According to him I was a dutiful son, who had supported his mother as long as he was able.
After anxious consideration I had reached the conclusion that, by entering a home, the old lady would have comforts that my means didn’t permit me to provide for her.
“I am astounded, gentlemen,” he added, “by the attitude taken up by my learned friend in referring to this Home.
Surely if proof be needed of the excellence of such institutions, we need only remember that they are promoted and financed by a government department.”
I noticed that he made no reference to the funeral, and this seemed to me a serious omission.
But, what with his long-windedness, the endless days and hours they had been discussing my “soul,” and the rest of it, I found that my mind had gone blurred; everything was dissolving into a grayish, watery haze.
Only one incident stands out; toward the end, while my counsel rambled on, I heard the tin trumpet of an ice-cream vendor in the street, a small, shrill sound cutting across the flow of words.
And then a rush of memories went through my mind—memories of a life which was mine no longer and had once provided me with the surest, humblest pleasures: warm smells of summer, my favorite streets, the sky at evening, Marie’s dresses and her laugh.
The futility of what was happening here seemed to take me by the throat, I felt like vomiting, and I had only one idea: to get it over, to go back to my cell, and sleep ... and sleep.
Dimly I heard my counsel making his last appeal. “Gentlemen of the jury, surely you will not send to his death a decent, hard-working young man, because for one tragic moment he lost his self-control? Is he not sufficiently punished by the lifelong remorse that is to be his lot? I confidently await your verdict, the only verdict possible—that of homicide with extenuating circumstances.”
The court rose, and the lawyer sat down, looking thoroughly exhausted.
Some of his colleagues came to him and shook his hand.
“You put up a magnificent show, old man,” I heard one of them say.
Another lawyer even called me to witness:
“Fine, wasn’t it?”
I agreed, but insincerely; I was far too tired to judge if it had been “fine” or otherwise.
Meanwhile the day was ending and the heat becoming less intense.
By some vague sounds that reached me from the street I knew that the cool of the evening had set in.
We all sat on, waiting.
And what we all were waiting for really concerned nobody but me.
I looked round the courtroom.
It was exactly as it had been on the first day.
I met the eyes of the journalist in gray and the robot woman.
This reminded me that not once during the whole hearing had I tried to catch Marie’s eye.
It wasn’t that I’d forgotten her; only I was too preoccupied.
I saw her now, seated between Celeste and Raymond.
She gave me a little wave of her hand, as if to say,
“At last!” She was smiling, but I could tell that she was rather anxious.
But my heart seemed turned to stone, and I couldn’t even return her smile.
The judges came back to their seats.
Someone read out to the jury, very rapidly, a string of questions.
I caught a word here and there. “Murder of malice aforethought ... Provocation ... Extenuating circumstances.”
The jury went out, and I was taken to the little room where I had already waited.
My lawyer came to see me; he was very talkative and showed more cordiality and confidence than ever before. He assured me that all would go well and I’d get off with a few years’ imprisonment or transportation.
I asked him what were the chances of getting the sentence quashed.
He said there was no chance of that. He had not raised any point of law, as this was apt to prejudice the jury.
And it was difficult to get a judgment quashed except on technical grounds.
I saw his point, and agreed.
Looking at the matter dispassionately, I shared his view.
Otherwise there would be no end to litigation.
“In any case,” the lawyer said, “you can appeal in the ordinary way.
But I’m convinced the verdict will be favorable.”
We waited for quite a while, a good three quarters of an hour, I should say.
Then a bell rang.
My lawyer left me, saying:
“The foreman of the jury will read out the answers.
You will be called on after that to hear the judgment.”
Some doors banged.
I heard people hurrying down flights of steps, but couldn’t tell whether they were near by or distant.
Then I heard a voice droning away in the courtroom.