Arthur almost smiled. “I want to make the impossible angle work.”
It wasn't just a dome. It was a shimmering, iridescent orb, thirty feet in diameter, set into her backyard like a giant soap bubble that had decided to stay. It was made of translucent, reinforced polymer, so from the outside, you could see the silhouettes of her ferns and her cat, Ptolemy, padding around the curved floors. It had no corners. It had no right angles. To Arthur, it was an abomination.
The judge sighed. She looked at Arthur, then at Mrs. Gable. “I’m going to recess for one hour,” she said. “When I return, I expect you two to have found a solution. I don’t care if it involves a pulley system and a team of trained badgers. Fix it.”
“He’s right, you know,” Arthur said finally, gesturing at the Bubble. “It’s not about the law. It’s about the geometry. Your choice of shape has created an impossible angle.”
The case was assigned to Judge Evelyn Orchard, a woman known for her patience and her hatred of frivolity. She ordered a site visit. On a crisp October morning, she stood on Arthur’s lawn in her black robe, flanked by clerks and a bemused bailiff.
“Mr. Pindle,” she said, peering at the Bubble. “You claim this structure is interfering with a necessary repair to your home’s foundation?”
“It is entirely on mine, Your Honor,” Mrs. Gable said. “The survey is on file. The inconvenience to Mr. Pindle is a matter of geometry, not legality.”
