Manny nodded. “One more question. If a person is already subject to garbled perceptions, for reasons of mental illness, drug use, brain damage, or other causes, the Whole Truth process doesn’t actually cure those things, does it?”
She frowned for a second, then answered. “No, but there are other procedures that we can employ to effect changes like that.”
He nodded again, looking eager to please. “Surely, surely, but you’d have to know of such conditions, wouldn’t you, before you could cure them?”
“We would.”
Manny smiled gratefully and sat down again, beaming at the whole room as if he were planning on treating them all to drinks and dinner.
Dieter Althoren, blond, 28, thin as a rope, earnest of expression, was sworn as the plaintiff’s next and last witness. Silkily Ferimond led Althoren through his visit to Tina Beltran’s office a mere two weeks after undergoing the Whole Truth procedure—what the room looked like, what she was wearing, the color of her nail polish. Then they padded together through the conversation itself, stopping at every breath and turn of phrase in Beltran’s manner, how he asked her about defragmenters, how she said she was planning on writing one, how he offered to pay her for a copy and she agreed.
Throughout the direct examination, Manny quietly arranged and rearranged a few coins on top of the counsel’s table, as if not noticing even that Althoren was speaking. When Ferimond said, “Your witness,” Manny stood with even more difficulty than before, shuffling his papers in a doddering, confused manner. He glanced up apologetically at the witness and took a full twenty seconds to find the page he was looking for. The foolish fat man, that was Manny.
“Good morning, Mr. Althoren,” he said, smiling.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Let’s see. You and I haven’t met before today, have we?”
Althoren gave Manny a knowing grin, as if spotting a trap. “You took my deposition, Mr. Suarez.”
Manny touched his forehead like a man who’s left his keys in the car. “That’s right, that’s right, thank you for reminding me. The deposition. That was in March of this year, wasn’t it?”
“April, Mr. Suarez.” Althoren’s grin broadened.
“Of course. Dear me.” Manny shook his head ruefully. “But at any rate, we can say with confidence that you and I hadn’t met before the deposition, can’t we?”
Althoren’s expression changed. He seemed reluctant to speak, but, as if unable to stop himself, said, “I’m afraid we can’t say that.”
Manny’s eyebrows rose, and he cocked his head. “We can’t?”
Althoren’s voice dropped noticeably. “No, sir. We met in January, at my house.”
Manny frowned and put down his paper. Then he opened, consulted, and closed a leather-bound calendar. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a confused look ripple across Ferimond’s face. Manny frowned even more deeply, making impressive bulges in his face. “We did? In January?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I came to your house?”
“You did.”
“Was I alone?”
“No, sir. Your paralegal, Ms. Morales, was there too.” Althoren gestured at Elsa.
“Ah.” Manny chewed his lip, glancing at Elsa in apparent confusion. Then he spoke as if humoring someone who was making an elaborate joke. “Well, I imagine if it was winter, I must have looked pretty awful, eh? Not my best time of year.”
Althoren looked even more unhappy. “You could say that. You had that awful green skin.”
Manny looked taken aback, then relaxed. “Green—ah, you mean that I looked peaky, right? Green, like I wanted to throw up?”
Althoren shook his head. “No, I mean emerald green. Green, like my neighbor’s lawn.”
Manny’s mouth gaped, then he said, “My skin?”
“Yes.”
“Emerald green?”
“That’s right.” Manny turned to the jury. All of them were examining his copper complexion; several wore puzzled expressions.
“My hair wasn’t green too, was it?”
Ferimond, who seemed just to have realized what was going on, interrupted as smoothly as he could. “Objection. What is the relevance of these questions?”
Judge Rackham, though, was scrutinizing Althoren and did not even look up. “Overruled. You may answer, Mr. Althoren.”
“No, sir, you had no hair, and you had antennae growing out of your head.” One of the spectators snorted; Rackham gave the man a warning look.
Manny swallowed, took a drink of water, and swallowed again. Then he said weakly, “What color were the antennae? Green?”
“No, they were bright red, and they wiggled.”
There were more guffaws in the courtroom. Rackham and Ferimond both glared, though for different reasons. Manny silently mouthed the word wiggled, raised his hands in apparent helplessness, then said, as if it were an offhand remark, “Well, Ms. Morales didn’t have green skin, did she?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“That’s good. Do you remember what she was wearing?”
“How could I forget? She had no shirt on.”
“No shirt on? In January?”
“No shirt on under her coat.”
“Oh. Do you mean she sat in your house in her brassiere?”
“No, she never sat, and she was bare-chested.” Ferimond looked wildly at Elsa, who seemed merely puzzled.
Manny’s face took on a pained expression, as if pleading with Althoren to talk sensibly. “Mr. Althoren, have you any idea why Ms. Morales should come into a stranger’s house half-dressed?”
Althoren was sweating. “She said it was so that her wings wouldn’t hurt.”
Manny’s mouth stayed open for five seconds. Ferimond’s stayed open longer; emerald green might not have been a bad description of his own face just then. Manny said, “Her—her wings?”
“Yes,” said Althoren, closing his eyes.
“Did you, er, see those wings?”
“I did.”
“What did they look like?”
“They were white and feathery, and about three feet long.”
“Um.” Manny stared at Elsa, who stared back and shrugged. Then, as if trying to take command of a crazy situation, Manny said, “Come now, couldn’t these wings have been a costume?”
“No, sir. She flapped them.”
“Flapped. She didn’t fly, did she?”
“No, she said she hadn’t learned how yet.”
There was a roar of laughter from the spectators and several members of the jury. Judge Rackham pounded her gavel for order.
Manny tossed his papers onto the desk and said, “Your honor, I really cannot continue with this witness. I have no more questions.” He sat down.
Judge Rackham turned to Ferimond. “Re- direct?”
Ferimond banished the dazed expression from his face, forced himself to stand, and managed to say, “Judge, I’d like to request a brief recess before any redirect examination.”
Rackham’s face said, I’ll bet. Her voice said, “Very well, you can have twenty minutes. Mr. Althoren, you will remain under oath during the recess.”
Ferimond gestured angrily for Althoren to follow him, and the two of them left the courtroom. The jury filed out into their lounge, some bewildered, some amused. Manny whistled tunelessly, looking through a reference book he’d brought for show. Elsa rolled her eyes. Tina Beltran, who was as confused by Althoren’s testimony as anyone, leaned towards Manny and whispered, “What was that all about?”
“Hush,” said Manny, taking out his watch and laying it on the table. “We’ll see.”
Exactly twenty minutes later, Ferimond and Althoren reentered the courtroom. Ferimond looked aggrieved; he glared at Manny before sitting.
When the jury had re-entered, Rackham asked, “Re-direct examination, Mr. Ferimond?”