"That's nonsense, Dris," Ebie said.
"And don't repeat it on the witness stand," Jonah warned.
"Why not?"
"Because this case can go either way, and I don't need any more headaches — not if we're to win."
"Is that so important to you? Winning?"
"Yes," Jonah answered.
It's important to Dris, too, Ebie thought, don't think it isn't. He may say it's unimportant, Mr. Willow, he may say he'll never write another book as long as he lives, but I know him better than that, I know him better than any human being on earth. He knows he'll lose, you see. He knows that, and he's hoping against hope that he'll come out of it with honor somehow, without having to speak; that somehow a miracle will come to pass, he'll win without having to say what he tried to say in his novel and only failed to say. He'd give his life to be free of that Vermont rock garden where he pretends to grow his meager crops, living on royalties that still come in from the foreign editions and the paperback, constantly dwindling. He'd give his soul to be able to come back to New York, which is his home, his only home, come back and look this city in the eye again, be able to feel like a man in this city that's his, maybe not even to write again, though I know that's what he wants, I know, I know. I know this man so well, I know this fierce proud stupid stubborn man, I love this man so much.
He could do it. He could do it all, he could be free at last, if only… we could win this case so easily, we could do it so simply, if only he would…
"We'll lose, Ebie thought.
He'll never tell them.
9
Gray hair rising in waves from a high forehead, combed straight back without a part so that it seemed to extend the flowing line of his profile, gray eyes intelligently alert beneath black beetling brows, Ralph Knowles took the oath, and then sat, crossed his long legs, and waited for Genitori to begin.
The lawyers had decided between them that Genitori, as chief counsel for API, would conduct the direct examination. Their decision puzzled Ralph, who had never found Genitori impressive either in looks or in bearing, and who wondered now what empathy this dumpy little man could possibly evoke from the judge. He watched critically as Genitori walked slowly and ponderously toward the witness stand, and his feelings were somewhat like those of a star in the hands of a bad director. Genitori cleared his throat, sniffed, looked once at the gray sky beyond the courtroom windows, nodded to the judge, smiled, and then turned again to Ralph.
"Mr. Knowles," he said, "what do you do for a living?"
"I'm a motion picture writer and director," Ralph said.
"Have you always been a motion picture writer and director?"
"No, sir."
"What did you do before you began working in motion pictures?"
"I was a freelance writer of magazine pieces, and after that I did a great deal of dramatic work for radio. This was before the war, during the late thirties and early forties. Before television."
"What radio programs did you write for?"
"Lux Radio Theater, Suspense, Mister District Attorney, The Green Hornet, The Shadow… most of the shows that were around, I would say. One of my radio plays for Suspense was later made into a movie called Armitus. That was when I first became involved with motion pictures. I went to the Coast for story conferences on it, you see, and while I was there someone asked me if I would like to do a screenplay for him — not on my own property — and I said yes. I began doing screenplays after that, and a while later I began directing."
"How many motion pictures have you written, Mr. Knowles?"
"Since 1954, I've written seventeen screenplays, and directed nine of them myself."
"Did you write and direct The Paper Dragon?"
"Yes, sir."
"Alone?"
"Sir?"
"Were you the only writer of the screenplay for the motion picture titled The Paper Dragon?"
"I was."
"In what year was that screenplay written?"
"1963, I think it was. Yes, it must have been the latter part of '63."
"Until that time, had you ever heard of the plaintiff, Arthur Constantine?"
"No, sir."
"Or the play Catchpole?"
"No."
"Had you ever seen a synopsis of Catchpole?"
"I had not. I try to avoid synopses whenever possible. It seems unnatural, to me, for anyone to condense a five-hundred-page novel into a fifty-page report on it. If you did that with Hamlet, you'd end up with what sounded like a ghost story. I can remember the synopsis I read on my own radio play, the one they were filming, and I was appalled by what they'd done, eliminating all the nuances, all the depth, all the range of character, leaving only the bare bones — terrible. I made up my mind right then and there that I'd have nothing to do with synopses ever again. I've pretty much hewed to that line since."
"You did not, then read a synopsis of Catchpole?"
"No, sir."
"Did you ever see it performed?"
"Performed?"
"Yes. At the Fulton Theatre in New York?"
"No."
"Or anyplace else?"
"No, sir."
"Have you ever served with the United States armed forces?"
"I have."
"When?"
"May I ask where this is going, your Honor?" Brackman said.
"You'll see in a minute, Mr. Brackman," Genitori replied. "When were you in the armed forces, Mr. Knowles?"
"From July of 1943 to January of 1948."
"In what branch did you serve?"
"I was a fighter pilot in the Army Air Corps."
"Did you ever serve overseas?"
"Yes, sir. I left the United States in January of 1945, and was assigned to the Pacific Theater of Operations, where I remained until the time of my discharge."
"Where were you stationed in October of 1947, when Mr. Constantine's play was showing in New York?"
"I was stationed in Tokyo. Japan."
"When did you begin working for API?"
"In August of 1954."
"As what?"
"A writer at first. And later on, a director."
"During your initial period of employment there, was material ever submitted to you for consideration?"
"Material?"
"Plays, novels, television scripts?"
"Do you mean as possibilities for motion pictures?"
"Yes."
"Well, no. No one ever asked my opinion on whether or not a story should be purchased, if that's what you mean. In the beginning, I was simply handed a novel or a play, or whatever, and told it was my next assignment."
"To write a screenplay on it?"
"Yes. And when I first began directing, it worked much the same way. I would be assigned to direct a film, and I would direct it. Later on, of course, I was asked to direct, a producer would come to me with the material and ask if I would like to direct it or not."
"Material that had already been purchased?"
"Yes. And now, of course, I can ask the studio to buy a property that I think is interesting, and if they agree it'll make a good movie, they'll usually go along with me and buy the property for me to make."
"Did you see synopses of any material you did not later translate to the screen?"
"No, sir. I told you, I avoid synopses like the plague."
"Now, you said earlier that you wrote the screenplay for The Paper Dragon…"
"Yes, sir, and directed it as well."
"How did you go about writing this screenplay?"