Seneca Book 4: De Dos Del Nortes
Copyright© 2026 by Zanski
Chapter 13. 1889: Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory
“You wanted to see me, Your Honor?”
“Come in, Judah, come in. But close the door, if you would.”
I’d been summoned to Judge Bergman’s chambers in the federal courthouse, which was a bit over two blocks from my office in the federal and territorial offices annex. When I opened the Marshals Service office that morning, I’d found a note that had been slid under the door. It was from Judge Bergman asking me to come by at nine. It had been a pleasant walk that cool April morning.
“Sit, my boy, sit. Pour yourself some coffee.” He pushed a silver tray holding an ornate coffee service toward me.
“My boy,” I thought, as I sat down; I could only wish.
I’d turned forty-three that January. But I think Feliza must have stopped aging several years before I ever met her, belying her claim to be thirty-seven. Neto would be nine in a few days and Bertie turned four in January. She was born on the third and me on the fourth, just some miles and years apart. So I did not feel much like a boy, that’s for sure. And that’s why I was worried.
Benjamin Harrison had taken the oath of office a month before and it had been announced that Bradford Prince had been appointed Governor of the United States Territory of New Mexico.
Prince, a lawyer by trade, was a New Yorker who had served in both the New York State Assembly and Senate. Following that, he had been appointed Chief Justice of the New Mexico Supreme Court, where he served from eighteen seventy-eight to ‘eighty-two, so he was no stranger to the Territory. Governor Ross was to vacate the office in the ancient Palace of the Governors by next week.
Judge Bergman, however, was a federal judge with lifetime tenure, so President Harrison couldn’t fire him or reassign him. And I worked for Judge Bergman, though, technically, I worked for the Department of Justice.
Now Bergman pushed a napkin-covered plate toward me. He whisked the napkin away to reveal — a Napoleon. Now I was really worried.
Bergman smiled kindly. He said, “You aren’t being fired, if that’s what you’re worried about. At least not yet. Go ahead and enjoy.” He took a bite from what appeared to be a muffin. I picked up the proffered fork and began to chip into the delicate pastry.
After a swallow of coffee, he said, “Your job’s not protected under the Civil Service Act. You’re a political appointee, which is why we had to get your name through the Senate back when. Harrison’s Attorney General, William Miller, is a fair man, but the President has many supporters to thank, and it’s only a matter of time before your position will be one of those thank-yous.”
I shrugged. “I knew this day would come, Judge.”
“Do you have plans for afterward?” He took another bite of muffin.
“Hector Guerrero wants to establish a store in Santa Fe. He wants me to run it.”
Judge Bergman suddenly seemed to be choking and then started coughing. I stood and started toward him but he waved me back to my seat as he seemed to regain control. He said, in a somewhat hoarse voice, “You want to be a shopkeeper?”
“Well, why not? I reckon I’d figure it out. And Feliza would help.”
He smiled wanly and said, “Hector Guerrero would be better off to hire your wife to run his store.” He must have seen something in my facial expression because he held his hands up in front of himself and said, “No, no, that’s not what I meant, Judah. I’m confident you would be successful at whatever you set your mind to. I’m sure it’s my own lack of imagination that causes my inability to picture you being satisfied in a retail position.”
He put the last of the muffin in his mouth and settled more comfortably in the big chair. Reaching to retrieve his coffee cup he took another swallow, then said, “The fact is, Judah, I turn seventy next month.”
That surprised me. He must pray to the same saints that Feliza does. I said, “You hardly look it, sir.”
He nodded. “Well,” he said, “it’s not the product of clean living.”
I chuckled. “I’m sure, sir.”
“At seventy, I can collect a pension equal to my present salary.”
I nodded. I knew that was true.
Then he added, “Edmund Ross, Anton Dahl, and I are going into a law practice together.” Dahl was the U.S. Attorney for the District of New Mexico.
This was news, and it sounded like a good idea.
“Of course, my value will be mostly from my name, because, frankly, I don’t plan to do much work. But then, I will have my pension, so I’ll be able to pick and choose what I do work on.”
I was smiling at the prospect. “That sounds like an excellent plan, your Honor. Where do you plan to locate your office?”
“It’s not office, Judah, it’s offices. Governor Ross will open a branch in Albuquerque, while Mister Dahl and I will operate from the main office here in the capital. Albuquerque is growing rapidly, and the capital city is always the center of jurisprudence, its application, and its creation.”
“I won’t argue that, Judge.”
He squinted at me for a moment, then asked, “Have you ever considered running for public office, Judah?”
I couldn’t help myself — I laughed aloud.
Bergman said, “I take it you haven’t.”
I brought myself under control. “No, sir, I haven’t. The notion seems ... well, unthinkable.”
“Maybe you should think it. You’re well known in the territory, got a good reputation. Once or twice every year you’re involved in some fracas or another that gets your name in the papers. Just this past February you captured the entire Colter gang, single-handed.”
“Judge Bergman, you know darn well I found those men sleeping off a drunk in the stable where I board my horses.”
“That’s not how the papers told it, son. The newspapers love you, Judah.”
“Judge, that’s not my doing. When they asked, I told them exactly how it came about. Capturing those men I felt more like mucking out stalls than taking fugitives into custody.”
“So, no elective office, then? Not a sheriff? Not a state senator?”
“No, sir. You can count on me to run from public office rather than for it. Even in this job I’ve had about enough politics to last me two lifetimes. I’ve not the temperament for it. If someone’s talking nonsense, I’d just as soon whack him with a pistol than stand there grinnin’ like a ninny.”
“I’ve never seen you like that?”
“No reason you should have, your honor. You’ve always been straight and decent, and when you talk, it’s because you have something to say. The only time I’ve ever heard you speak nonsense was just moments ago, when you asked me about public office. And you saw my reaction. How far do you think I’d get behavin’ like that?”
“But I’ve heard you tell horrendous stories in court, and you’ve been beset by attorneys on cross examination, yet you never react.”
I furrowed my brow, “Court? Well, the courtroom’s different. It’s, ah ... it’s, it’s like a church, but for justice rather than the almighty. It’s not a place to show disrespect. Our nation would be in lawless chaos, but for the courts.” I’d been shaking my head as I finished. I looked at him. “Courts are where we are judged.”
He changed the subject. “Amador Cabal is going to Albuquerque with the Governor. Amador is going to clerk for him and read the law. He’ll likely be ready to take the bar exam in a couple years.”
This news made me feel good. “Amador’s a smart young man. He’ll make a fine attorney.”
Now he was studying me again. Then he asked, “Have you ever considered becoming a lawyer, Judah?”
So maybe he hadn’t changed the subject. Still, he caught me off guard. “Well, no, sir, I never have, I’m just a farm boy, Judge.”
“Yet I notice you didn’t laugh this time.”
“I’ve known too many lawyers who are smart and capable.”
“I know you speak Spanish, and even better Spanish than you used to.”
“That’s my wife’s doing, your honor.”
“Can you read Spanish? Write it?”
“Yes I can.”
“An attorney needs Spanish in New Mexico. Many relevant documents are in Spanish. Many people only speak Spanish.”
“That’s all well and good, sir, but I know nothing of the law.”
“And yet you were a law man for nine years.”
“That’s altogether different, Judge Bergman.”
“Was not your job to enforce the law?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“You weren’t making up the laws on you own, were you?”
“No, sir, but—”
“And I know Mister Dahl has given you passages to read prior to you testifying at trials.”
Defeated, I said, “Yes, your honor.”
“I want you to clerk for me. You’ll be taking the bar exam in two years, I guarantee it.”
“Sir, I’m forty-six years old.”
“And I’m seventy and still practicing the law, and I intend to do so for several more years. What do you plan to do for the next thirty years, sell dry goods?”
The impossibility of it dumbfounded me and I just sat there.
Bergman said, “Eat the rest of your Napoleon, Judah.”
“Do you want to become an attorney?” Feliza asked.
We were in the front room, sitting on a sheepskin, watching the fire, our backs resting against the banco, sort of a polished wood sofa without cushions.
“I don’t know. It’s as if someone asked if I wanted to visit ... Italy. It’s just something I never thought of before. It’s beyond the things I thought of wanting.”
“Did you want me?” she asked, with a coquettish lilt.