She suddenly remembered, there was a time, she remembered, she could see, there was, it was the basement of a department store somewhere in Manhattan, a twelve-year-old girl trying on coats while her mother sat and watched, Gertrude Kirsch with her hands folded over her pocketbook, Sally trying on garment after garment for her approval. There was a time, it overlapped this silent shabby Fourteenth Street office, the pink coat suddenly and magically appearing on the rack, how had she missed it before? She touched the cloth, she lifted the coat from its hanger and held it tentatively for just a moment before putting it on. Gertrude Kirsch sat in silent expectation, her hands folded on her pocketbook. Sally came toward her hesitantly and executed a brief model's turn, elbows against her sides, arms up, fingers spread in delicate supplication. Quietly, she asked, "How do I look, Mama? Make believe I'm a person."
Hadad lighted the fresh cigarette from the butt of the old one, and then looked for an ash tray. Sally pushed one across the desk.
"Why?" Hadad asked.
"Why what?" she said, but of course she knew what he meant and had wondered the same thing the moment he came into the office and began telling his tale.
"Why does he pick on me, your boy friend?"
"He's not my boy friend," Sally said, and then wondered about that, too.
"He is a big man."
"Yes."
"A big lawyer."
"Yes."
"Why me, a bricklayer? Was someone killed in this big accident, no," he said, and again waved the skywriting cigarette. "Was someone serious injured, no. Is there enormous damage to the vehicles, no. Anyhow, I have insurance, the insurance will pay."
"Yes, Mr. Hadad, but…"
"Why does he make a stink?"
"I have no idea."
"Your own boy friend, you have no idea?"
"I only know Mr. Willow casually," Sally said, and felt immediately foolish. "I really don't know why he's… he's bringing this pressure to bear."
"Persecution," Hadad said. "Is he a Jew?"
"No," Sally answered.
Hadad shrugged. "You will help me?"
"How?"
"You will talk to him?"
"About what?"
"About he will leave me alone," Hadad said. "I do not wish to go to prison. I do not wish to pay five hundred dollars. I do not wish trouble of any kind. It was a dark night, it was anyone could have an accident, why does he pick on me? I am small beans. What does he want? My license, my living, my life? What does he want from me, this man?"
"I don't know," Sally said.
"Is there even a case?" Hadad asked. "Can there be criminal business here? Is it possible I can go to prison?"
"I don't know that, either. I'd have to read the law."
"I will pay you."
"For what?"
"For help, for advice, for salvation."
"I don't want your money, Mr. Hadad," Sally said.
"I am not a rich man, but I have some aside. I can pay."
"There's nothing to pay me for."
"You will talk to him?"
"I'll try."
"Ask him to stop," Hadad said, and then curiously added, "This is America."
They came back into the courtroom, both sides, plaintiff and defendants, considerably refreshed by their brief recess. They had exchanged words of reassurance, each to each, the plaintiff certain that Jonah Willow had extended himself beyond reasonable limits, introducing a plethora of documents that had only confused and bored the judge; the defendants convinced that Sidney Brackman had objected far too often and far too strenuously, irritating McIntyre and jeopardizing the case for the plaintiff. Brackman had told his client that he could read with fair accuracy the reactions of any judge, and he was certain McIntyre was beginning to lean more and more in their favor. Willow, on the other hand, assured his witness that he was coming over with dignity and calm, impressing the judge with his quiet integrity and his innate honesty.
So they all came back ready to engage each other in combat once again, seemingly forgetting that the real battle had been fought a long time ago, fought when Constantine committed his play to paper, fought when Driscoll later wrote his book. There was the scent of victory in the air, and both sides sniffed of it, and confidently surmised it was intended for their nostrils alone. Driscoll, after Jonah's peptalk in the corridor outside, felt certain that the trial was going their way, and that if no one involved in the defense brought up the matter of the 105th Division, why then no one on the plaintiff's side would mention it either. There was a curious holiday air in that courtroom when the trial resumed at 11:25 a.m. It belied the lowering clouds outside the long windows, it belied the fact that for every victor there is a loser, it belied the possibility that perhaps for every loser there is yet another loser or even a score of losers.
"Mr. Driscoll," Willow said, "before our recess, I was about to go into certain specific alleged similarities as listed on Plaintiff's Exhibit 6, which is titled Character Similarities. For the time being, I am going to bypass the character of Lieutenant Alex Cooper, who you have already testified is based on yourself. Instead, I am going to ask you about Private Colman, the troublemaker, who is certainly the second most important character in the novel, would you agree?"
"I would."
"Is Private Colman a homosexual?"
"He has had homosexual experiences."
"With whom?"
"With the major who had been commanding officer of the platoon."
"The plaintiff alleges, Mr. Driscoll, that your Private Colman is based on two characters in the play Catchpole. One of these characters is Corporal Janus, who is depicted as a troublemaker, and the other is Colonel Peterson, who is said to be a homosexual. Have you read Mr. Constantine's play?"
"I have."
"When did you read it?"
"Last month, when you gave it to me."
"Where was this, Mr. Driscoll?"
"You gave me the manuscript at your office in New York, and I took it home with me* and read it there. In Vermont."
"Did you read it carefully?"
"I spent an entire weekend with it."
"Are you familiar with these two characters in the play? Corporal Janus and Colonel Peterson?"
"I am."
"Well now, wouldn't you consider it a remarkable coincidence that there are a troublemaker and a homosexual in Mr. Constantine's play, and there is a homosexual troublemaker in your book?"
"No, sir."
"Why not?"
"Because whereas Corporal Janus is a troublemaker, I could find no indication in the play that Colonel Peterson is a homosexual."
"He is not, in your estimation, a homosexual?"
"I do not think he could be considered homosexual in anybody's estimation."
"Has he not had homosexual experiences?"
"He has not."
"Does he not make homosexual references and allusions?"
"He does not."
"Does he not use endearing terms when talking to other men?"
"He does not."
"Did you find any character in the play who could be considered homosexual?"
"I did not."
"Your Honor," Brackman said, rising, "I am fully aware of Mr. Driscoll's reputation as a novelist, but I was not aware that he holds a degree in psychology. May I point out that what he considers homosexual or heterosexual may not, in the opinion of experts, actually be the case."
"If your Honor please," Willow said, "I believe Mr. Driscoll's testimony can be considered as competent as was Mr. Constantine's."