The Paper Dragon (50 page)

"His death."

"They plan to lead him into a trap, do they not?"

"They deliberately lead him into a concentration of Chinese troops."

"Which they know exists."

"Yes."

"This would be cold-blooded murder, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"But your men never planned such a murder, did they?"

"No."

"Nor did they ever lead
you
toward a strong concentration of Chinese soldiers…"

"No."

"… as the men in the book do?"

"That's right."

"You invented this."

"Yes, I invented it."

"Did you similarly invent the 'female rifle' scene, as it has been called?"

"No, that actually happened to me."

"The men made sexual allusions to a rifle while they were disassembling it?"

"Yes, sir. I changed the emphasis in the book, though. This really happened at Fort Dix, and it was a very comi* cal thing. In the book, I've made it a malicious episode inspired by Private Colman."

"Who is named after your mother's iceman, is that correct?"

"I never said that."

"Perhaps I misunderstood you."

"I'm sure you did."

"I thought you said your mother's iceman was named Colman."

"No, I didn't."

"Well, the record will show what you said."

"Yes, shall we go back over it right this minute?" Driscoll asked.

"I'm sure there's no need for that, Mr. Driscoll."

"Just to clarify exactly what I
did
say."

"It was a pun, isn't that what you said?"

"Yes. But I didn't say he was named after my mother's iceman."

"Forgive me. You mentioned
The Iceman Cometh
, though, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did."

"You said this was some form of literary joke, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"Are you fond of puns and jokes?"

"Yes."

"And of course you're familiar with plays? You said you've been a theatergoer since you were twelve."

"That's right."

"Did you see
The Iceman Cometh
?"

"I did."

"And felt it was perfectly all right to make a literary allusion to it?"

"Yes."

"Saw nothing wrong with that?"

"
Is
there something wrong with it?"

"I'm asking
you
, Mr. Driscoll."

"No, there was nothing wrong with the allusion."

"Did you see the play
The Eve of Saint Mark
?"

"No."

"Did you see the movie?"

"Yes."

"And you read the play, of course."

"Yes."

"Before this trial began?"

"Yes, I read it many years ago, and again recently."

"Therefore, you were familiar with Sergeant Ruby long before you began writing your book."

"That's right."

"And before you created your character Kenworthy, the one who swears a lot."

"That's right."

"By the way, was
he
based on any actual person? Kenworthy?"

"He was a composite."

"An invention?"

"In that he was not any one person."

"Was his similarity to Sergeant Ruby another literary joke?"

"He is not similar to Sergeant Ruby."

"They both swear a lot, don't they? By actual count, the word
ruttin'
is used a total of twenty-eight times in
The Eve of Saint Mark
, isn't that what you said?"

"That's right."

"Did you make the count recently?"

"Yes, last week."

"You didn't count all those
ruttin's
before you began writing your book, did you?"

"No."

"And you see no similarity between Ruby and your character?"

"They both swear a lot. That's the only similarity."

"Yet you do not feel that Private Franklin in
Catchpole
swears a lot?"

"He does not."

"You have heard the old adage, have you not, to the effect that if a man takes one drink on the stage, he's a social drinker; two drinks, he's an imbiber; three drinks, he's an alcoholic."

"I've heard something similar to that."

"Expressive of the shorthand used in the theater."

"Yes."

"Do you think the same shorthand might apply to a character who swears?"

"It might."

"So that if Franklin swore once, he might be considered normally agitated, whereas twice would make him somewhat salty, and
seven
times would indicate he was addicted to the use of obscenity."

"Absolutely not."

"You do not feel this would apply to Franklin, who swears seven times during the course of
Catchpole
?"

"Certainly not. Especially when much stronger swear words are used by other characters in the play. Words like 'bastard' and 'whore' and—"

"I don't think we need catalogue them, Mr. Driscoll, though you do seem very familiar with the play."

"I am."

"You read it one weekend a month or so ago, is that right?"

"That's right."

"You must have read it very carefully."

"I did."

"Did you intend Colman to be a homosexual?"

"Obviously."

"This idea did not come from Chester Danton, did it?"

"No."

"The dead major came from him, however?"

"Yes."

"But not the idea of Colman as a homosexual. You invented that all by yourself."

"Yes."

"You testified earlier that you did not believe Colonel Peterson in the play
Catchpole
is a homosexual."

"That's right."

"Do you know a great many homosexuals, Mr. Driscoll?"

"I know some."

"Personally."

"Yes, personally."

"Would you say that homosexuals are as different one from the other as are heterosexuals?"

"I would say so."

"Would you also agree that it is sometimes difficult to tell whether or not a man is a homosexual?"

"Sometimes."

"Do you think it would be possible to know whether or not a man were a homosexual, for example, if he did not utter a word, if he never spoke?"

"It might be difficult."

"Might it be similarly difficult to determine homosexuality in a letter written from one person to another? The words themselves, the words in the letter, might seem absolutely noncommittal, might they not?"

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I'm asking, Mr. Driscoll, whether words in a letter written from one person to another might not seem entirely heterosexual in character when unaccompanied by either mannerisms of gesture or voice. That is what I am asking."

"A letter from a homosexual, do you mean?"

"If you will."

"I suppose."

"Do you also agree that the words in a
play
, the words in a mimeographed copy of a play, such as the one you perused one weekend last month, could seem equally noncommittal?"

"If a writer intended a homosexual character…"

"Let us not for the moment go into Mr. Constantine's intent. He has already testified that he
did
intend a homosexual. I'm asking whether—"

"If that's what he intended, it did not come across in the play I read."

"Did it come across in the play you
saw
?"

"Objection!" Willow shouted.

"Sustained. I'll have no more of that, Mr. Brackman."

"Will you accept my word, Mr. Driscoll, if I tell you that Colonel Peterson as played on the New York stage
definitely
came across as a man with homosexual tendencies?"

"I found no evidence of that in the mimeographed play."

"If I tell you it was in the play as staged, will you accept it?"

"Not unless you also tell me the part was played by a homosexual actor."

"You would not accept it otherwise?"

"I would not."

"Because you found no lines or scenes in the play that indicated Peterson was homosexual."

"I found none."

"Would you take this please, Mr. Driscoll, and turn to page 2–6, the middle of the page, Colonel Peterson speaking. Do you have the place?"

"Yes."

"The colonel is in the field, he is standing in the midst of carnage left by a Japanese counterattack, and he is with Corporal Janus and Sergeant D'Agostino, two of our principal characters. Are we clear as to the background?"

"Yes."

"May I read this to the Court then? And would you please follow it in the copy I've given you."

Brackman cleared his throat. The courtroom was silent. From the corner of his eye, Driscoll could see his wife sitting erect and attentive in the otherwise empty jury box. At the defense table, Jonah Willow was idly toying with a pencil.

"This is the scene," Brackman said, and began reading:

"That's the end of the scene," Brackman said. "Were you able to follow it, Mr. Driscoll?"

"I was."

"Since you seem to be an expert on matters homosexual…"

"I never said I was an expert."

"… perhaps you can tell me what this scene is all about, if not homosexuality?"

"This scene is all about a man on the edge of a mental breakdown."

"And nothing more?"

"On the next page, they take him to the field hospital, and he's raving about death and blood and—"

"We're concerned with
this
scene, Mr. Driscoll, and not with what follows it or proceeds it."

"You're taking it out of context," Driscoll said flatly.

"I have read nothing in this particular scene out of context, and I would like to address my questions to this
scene
and to what is
in
this scene. Does the colonel touch the dead boy's hair in this scene?"

"He does."

"Do you consider that normal?"

"I've just told you that the colonel is about to crack up. Whatever he does—"

"Please answer the question."

"In the context of what is about to happen, this is a natural gesture."

"Do either of the other men touch the boy's hair?"

"No. But neither of them are about to suffer a mental breakdown."

"You find nothing homosexual about one man touching the hair of another man?"

"Not in this scene. The colonel is obviously losing control, he's just noticed blood in the dead man's hair…"

"Losing control in what way?"

"Losing control of his mental faculties."

"Not of his inhibitions?"

"Certainly not."

"Do you feel it is natural to touch hair that is covered with blood?"

"In this scene, in a combat situation, where a man suffering from battle fatigue…"

"Please answer the question."

"Yes, I think it's a natural gesture."

"What about rocking him in his arms?"

"I accept it in this scene."

"You do not feel there is anything homosexual about one man rocking another man in his arms?"

"The author did not indicate anything homosexual."

"He says in the stage direction that Peterson takes the dead boy in his arms and slowly rocks him."

"Read the rest of the sentence," Driscoll said.

"What?"

"Read the rest of the sentence. It says 'slowly rocks him as he would a child.' "

"Yes, well?"

"What's homosexual about that?"

"About a man rocking another man in his arms? That would seem clearly homosexual to me."

"It would seem only paternal to me, especially when the author indicates he's rocking him as he would a child. He does not say as he would a
woman
, or as he would a
lover
, he specifically says a
child
."

"And you find nothing homosexual in that?"

"Nothing."

"I will accept your answer."

"What?"

"I said I will accept your answer. Do you recall the rank of your nurse, Jan Reardon, in
The Paper Dragon
?"

"She is a first lieutenant."

"Do you recall the rank of Mr. Constantine's nurse, Diane Foster, in
Catchpole
?"

"I think she's a first lieutenant."

"She is in fact so. How do you explain this similarity, Mr. Driscoll?"

"I've already said that the only nurses I met in Korea were—"

"Did you meet any nurses who were captains?"

"I did."

"Or majors?"

"Yes."

"Yet you chose to make your nurse a first lieutenant. Why?"

"A first lieutenant sounds more feminine somehow than either a captain or a major. Besides, she has only been in the service a year longer than Cooper, and a higher rank than first lieutenant would have sounded implausible."

"Mr. Driscoll,
you
wrote the book, did you not?"

"Yes."

"Therefore her length of time in the service was not prescribed. You
chose
the exact amount of time, you chose
one
year rather than two or three or four."

"Yes."

"And it was this length of time that determined her rank?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure it was not her
rank
that determined the length of her service? Which came first, Mr. Driscoll?"

"Her being a year… her being in the service a year longer."

"Are you certain?"

"I'm certain."

"And this is the only explanation you have of their identical ranks, the two nurses?"

"It's the only explanation."

"Or the identical line 'I outrank you'?"

"This line is not in Mr. Constantine's play."

"But his nurse
does
joke with the lieutenant about rank."

"Only superficially. A point is not made of it."

"I see. Mr. Driscoll, what do Alex Cooper's fellow officers call him?"

"Coop."

"What do Roger Mason's fellow officers call him?"

"Mase."

"You have stated that the character Alex Cooper is based upon himself."

"Yes."

"What does Jonah Willow call you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Familiarly."

"He calls me Jimmy."

"What does Chester Danton call you?"

"Jimmy."

"What does your agent, Hollis Marks, call you?"

"Jimmy."

"Do any of your friends call you anything but Jimmy?"

"No."

"In
Catchpole
, Lieutenant Mason is called 'Mase,' and in
The Paper Dragon
, Lieutenant Cooper is called 'Coop.' Was your name ever shortened to 'Dris' while you were in the service?"

"No, it was not."

"Mr. Driscoll, in your novel there is a long discussion between the enlisted men about big-name bands, and especially about Glenn Miller. Do you recall the scene to which I'm referring?"

"Yes, but it was not especially about Glenn Miller."

"Glenn Miller is mentioned prominently in that scene, is he not?"

"Only in conjunction with the names of other band leaders. The men are playing a sort of guessing game, trying to remember the theme songs of the big-name bands."

"Yes, and isn't it true that an argument develops between two of the men as to whether Glenn Miller's theme song was 'Moonlight Serenade' or 'Sunrise Serenade,' and it is Sergeant Morley who correctly identifies the theme."

"That's true."

"A scene which was later carried over into the film. Your novel is set in Korea during the months of October and November in the year 1950, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"The soldiers in this scene are all young men, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"Some in their late teens, some in their early twenties, is that right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Do you know when Glenn Miller is presumed to have died?"

"Yes, I do."

"When was it?" Brackman asked.

"It was December of 1944."

"December 15th, to be exact," Brackman said. "Now, do you think it likely that people — especially very young people — would in 1950 still be discussing a band leader who reached the height of his popularity in the late thirties and early forties?"

"I grew up with the music of Glenn Miller and all the other big-name bands mentioned in that scene. When he was reported missing, I must have been fifteen years old, and I can remember being deeply affected."

"And you find nothing odd about men discussing him in the middle of Korea six years after his death?"

"I do not."

"Are you aware that in
Catchpole
, there is a scene where a group of men are discussing the death of Glenn Miller?"

"I am aware of that."

"How do you explain the similarity?"

"There is no similarity. The men in
Catchpole
are discussing Glenn Miller's death. The men in
The Paper Dragon
are discussing the theme songs of the big-name bands, and Glenn Miller's name is only incidentally mentioned."

"Is there not an argument about his theme song?"

"A difference of opinion, not an argument."

"And doesn't this difference of opinion, as you call it, focus attention on his name?"

"Momentarily."

"In much the same way that attention is focused on it in
Catchpole
."

"We seem to be speaking two different languages," Driscoll said.

"I think we are speaking the same language, Mr. Driscoll, and I would like an answer to my question."

"I have already answered your question. I have already told you that the scenes are about two different things. One is about the death of Glenn Miller and the other is about the theme songs of the big-name bands. So when you ask me if attention is focused on the name in the same way, I can't add anything to what I've already said, which is that attention is focused in entirely
different
ways."

"And you find nothing unusual or odd about the similarity?"

"I've already testified that there
is
no similarity. But I did find something odd, yes."

"Are you now saying…"

"In
Catchpole
."

"Yes, are you now reversing…"

"I found it odd that in February of 1944 those men were discussing the death of Glenn Miller, which did not take place until
December
of 1944. Don't
you
find that odd?"

"I'm not b-b-being examined, Mr. Driscoll."

"I just thought you might find it odd."

"I w-w-would imagine that was nothing more than d-d-dramatic license."

Hearing the stammer, seeing the sudden pink color rising in Brackman's cheeks, Driscoll realized with a feeling bordering on wild exultation that he had flustered him, and knew in the same instant that he was cleverer and brighter and infinitely more agile than the lawyer was. He glanced toward the defense table to see if Willow had noticed and appreciated his entangling maneuver, and saw only that Willow was frowning. Willow's displeasure, however, did nothing to quell the rising sense of triumph, the reckless knowledge that he could parry anything Brackman put to him, and then thrust with deadly accuracy to leave the inept little lawyer helpless and forlorn, bereft of any weapon. Come on, he thought. Let's go, Mr. Brackman. Come on.

"This m-m…" Brackman started, and then cleared his throat and consulted his notes, and Driscoll had all he could do to keep from laughing out loud. "This matter of the eyeglasses," Brackman finally managed to say. "When you say that Private Coleman
does
wear glasses in your book, are you referring to this passage on page…" He turned to his partner. "What page is that, C–C-Carl?" he asked.

"37," his partner replied.

"Page 37," Brackman said. "Is this the p-p-p-passage you mean?"

"Which passage is that?" Driscoll asked, knowing full well which passage Brackman meant."

"I am about to read it to you," Brackman said.

"I'm waiting," Driscoll answered, and again glanced at Willow to find that he was still frowning. Imperceptibly, Willow shook his head. Brackman had already begun reading, but Driscoll missed the first few words of the paragraph, so startled was he by Willow's unmistakable warning.