He returned to the bench and his original posture, head bowed, hands folded. But she knew now he was neither praying nor counting floor tiles. He was planning. And he wasn’t a silly old fool; he was a dangerous man.
She went back into the courtroom. The bailiff was standing beside the window, talking to a young woman who’d been hired by the local television station to do sketches of the defendant and judge and jury since cameras were not allowed.
Cully was sitting at the counsel’s table, alone.
He appeared to be in a good mood. “How are things in the outside world?”
“The same.”
“That bad?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Hey, that’s a joke. There’s no law against smiling once in a while.”
“What at?”
“At me.”
“I don’t smile unless I feel like it. Women used to be expected to smile all the time in order to feed a man’s ego, but no more.”
“Why not?”
“Women realized that we are just as important, even aside from procreation, as men. We are just as intelligent, just as skillful, and what we may lack in strength we make up for in endurance.”
He seemed stunned by her barrage of words. “Hey, wait a minute. I didn’t ask you to smile at me that way. I got a lot of women who’ll smile at me that way. What I meant — I only meant it wouldn’t hurt you to laugh a little when I make a joke.”
“All right. Ha-ha.”
The oak door of the courtroom opened with the languor and ponderous combination of weight and justice. A man peered inside, identifiable as a tourist by his Bermuda shorts, Panama hat and Japanese camera slung around his neck. He kept the door open long enough for Eva to catch a glimpse of Pherson pointing a long, skinny finger in her direction. Cully’s back was to the door, so he didn’t see Pherson and wouldn’t have recognized him if he had.
“Her husband is here,” Eva said.
Cully looked genuinely puzzled. “Whose husband?”
“Mrs. Pherson’s. He’s going to be testifying against you.”
“How can he testify against me? He doesn’t know me.”
“He knew his wife. He’ll say she never drank and she was the last woman in the world who’d go into a bar and pick up a man.”
“It’s what she did.”
“He’ll never believe it. At least he’ll never admit it. Isn’t that just like a man? If he admitted his wife would do something like that, he would consider it a reflection on him, and people might think he wasn’t giving her what she wanted.”
“Maybe he wasn’t giving her what she wanted.”
“So you did, I suppose?”
“I offered Mrs. Pherson a chance to try out as a cook for the race to Honolulu because she said she knew a lot about French cuisine and that’s what Mr. Belasco likes.”
“She probably never cooked a meal in her life. The Phersons had a housekeeper and a maid, according to the transcript of the preliminary hearing. That transcript is available to you. Haven’t you read it?”
“I tried. It was too full of lies, bad things I never did. I am not like that man in the transcript. I am me, I think I am a nice person. I wouldn’t do bad things like that.”
“Tell it to Mr. Pherson.”
“Did he — you know, talk much about me?”
“Enough.”
“What did he say?”
“He wants you punished.”
“How?”
“Any way at all so long as you end up dead.”
“So he wants me dead.” Cully’s voice showed no surprise or fear, only a kind of weary bitterness. “They all do. Look at them.”
By this time the spectators were coming back into the courtroom. The bailiff propped the door open and stood by as they returned to their seats, the artist with her sketchbook, the crime reporter from the local paper, tourists accidentally caught up in the excitement, an entire class of seventh graders with their teacher, retired white-collar workers and housewives seeking to kill an afternoon or a man.
Cully had twisted around in his chair to look at them. Now he turned back to face the table.
“They all want me dead,” he repeated.
“Not all of them. In every trial the court watchers are divided in opinion. Some of them are on your side.”
“How can you tell?”
“There’s a lot of body English used in a courtroom, nods, smiles, grimaces, frowns.”
“That lady in the front row, is she drawing a picture of me?”
“She’s been doing pictures of all the people connected with the case.”
“I saw her staring at me during recess.” He seemed to have forgotten Mr. Pherson and all the others who wanted him dead. He looked pleased and slightly embarrassed. “I wonder if she’d let me see it when she’s finished.”
“She might not even be drawing you.”
“I bet she is. That’s why she stayed during recess, to study my features because all she can see of me while the trial is going on is the back of my head. Do I look all right?”
“You look... fine.”
“Should I turn around and let her see me better?”
“No. No, I think she’s seen you.”
So have I, Eva thought.
She had seen a child-man, naive, self-centered, crude, who could forget that he was on trial for his life at the prospect of seeing a sketch of himself. She felt a rush of blood up the side of her neck into her head. Conflicting emotions expanded and contracted her veins and beat on her temples.
“Miss Foster, could you try and fix things so I get to see the picture? I mean, if it’s nice. I don’t want to see any ugly picture of me. If she thinks I’m guilty, she might draw me ugly. I’m not ugly, am I?”
“No.”
“She might even draw me good-looking. Do you suppose she might draw me good-looking?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’d sure like to see that picture. Could you fix it for me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
He blinked, as if someone had shone a sudden light in his eyes. “You sound funny, like you have something against me.”
“The only person I have anything against is myself.”
“Then why won’t you do a simple thing like asking the lady if I can see the picture? I might want to get copies made to send back home to my wife and kids.”
“You said — you told me you weren’t married.”
“I call her my wife; she calls me her husband; the kids call me Papa. It’s easier that way and no harm done.”
“No harm done, is that what you think?” All her blood seemed to have accumulated in her head, leaving her lower limbs numb and her hands cold and clammy. She leaned toward him and said in a hoarse whisper, “Take your goddamn picture and shove it.”
He looked bewildered, and she felt somehow that she had injured a defenseless creature who didn’t understand what he had done wrong.
“Listen,” she said. “It’s just that I can’t do anything like what you asked me to. It’s not allowed.”
“No, that’s not the reason. It’s because you hate me. Why?”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You sound like it.”
“Look, you and I aren’t even supposed to be talking to each other, let alone about things like love and hate.”
“I never said anything about love.”
“I meant emotions, feelings in general. I meant—”
“I know what you meant,” Cully said.
Donnelly and Gunther had come in, and Gunther stopped in front of Eva’s table and slung his briefcase on the polished surface.
“Foster, you look guilty. What have you been doing, plotting to overthrow the government? Yes? No?”
“None of your business.”