The Paper Dragon (16 page)

The district attorney eventually dropped the absurd arson charge, but Jonah permitted his clients to plead guilty only to attempted murder and anarchy, fighting the treason charge as well as the linked charge of conspiracy (if there had been no treason, how could anyone have conspired to commit an act against the peace?) on the grounds that whatever eventual overthrow may have been contemplated by the pair, its execution had certainly not begun with the bombing of the mayor's residence. Youthful ego and exuberance aside, even these misguided twenty-year-old boys could not possibly have intended their deed (he almost said "childish prank") as the beginning of a bona fide uprising. The jury was out for six hours. It convicted Yoro and Koenig of the first two crimes, and the judge sentenced them to consecutive prison terms of twenty-five years for attempted murder and ten years for anarchy. The case was won, and a style was set. The style was not immediately manifest, though. Like the dissolution of Jonah's marriage, it resisted definition until it was fully recognizable. By the time the tone of the partnership was realized, the tone of the marriage was also realized, and it was curious that both marriage and partnership dissolved in the same year, only several months apart, though neither had anything to do with the other. Or was that true?

He pulled the car to the curb outside his building. The doorman standing just inside the glass entrance doors immediately put on his gloves and came out to greet him.

"Put her away for the night, Mr. Willow?" he asked.

"Please, Dave."

"What happened to your fender here, Mr. Willow?"

"I had a little accident."

"Really got mangled, didn't it?"

"Mmm."

"There's a good body man over at the garage, if you want to…"

"I'll talk to him about it in the morning, Dave."

"Will you be using her tomorrow, or…"

"No, I'll need a taxi."

"Right, Mr. Willow, G'night now."

"Good night, Dave."

He walked quickly into the lobby, stopping at the long table with the mirror over it, picking up his mail. There was nothing from Amy. He scanned the envelopes rapidly, and then walked back to the elevator bank.

"Good evening, Fred," he said.

"Evening, Mr. Willow." The elevator doors closed. "Getting pretty cold out there, isn't it?"

"Bitter," Jonah said.

He got off on the sixth floor, and walked to his apartment at the end of the hall. Bessie had left a light burning for him in the entry alcove; the apartment was otherwise dark. He went into the kitchen, turning on lights ahead of him, and found a note from Bessie scotch-taped to the refrigerator door.
Your daughter called,
she had written in pencil
, says you should called her back at school tonight or Wesday noon
. He nodded briefly, took off his coat, and then went through the apartment to the master bedroom overlooking Park Avenue. He was about to place his call to Pennsylvania when he realized it was past midnight. He would have to call on Wednesday.

His wrist hurt like hell. He undressed slowly and carefully, cursing the Egyptian under his breath — that was another call he'd have to make, to Judge Santesson, see what he could do about that crazy son of a bitch.

The cross begins tomorrow, he thought.

Wearily, he pulled back the covers, the blue and violet flower-patterned sheets Christie had brought home from Lord & Taylor, traces of her lingering in the bedroom even though the divorce had become final in August of 1962, the painting they had bought in Rome, St. Peter's in sunlight, the crayoned drawing Amy had given them as a Christmas gift when she was only four, traces, traces.

The cross begins tomorrow, he thought.

In a little while, he fell asleep.

It began snowing early in the morning, but by nine-thirty there was scarcely any cover at all on the sidewalk outside the courthouse. The snow was fine, a sharp powder that sifted from the sky only to be blown off the streets and sidewalks, patches of gathered white suddenly in motion, rearranging to reveal black asphalt and gray concrete, moving again like mist on a bog, to form yet another pattern directed by the wind. Arthur stood with Brackman just inside one of the barred windows fronting the street, looking past the thick white columns to the shifting snow beyond. He had not been able to sleep last night, and his eyes felt heavy and puffed.

"I want to give you some tips about Jonah Willow," Brackman said.

"I feel like hell," Arthur said.

"You'll wash your face before we go in. That'll make you feel better."

"That'll make me feel worse."

"Arthur, do you want me to tell you about Willow, or do you want to make wisecracks? If you want to make wisecracks…"

"You have no sense of humor, Sidney," Arthur said.

"That's right. Not when ten million dollars is at stake."

"All right, tell me about Willow. What should I know about him?"

"He's very smart," Brackman said. "That's the first thing you should know."

"I'm smart, too," Arthur said.

"Yes, but you're not a lawyer. Willow is smart, and he knows the law, and you can bet he's researched this case from top to bottom and can quote you precedent in Sanskrit. Don't underestimate him at any time during the cross. That's my first word of advice."

"All right, I won't underestimate him."

"Especially if he seems to be fumbling for words. That's an old trick of Jonah's, he does it to give the witness a false sense of confidence. Then he springs like an animal."

"I'll watch for it."

"He has a habit, too, of shooting questions at you from every corner of the universe, seemingly without logical order.
He
knows where he's going, but very often the witness can't connect the line of progression because the questions aren't in sequence. Watch out for that, Arthur. He can have you admitting your mother is a whore, and then ten minutes later contradicting it."

"You
do
have a sense of humor," Arthur said.

"So watch for that," Brackman said, ignoring him, "questions out of sequence. I'll help you all I can from the table, but there'll be times when I can't object, and 1 won't. You're up there alone, and you've got to watch yourself."

"I'll be very careful."

"Take your time with him. If he asks a question that sounds at all tricky, hesitate before you answer. If he pushes for an answer, ask him to repeat the question, even though you heard it the first time around."

"That'll fool him, I'll bet."

"It won't fool him for a minute, but it'll gain time for you while you think. And if you need more time, even
after
the question has been repeated, simply say you did not understand the question. While he explains it to you, you keep thinking. And then you answer it."

"Okay," Arthur said.

"If he asks a question that requires a 'yes' or 'no' answer, and you feel that such an answer will hurt you, I want you to say — and please memorize this, Arthur — I want you to say, 'I can answer that with a yes or no, but the answer will be misleading.' Have you got that?"

"I can answer it with a yes or no, but the answer will be misleading, right, I've got it."

"Good. Don't lose your temper."

"I won't."

"Don't raise your voice to Willow."

"I won't."

"Don't argue with him. Just answer…"

"I won't."

"… the questions."

"Okay."

"And don't let him trick you into saying anything you don't want to say."

"I doubt if he can do that."

"I'm telling you he can."

"Words are my business, Sidney."

"They're Willow's, too, and you're playing in his ball park."

"I'll remember."

"Be especially careful of the negative question — where if you answer yes, you're really saying no."

"I'll be careful."

"This is the cross-examination, Arthur, and during the cross he's going to try to get you to contradict everything you said in the direct. Failing that, he'll try to make you appear foolish or ridiculous. He can be a ruthless man when he wants to, I've seen him in action, and he can make you feel like a child or a stuttering moron. If that happens, just take your time, regain your composure, and continue answering the questions truthfully. Don't he, Arthur. Not about anything. I can guarantee that if you lie, Willow will pick up the lie later, and then your credibility will be questioned and that could very well lose the case for us. Am I making you nervous?"

"Yes, you damn well are."

"Good. I want you to be nervous because that'll make you careful. Don't forget, Arthur, this is where they got Jesus."

"What?"

"By the cross," Brackman said, and grinned.

"Mr. Constantine, had you ever met James Driscoll before the publication of
The Paper Dragon?
" Willow asked. "Just a moment, and I'll set a date for that."

"October of 1963," Brackman said.

"Thank you, Mr. Brackman," Willow replied. "Yes, Plaintiff's Exhibit 2 does indeed show that the copyright was in 1963. Thank you very much." He turned again to the witness chair. Arthur studied Willow's face and wished he could see through the reflecting lenses of his glasses.

"Had you met Mr. Driscoll at any time before October of 1963?"

"No, I had not."

"Had you in fact ever set eyes on him before the beginning of this trial yesterday morning?"

"No, I had not."

"Is it correct to say that you never gave a copy of your play to Mr. Driscoll?"

"That is correct. I did not."

"Did you ever submit copies of your play to Mitchell-Campbell Books?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, surely you must
know
, Mr. Constantine."

"I have an agent, Mr. Willow, and he takes care of such matters for me. If you want to know whether I myself sent a copy to Mitchell-Campbell, no, sir, I did not. Nor to Camelot Books, nor to Mr. Driscoll, either."

"Did you ever ask your agent to send copies of your play to
any
publishing house?"

"I did not."

"Before this action began, Mr. Constantine, had you ever met Mr. Chester Danton of Mitchell-Campbell Books?"

"I had not."

"Had you ever met any other person employed by Mitchell-Campbell Books?"

"No, sir."

"Had you possessed any personal knowledge of James Driscoll's writing habits or procedure?"

"No personal knowledge, no."

"Had you possessed any personal knowledge of the editorial work done on
The Paper Dragon
?"

"No."

"Had you possessed any knowledge whatever of the author-editor relationship between James Driscoll and Chester Danton?"

"No knowledge whatever." *

"Are you aware of the complaint in this action?"

"I am," Arthur said, and glanced quickly at Brackman.

"Is it based upon information you supplied to your attorneys?"

"Yes."

"Did you read the complaint after it was drawn?"

"I did."

"Did you swear to its truth?"

"I did."

Willow walked to the defense table. His assistant handed him a document, and he carried it back with him to the witness chair. "This is from paragraph 12 of your complaint, Mr. Constantine." He adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, flipped through the document — which Arthur now recognized — and began reading: " 'On information and belief, James Driscoll and Mitchell-Campbell Books conspired to deprive plaintiff of his rights in the copyrighted composition.' " Willow looked up from the document. "Did you swear to that statement, Mr. Constantine?"

"I did."

"Did you then possess any knowledge or information concerning a conspiracy to plagiarize your work?"

"Oh, I see," Arthur said.

"Yes, what do you see?"

"Mr. Willow, I can only repeat what I said at the pretrial examination. I do
not
know how the plagiarism was effected, I do
not
know of any confidential meetings, or secret correspondence, I did
not
wiretap anyone's telephone. But I do know that there are similarities between my play and
The Paper Dragon
that far exceed the possibility of…"

"Please answer the question," Willow said. "Did you in fact possess any knowledge or information of such a conspiracy?"

"I had no such knowledge or information, no, sir."

"You have testified that you swore to the truth of your complaint."

"Yes."

"Did you swear to the truth of a similar complaint against API?"

"Yes, but…"

"Even though you then possessed no knowledge or…"

"… these complaints are only legal terminology for…"

"… information as to its truth. Thank you. Mr. Constantine, can you tell me if any other play of yours was ever produced? In addition to
The Catchpole
, I mean."

"It's
Catchpole
, not
'The' Catchpole
. I think I pointed that out to you before."

"Yes,
Catchpole
, forgive me."

"The code name for the invasion of Eniwetok Atoll was 'Operation Catchpole.' That's where I got the title."

"Isn't there another meaning of the word 'catchpole'?" Willow asked conversationally.

"Not that I know of. I believe it was coined for military purposes, a coined word."

"I think there's another meaning, Mr. Constantine."

"I wouldn't know it."

"It's archaic, of course," Willow said, "but a catchpole was a petty officer of justice, especially a man who made arrests for debt."

"Is that so?"

"Yes."

"I didn't know that."

"You were not aware of this other meaning when you wrote your play?"

"No."

"In any case, I will try to remember the correct title from now on.
Catchpole
."

"I'd appreciate it."

"
Have
you had any other plays produced?"

"I have a play in production now," Arthur said.

"Do you mean you have a play in rehearsal?"

"No, we're not in rehearsal yet. We're still casting it."

"When do you plan to open?"

"We haven't set a date as yet."

"In what theater will you open, Mr. Constantine?"

"That hasn't been decided yet."

"Has the play been fully capitalized?"

Arthur hesitated.

"Mr. Constantine? Has the play..?"

"Not yet."

"Then this 'play in production,' as you refer to it, is really in a very
early
stage of production, isn't that so?"

"That's so, yes."

"In fact, we might say that until it is capitalized…"

"The play is under option," Arthur said. "It's our intention to produce it as soon as possible."

"Your
intention
, yes."

"Yes."

"But in fact, you have not had a play actually produced, actually presented since
The Catchpole
, forgive me,
Catchpole
. I'll try to remember."

"I've had movies and television plays produced."

"Yes, but not a stage play."

"No. Not until this play, which is in production now."

"Which is 'under option' now, isn't that what you mean?"

"No, I mean 'in production' now. We are actively casting it."

"But we may say, may we not, that since October of 1947, which is when
Catchpole
was produced — a period of more than nineteen years — you have not had a play produced on Broadway or off-Broadway or, in fact, anywhere in the world. Isn't that true?"

"That's true."

"Thank you. Mr. Constantine, you testified that you were sent to the Pacific as a new lieutenant, a
second
lieutenant I believe you said, after a short period of training as an officer."

"I did not say that."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said that Roger Mason, my character in
Catchpole
, was sent overseas after a short period of training."

"Would you say that your character bears any resemblance to you?"

"Some."

"Were
you
also sent overseas after a short period of training?"

"I was."

"Do you feel this experience was unique?"

"Unique?"

"Yes, sir, unique. You know the meaning of the word 'unique.' "

"Yes, but I don't understand the question."

"I am asking you, Mr. Constantine, if during World War II, during the period of time before and during the Eniwetok landings, I am asking if it was unique to send an officer overseas after only a short period of training?"

"I don't know if it was unique or not."

"Have you ever heard the expression 'ninety-day wonder,' Mr. Constantine?"

"I have."

"It was a common expression, was it not?"

"It was a derogatory expression."

"But common. You did, in fact, use this very expression in your play. One of the enlisted men refers to Lieutenant Mason as a ninety-day wonder, doesn't he?"

"Yes, I suppose so. I don't recall exactly."

"Let me refresh your memory then," Willow said, and turned again toward the defense table.

"I'll take your word…"

"Here we are," Willow said, leafing through the manuscript. "Act I, Scene 1, page 4. This is Corporal Janus speaking. He says, 'Another ninety-day wonder.
I
wonder how long he'll last.' Do you recall the speech now?"

"If it's there, I recall it."

"It is here, Mr. Constantine. As a matter of fact, you cited it only yesterday in referring to one of your specific character similarities."

"Yes, I remember now."

"When you wrote your play, you were undoubtedly fully aware of what the Army called 'ninety-day wonders,' weren't you?"

"I suppose I was."

"And therefore you must have also been aware that so-called ninety-day wonders were not unique, Mr. Constantine."

"Yes."