shall furnish a lawyer of the highest caliber."

"Oh, thank you, sir, thank you! I am in your debt."

"You don't know what a dangerous phrase that is, Waylon. I always collect on my debts, and I always demand interest."

"What do you mean, 'won't take the case?'" Burns slammed his fist on his desktop. "If I say you'll take the case, you take the case!"

"I'm sorry, but I can't defend your friend, Mr. Burns," said the Black-Haired Lawyer. "I've already been hired as the prosecuting attorney for this case."

"Damn your oily hide to hell!" He hung up abruptly. "We'll have to look outside of Springfield to find a lawyer good enough for this case. Waylon, what's the name of that fellow who stood up for Darwin and defended those charming young men in Chicago? You know, the ones who fancied themselves supermen and did away with that boy."

"You mean, Leopold and Loeb?"

"Yes, those two!"

"I believe that was Darence Clarrow, sir."

"Excellent. I'll have him on the first train to Springfield."

"Gentlemen," said the Black-Haired-Lawyer, "this is a story of the betrayal of a young man's trust in his friend. The defendant has been charged with aggravated sodomy because on Saturday, May 28, 1932, Mr. Stanton's mother saw the defendant sodomizing her son with her own eyes through a gap between his bedroom window curtains. We will hear testimony from her, as well as from others who can attest to the defendant's deviant inclinations. They had been good friends for several years up until this point. We will paint a portrait of a disturbed young man who inflicted his ungodly impulses on a man he'd called 'friend' and on our community. In the course of this trial, I will demonstrate that Clayton Smithers, motivated by base desires and moral turpitude, sodomized his friend, Sterling Stanton, against his will."

Clarrow took the stand for his own statements. "The prosecutor is right about one thing – this trial is about the betrayal of a young man's trust in his friend. It is about a man who thought he'd found love only to discover he had found the opposite. This trial is about sin. Not a sin of sexual desire, but a sin of selfishness and vile contempt for human dignity. This sin, as I will show, is not the sin of one man accusing the defendant, but the sin of all onlookers who would cheer for one man to hang so another man can retain his elite status. I will show you that the defendant is not the violent man he's been made out to be. He was in a romantic relationship with Mr. Stanton and engaged him consensually, and when caught, out of a desire to conceal his homosexual inclinations, he claimed Mr. Smithers was coercing him."

The prosecutor interviewed the witnesses one by one. First, Sterling's mother told of the trauma of seeing her son in the middle of the act. Then Sterling himself was called to the stand. "Now," said the Black-Haired-Lawyer, "you aren't a homosexual, are you?"

"No, sir. I'm a proper, God-fearing man."

"So you and Clayton weren't lovers, as he claims."

"God no! We're just friends... or, rather, we were friends..." His shoulders shuddered as he sniffled. "And then he started touching me, and I kept telling him, no, I'm a good Christian, I want no part of this, but he kept going..."

"I think we've heard enough."

Clarrow began cross-examining witnesses, ending with Sterling. "You said Mr. Smithers was your friend. How did you meet?"

"We were both attending Mr. Burns' birthday party a couple of years ago, and he called me a son of a bitch." People of the court laughed a bit.

"Do your friends normally curse you?"

"Well, no."

"Why don't they?"

"It's rude. Unbecoming of a gentleman."

"Yet you tolerated it from Mr. Smithers."

"Clayton is no gentleman," he said, his mouth twisting slightly upward into a grin.

"And what did you do that night?"

"Do? We talked. We just talked."

"What did you talk about?"

"You know, the usual. Who remembers what they said at a party four years ago?"

"Do you recall telling him he had beautiful eyes?"

"No. I recall no such thing."

"Clayton was late to join the others at the table while Mr. Burns opened his presents. Do you care to divulge the reason why?"

"How should I know? He told me he needed to use the lavatory."

"You were also late and arrived at the table at the same time as he did. Were you both in the lavatory?"

"No, we were in the guest room."

"And what were you doing in the guest room?"

"Talking. Just... talking."

"You became friends quickly. How often did you see him?"

"Every so often. We'd play polo sometimes."

"Your friends attest that you two were practically inseparable."

"I liked his company."

"Did he ever show a sign of wanting a more physical relationship?"

"No."

"No? You mean in five years of close friendship, you never saw a sign that he was attracted to you?"

"No, I didn't."

"You are alone among your friends, then. Merritt, Samuel, Sullivan, and Cyril all assert in an affidavit that they saw clear signs that Clayton desired you."

"I don't know what they saw, then."

"He never made an advance on you, then?"

"No, never."

"Your friend Cyril wrote that he saw Clayton kiss your cheek."

"I didn't think anything of it. I've spent so much time in Europe, where a man kissing another's cheek isn't taken as a sign of anything sinister."

"You say you wanted no part of Clayton's sexual overtures."

"Yes. That is true."

"You said that as a good Christian, you would want nothing to do with it."

"Yes. That's exactly what I said."

"It strikes me as odd. If a man attempted to solicit sex from me, I would not say, 'no, sir, I'm a good Christian.' I would say, 'no, sir, I do not want that.'"

"That's what I said. It means the same thing."

"Does it? If you weren't a Christian, would you want him?"

"Don't be absurd! Even if I were so inclined, why would I risk my reputation to be with a commoner?"

"Not only a commoner, but a man seven years your junior."

"He was eighteen when we met, yes."

"A novice to the affairs of men compared to your more worldly twenty-five years. And at five foot eight, he is not a particularly tall or intimidating man, wouldn't you say?"

"His physique is well-developed, I assure you."

"Enough to overpower you?"

"Evidently so."

"How tall are you, Mr. Stanton?"

"Six feet, sir."

"Six feet. And what is your weight?"

"Two hundred pounds."

"Now, let me look this up," he said, flipping through some papers. "According to the police report, Clayton Smithers is five foot eight and a hundred-fifty pounds. You are telling us that this younger boy fifty pounds lighter than you overpowered you."

"Y-yes, sir, that's true."

"How do you propose he did that?"

"He – he drugged me."

"There is no mention of that in the initial report. Police noted you were alert and oriented when giving your statement."

"It wore off quickly."

"What did he drug you with?"

"I don't know. He didn't exactly hand me a pamphlet." Those attending the proceedings laughed.

"How do you know he drugged you?"

"I was dazed and suggestible, so I just went along with what he was doing."

"So you weren't completely incapacitated?"

"I guess I wasn't."

"So he didn't hold you down and forcibly penetrate you."

"No, I guess not."

"How did he proceed, then?"

"He waited until I was subdued, then he began to stroke my leg, and... he started out by teasing me, and..."

"Did he make you feel good?"

"He made me feel disgusted!"

"Yes, but did he make you feel good?"

"No! No, he made me feel sick to my stomach!"

"Then why does your initial statement to the police consist solely of the claim that he held you down and forced himself on you, with no mention of any drug or alteration of your state of consciousness?"

"I don't know! All I know is I didn't want it, and he did it anyway! Each time I close my eyes at night, I relive it and feel dirty as a Frenchman." He began to bawl, lowering his head to the podium. "I just want to feel normal again..."

The Black-Haired Lawyer gave the closing remarks for the prosecution: "Clearly this whole affair has been traumatizing for Mr. Stanton. I rest my case."