Have You Seen Luis Velez?(75)

“You have no idea why juries do that?”

“Oh, I have my theories.” He paused. Sighed, as if resigning himself to a longer conversation than he had wanted. “Okay. Here’s what I think, but don’t quote me on it. If you agree with it, make it your own observation. Tribalism.”

“Tribalism?”

“It’s how our brains evolved. Caveman thinking. Well . . . no. Not thinking. More like . . . reactivity. The whole problem is that there’s not a lot of thinking involved. It’s knee-jerk emotional. It goes like this, but purely subconsciously: Is this person I’m supposed to be judging our tribe, or another tribe? If she’s us, mistakes can be forgiven. Hell, everybody makes mistakes. The mistake becomes an anomaly, because it’s us, and we’re good people. If she’s them, mistakes need to be punished, because that’s just how they are. The mistake only proves the point that that’s always how they are. So I tried to appeal to the jury as the tribe of the law abiding. We don’t shoot people, and that’s the us in question. Didn’t work, though. And I’m sorry it didn’t work. I hope you’ll tell your friends I’m sorry I let you down. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He walked away down the hall.

Raymond almost pulled his backpack off his shoulder and took out his laptop again. He wanted to type out everything the attorney had just said to him in his notes. But he glanced back at Isabel and Mrs. G, and saw how exhausted and dispirited they looked, and knew they needed to go home.

Besides, he thought, what the attorney had just told him felt burned into the synapses of his brain. It was not going anywhere. He should be so lucky, he thought, to forget those words anytime soon.

Raymond looked up and saw that the attorney had stopped and was staring back at him. As if there were more on his mind. The man walked closer.

“And another related thing, but don’t quote me on this either. They could imagine being afraid of Mr. Velez better than they could imagine being him. I shouldn’t have pushed the prejudice angle. Because the whole time the defendant was pushing back, the jury was pushing back, too. And I knew it. I knew it was a mistake at the time I was doing it. But it was just so . . . there. It was all just so there, in front of everybody’s face, and I couldn’t bring myself to coddle the jury by pretending I didn’t see it. But now you and your friends have to pay for that lack of self-control on my part. Wherever you are tonight, know that I’ll be getting very, very drunk over that decision.”

Raymond opened his mouth, but no words came out.

It was too late, anyway. The man had already walked away.



“So, is there anything else I can get you before I go back to my dad’s?”

She was sitting on the couch, petting the cat. Listlessly. Everything about her seemed listless. Raymond thought even her breathing looked indecisive, as though she were deciding between every breath whether it was worth it to her to take another.

“No, Raymond,” she said. “Thank you, my valued friend. I trust you to hear this in the spirit I intend it. I really think some time alone to think my thoughts will do me good.”

“Will you eat something if I go now?”

A long silence, followed by a sigh. Hers.

“You are too good a friend for me to lie to you,” she said at last.

“What if I just warmed you up some chicken broth? I could put it in a cup. It would be more like drinking something than eating.”

“If it’s important to you, then yes. I will drink it.”

He walked into her kitchen and got out a saucepan. And a can of broth. And the can opener.

“What did you talk about with Mr. Newman?” she asked, calling in.

“Who?”

“The lawyer from the district attorney’s office.”

“Oh, is that his name? Well, it was interesting. In fact, I have to get back to my laptop and get it all down before I forget. He had some theories as to why juries do things like this.”

He lit the flame under the pot. Poured a medium serving of broth into it. Then he moved to the kitchen doorway and leaned his shoulder on the jamb so he could talk to her more easily.

“He said it was a kind of tribalism. The defendant was a person from their tribe, so whatever mistakes she made, she’s still a good person to them. Luis was from another tribe, so it will always be his fault somehow, because that’s just how those other people are. And the more I think about it, the more I remember your saying something like that to me.”

“Did I?” she asked dreamily. As if far away. “I don’t recall.”

“Back when I first met you. I stopped to talk to you. You said most people don’t stop, because you’re a ‘them’ and not an ‘us.’ I don’t think you were talking about race, though. Just the way people stick with those they know.”

“There are many kinds of tribes, Raymond. But I don’t claim to remember having said it. It sounds like something I would say, though.”

He leaned in silence for a minute or two, staring through the filmy curtain at nothing. Just a muted view of the building across the street. Then he checked the broth and found it was ready. She liked her drinks warm rather than hot.

“If I just hand this to you and go . . . do you promise to drink it?”

“I promise.”