American; it was about the community of believers, and my whole case was about to turn that on its ear. 'Shay,' I said. 'You understand that we might lose.'
Shay nodded, dismissive. 'Where is she?'
'Who?'
'The girl. The one who needs the heart.'
'She's in the hospital.'
'Then we have to hurry,' he said.
I exhaled slowly. 'Right. I'd better go get my game face on.'
I stood up, summoning the CO to let me out of the conference room, but Shay's voice called me back. 'Don't forget to say you're sorry,' he said.
'To whom?'
By then, though, Shay was standing on the chair again, his attention focused on something else. And as I watched, seven flies landed in quick succession on the palm of his outstretched hand.
When I was five, all I wanted was a Christmas tree. My friends had them, and the menorah we lit at night paled in comparison. My father pointed out that we got eight presents, but my friends got even more than that, if you added up what was sitting underneath their tree. One cold December afternoon, my mother told my father we were heading to the movies, and instead, she drove me to the mall. We waited in line with little girls who had ribbons in their hair and fancy lace dresses, so that I could sit on Santa's lap and tell him I wanted My Pretty Pony. Then, with a candy cane fisted in my hand, we walked to the decoration display where there were fifteen Christmas trees set up-white ones with glass balls, fake balsam ones strung with red beads and bows, one that had Tinker Bell at the top and all the Disney characters dotted as ornaments, 'like this,' my mother said, and right in the middle of the department store we lay down at a crossroads of the trees and gazed up at the blinking light displays. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. 'I won't tell Daddy,' I promised, but she said that didn't matter. This wasn't about another religion, my mother explained. These were just the trappings. You could admire the wrapping, without ever taking out what was inside the box.
After I left Shay, I sat in my car and called my mother at the ChutZpah.
'Hi,' I said when she answered. 'What are you doing?'
There was a beat of silence. 'Maggie? What's wrong?'
'Nothing. I felt like calling you.'
'Did something happen? Did you get hurt?'
'Can't I call my mother just because I feel like it?'
'You can,' she said, 'but you don't.'
Well. There was just no arguing with the truth. I took a deep breath and forged ahead. 'Do you remember the time you took me to see
Santa?'
'Please don't tell me you're converting. It'll kill your father.'
'I'm not converting,' I said, and my mother sighed with relief. 'I just was remembering it, that's all.'
'So you called to tell me?'
'No,' I said. 'I called to say I'm sorry.'
'For what?' My mother laughed. 'You haven't done anything.'
In that moment, I remembered us lying on the floor of the department store, gazing at the lit trees, as a security guard loomed over us. Just gLve her another jew minutes, my mother had begged. June Nealon's face flashed before me. Maybe this was the job of a mother: to buy time for her child, no matter what. Even if it meant doing something she'd rather not; even if it left her flat on her back.
'Yes,' I answered. 'I know.'
'Desiring religious freedom is nothing new,' I said, standing up in front of Judge Haig at the opening of Shay Bourne's trial. 'One of the most famous cases happened more than two hundred years ago, and it didn't take place in our country-namely, because there was no country. A group of people who dared to hold religious beliefs different from the status quo found themselves being forced to adopt the policies of the
Church of England-and instead, they chose to strike off to an unknown place across the ocean. But the Puritans liked religious freedom so much they kept it all to themselves-often persecuting people who didn't believe what they did. This is precisely why the founders of the new nation of the United States decided to put an end to religious intolerance by making religious freedom a cornerstone of this country'
This was a nonjury trial, which meant that the only person I had to preach to was the judge; but the courtroom was still filled. There were reporters there from four networks the judge had preapproved, there were victims rights advocates, there were death penalty supporters and death penalty opponents. The only party present in support of Shay-and my first witness-was Father Michael, seated just behind the plaintiff's table.
Beside me, Shay sat in handcuffs and ankle cuffs, linked to a belly chain. 'Thanks to the forefathers who crafted the Constitution, everyone in this country has the freedom to practice his own religion-even a prisoner on death row in New Hampshire. In fact, Congress went so far as to pass a law about it. The Religious Land Use and Institutionalized Persons
Act guarantees an inmate the opportunity to worship whatever he likes as long as it doesn't impede the safety of others in the prison or affect the running of the prison. Yet Shay Bourne's constitutional right to practice his religion has been denied by the State of New Hampshire.'
I looked up at the judge. 'Shay Bourne is not a Muslim, or a Wiccan; he's not a secular humanist or a member of the Baha'i faith. In fact, his system of beliefs may not be familiar to any common world religion you can name off the top of your head. But they are a system of beliefs, and they include the fact that-to Shay-salvation depends on being able to donate his heart after his execution to the sister of his victim... an outcome that's not possible if the state uses lethal injection as a method of execution.'
I walked forward. 'Shay Bourne has been convicted of possibly the most heinous crime in the history of this state. He has appealed that conviction, and those appeals have been denied-yet he is not contesting that decision. He knows he is going to die, Your Honor. All he asks is that, again, the laws of this country be upheld-in particular, the laws that say anyone has the right to practice their religion, wherever, whenever, however. If the state agrees to his execution by hanging, and provides for the subsequent donation of his organs, the safety of other inmates isn't impeded; the running of the prison isn't affected-but it would offer a very significant personal outcome for Shay Bourne: to save a little girl's life, and in the process, to save his own soul.'
I sat back down and glanced at Shay. He had a legal pad in front of him.
On it, he'd doodled a picture of a pirate with a parrot on his shoulder.
At the defense table, Gordon Greenleaf was seated beside the New
Hampshire commissioner of corrections, a man with both hair and complexion the color of a potato. Greenleaf tapped his pencil twice on the desk. 'Ms. Bloom brought up the founding fathers of this country.
Thomas Jefferson, in fact, coined a phrase in a letter in 1789-'a wall of separation between church and state.' He was explaining the First
Amendment-in particular the clauses about religion. And his words have been used by the Supreme Court many times-in fact, the Lemon test, which the high court has used since 1971, says that for a law to be constitutional, it must have a secular purpose, must neither advance nor inhibit religion, and must not result in excessive government entanglement with religion. That last part's an interesting bit-since Ms. Bloom is both crediting the forefathers of this nation with the noble division of church and state... and yet simultaneously asking Your Honor to join them together.'
He stood up, walking forward. 'If you were to take her claim seriously,'
Greenleaf said, 'you'd see that what she's really asking for is a legally binding sentence to be massaged, because of a loophole called religion. What's next? A convicted drug dealer asking that his sentence be overturned because heroin helps him reach nirvana? A murderer insisting that his cell door face Mecca?' Greenleaf shook his head. 'The truth is,
Judge, this petition has been filed by the ACLU not because it's a valid and troublesome concern-but because it will purposefully create a three-ring circus during the state's first execution in sixty-nine years.' He waved his arm around the crowded gallery. 'And all of you are proof that it's already working.'
Greenleaf glanced at Shay. 'Nobody takes the death penalty lightly, least of all the commissioner of corrections in the State of New Hampshire.
