(1969) The Seven Minutes (90 page)

‘If I may interrupt you, Senator Bainbridge, are you speaking literally of an infirmity?’

‘Yes, I am speaking of a real infirmity, not physical but psychic, that is inflicted upon half of civilized man. It takes many forms. In Jadway’s case, it took a sexual form, and it was Cassie McGraw’s love that gave Jadway back his manhood and his normalcy. It is a condition that Jadway wrote about in The Seven Minutes. He burdened one of his three male characters with it, the male character who in the end was the one whom Cathleen had taken to her bed to love, and who was able to love her in those seven mystical minutes. The framework for Jadway’s book grew out of a passage he had read in the Old Testament of the Holy Bible. But the content of the book was his effort to record the story of the freedom that Cassie knew, and that she had taught him so that he himself could be free.

J J Jadway wrote the book so that it could liberate others from fear and shame and guilt. And Jadway succeeded, for bis words have freed others.’

‘One moment, Senator Bainbridge. Are you saying that The Seven Minutes has liberated certain readers from sexual fear, shame, guilt?’

‘I am saying that Jadway’s words freed a young man only today and enabled him to confide to me the truth about himself, a truth he has told no other person until now. Jerry Griffith was not driven to commit rape by reading this book. He was not driven to commit rape, because Jerry Griffith was incapable of attaining an erection. Jerry Griffith did not try to enter Sheri Moore against her will. He tried to enter her at her invitation. But he failed then, as he had always failed before, and would fail today, because Jerry Griffith was then, was before, and is today sexually impotent.’

The courtroom seemed to explode, and Judge Upshaw’s gavel crashed hard, time and again, on the bench, and not until the noise began to subside could Elmo Duncan’s voice be heard crying out from the prosecution table.

‘Objection, Your Honor, objection!’ the District Attorney was shouting.

‘Yes, Mr Duncan, on what grounds?’

‘Objection on the grounds that the counsel for the defense is eliciting absolute hearsay evidence from the witness, evidence that falls beyond the ken of the witness’s knowledge, and which, moreover, bears no relevancy -‘

‘Is the People’s counsel objecting on the grounds of irrelevancy or hearsay evidence ?’

‘Hearsay evidence, Your Honor.’

‘Objection is sustained–—Mr Barrett, I must caution you that

throughout your examination of the witness your questions have come perilously close to calling for an answer or an opinion that might be regarded as being based on hearsay. I refer specifically to the questions and answers concerning J J Jadway. The question and answer concerning Jerry Griffith are definitely hearsay, unless you are preparing to lay foundation and intend to prove.’

‘Thank you, Your Honor,’ said Barrett respectfully. ‘I shall attempt to lay proper foundation, if I may, for what has already come before the court and for what shall soon follow.’

‘Proceed with the witness.’

Barrett moved closer to Senator Bainbridge, who sat sombrely in the witness box waiting for him.

‘Senator, you have already stated that, during your years as a judge, dean of a law school, senator, you wrote and published two books, and that these were textbooks on law. Under what name were these two books published?’

‘Under my given and family names. Under the name Thomas Bainbridge.’

‘Had you at any time before you became a judge, in an earlier period, written or published any other books?’

‘Yes, I had.’

‘How many other books?’

‘One book.’

‘Was that book published under the name of Thomas Bainbridge?’

‘It was not. It was published under a pseudonym.’

‘Can you tell us the title of that book and the pseudonym under which you wrote it ?’

‘The book was The Seven Minutes, by J J Jadway. I am J J Jadway.’

Pandemonium swept the room, and in seconds the court had become a bedlam. Several jurors had come out of their seats. The press was on the run. The District Attorney’s face was a death mask. And the Judge, thunderstruck and slack-jawed, had forgotten to wield his gavel.

Only J J Jadway, Barrett could see, was calm. For he had suffered and survived his crisis of conscience, and now he too, like his book, might be free at last.

The rest had gone quickly.

Bainbridge’s confession of his double life had unfolded, and Duncan’s crossexamination had been perfunctory, as if wishing the witness off the stand and out of sight as soon as possible. When the witness was dismissed, Barrett was certain that Leroux and almost every prosecution witness had been repudiated, and Jerry Griffith’s testimony had been relegated to fantasy and lie, and the integrity and truth of The Seven Minutes had been restored.

What remained debatable, and to this Elmo Duncan devoted his desperate closing argument, was a single question.

Was the book obscene as charged?

But when the jury had been instructed by the Judge and had disappeared from the court to deliberate, Barrett knew that they took with them other questions. Had Senator Bainbridge, this pillar of New England who had sacrified his privacy to appear here this day - had this man writing as J J Jadway been a pornographer? Had Jerry Griffith, the pitiful sick boy who preferred to be convicted of rape and murder rather than be mocked for impotency, been hurt or finally helped by the book? Had the book itself, written by an author to rhapsodize the glory of a free woman who had liberated her man, been a work designed to excite prurient interest?

When the jurors asked themselves whether The Seven Minutes was obscene, Barrett knew that they must ask themselves these questions also.

Now the court had been reconvened, and the jurors were filing back into the room and taking their places in the jury box.

Judge Upshaw peered at the foreman of the jury. ‘Have you reached a verdict?’

‘We have, Your Honor.’

‘Please hand your verdict to the bailiff.’

The bailiff had received the piece of paper, and now he took it to the bench and handed it to the magistrate. Judge Upshaw glanced at it, then handed it back to the bailiff.

The bailiff marched to center stage, drew himself up to his full height, and then, in a great stentorian roar, he announced the verdict:

‘We, the jury, in the People versus Ben Fremont, do hereby find the defendant not guilty of distributing or purveying obscene matter!’

‘Is that your unanimous verdict?’ Judge Upshaw called down from the bench.

In unison, the twelve jurors chorused back, ‘Yes, Your Honor.’

But by now they could not be heard above the thunder in the room.

A half hour later, after the tumult and shouting had ceased, and the jury had been thanked and discharged, and Zelkin and Sanford and Kimura and Fremont had embraced Barrett, and reporters with notepads had swarmed around Barrett, Courtroom 803 of the Superior Court of Los Angeles was finally empty of ail but two persons.

Mike Barrett was alone at the defense table, slowly gathering up his papers and putting them into his briefcase. The milling crowd had moved out into the corridor of the Hall of Justice, where Jad-way - Bainbridge - had agreed to hold a press conference before television cameras, which had not been admitted into the courtroom. Barrett could barely hear the din and chaos outside the courtroom doors, and he was unable yet to exult in his triumph. The sudden turn of events, the electrifying appearance of Bainbridge, the smashing victory that had replaced certain defeat, had been too much for his mind and body to assimilate.

It was as if he were still on the quest, taut and hunting. For, now closing his briefcase, he realized that there remained small mysteries. Bainbridge’s sensational testimony had solved much, and the reappearance in court of Jerry Griffith, followed by the appearances of the convalescing Darlene Nelson and the bereaved Howard Moore, had solved more, enough to gain a verdict of complete acquittal for Ben Fremont and total freedom for The Seven Minutes. But for Mike Barrett there were still ‘dark patches’ that continued to be ‘held over all reality.’

He heard his name spoken, and he wheeled around. He had thought that he was alone, but he was not, and he was grateful. Maggie Russell was hurrying down the aisle toward him.

She was in his arms. ‘Mike, you were magnificent. It’s over and you won. I’m so proud of you, and so happy.’

‘Thanks to you, darling.’

‘I was in there at the end but it was you all the way. These last weeks the world seemed to be standing still. Now it’s turning again, sunrises, sunsets, life, hope.’

He released her. ‘Maggie, what happened?’

‘You know what happened. You heard it in this room.’

‘But how did it get to this room? I want the answers, before we go ahead. Tell me.’

He drew her down to a chair at the defense table and sat next to her, and he waited.

‘Well, I’m not sure where to - to -‘ she said.

To begin ? Begin with the one thing most of us didn’t know about - Jerry’s impotence.’

‘Yes.’ She was lost in thought a moment. ‘Jerry had so many problems. Too many to go into now. But one of his major problems was with girls. With them he was shy, afraid, uncertain. I used to talk to him about this. There were months of heart-to-heart talks. I did my best to instill in him some sense of his own value and identity. To make him feel as attractive as he really was. Well, finally, gradually, he began dating. He was surprised at how easy it was, how easily girls were attracted not merely by his car and money, but by his own person.’

Pouring a glass of water for Maggie, and one for himself, Barrett asked, ‘Did Jerry go to bed with any of those girls ? Or even before, had he ever - ?’

‘No, never,’ she said flatly. ‘He was a virgin. 1 didn’t know it at first. That came out later. Right after he began dating, he found out that the kiss at the door was not the end of an evening but the beginning. Poor kid. Because he was afraid. Yet, afraid or not, he had to go through with it. From the kiss at the door to the thing in the bed. Yes, he joined his dates in their beds. One girl, a second girl, a third girl, and each time he failed to consummate the sexual act. It wasn’t merely premature ejaculation. It was - well, you know - flaccid impotence. Yet somehow Jerry survived those failures because, I gather, the girls had been kind. But then there was another date, another type of girl, and she was less kind. In fact, she was cruel. And Jerry - he returned home frenzied, ill with despair, determined that he couldn’t live on any longer as a virtual eunuch.’

Maggie had halted, absently sipping at her glass of water.

Barrett quietly prompted her. ‘And that led to his first suicide attempt?’

‘That led to the first,’ she said. ‘Luckily, I discovered him in time and saved him. That was when I learned the truth. While he was still hung over from the drugs and his shame - in his room, morose and babbling, he spilled out his secret to me. From that time on, except for the girls he had dated, I was the only person in the world who shared his secret - until today.’

‘Was it then that you thought of San Francisco?’

‘Well, I saw something had to be done, Mike. There was no one to consult. Certainly not Uncle Frank or Aunt Ethel, God forbid. It was a secret, and Jerry was dependent upon me. So I took matters into my own hands. I did some investigating and learned the names of two reliable doctors up north, one a physician, the other a psychoanalyst, and I made appointments for Jerry with them. Then, on some pretext or other -I forget what, and anyway, Uncle Frank was on a business trip, and that made it easier -I got Jerry out of the house for a week and accompanied him to San Francisco. First the physician. Thorough examination. Absolute assurance that the impotence was not physical but psychic. Next, two long sessions with the psychoanalyst, who confirmed the physician’s diagnosis. Jerry’s condition was psychic - and curable with time and therapy. The facts were made clear to Jerry. Neither hormone shots nor medicine would help. Only treatment by a dependable analyst could assist him in overcoming his feelings of inferiority and guilt, could make him understand his hostilities and somehow guide him to finding his own identity.’

“Then back to Los Angeles,’ said Barrett. ‘One point I’ve wondered about. Did you try to get long-range help for Jerry from some analyst down here?’

‘Mike, it isn’t a question of whether or not I tried. Jerry was on his feet again, and it was up to him. I encouraged him, of course, but I could only go so far without alienating him. So the next move was his. He had had good advice, the best. What he didn’t have was the will, the courage and confidence to act on it. He knew perfectly well what his first step should be, but he simply wasn’t able to bring himself to move out of his parents’ house and go off on his own. Oh, in a roundabout way he broached the subject of analysis to his father - and what did he get back ? A long tirade, a denunciation of Freud and other head-shrinkers, so that was that, and Jerry never brought up the subject again. For Jerry, there was only one logical thing left to do - try to be normal.’

Barrett shook his head. ‘Christ. Try to be an Olympic hero when you’ve got no legs. Okay, Maggie. Go on. There we have Jerry about to walk in front of a truck, so to speak. What happened on the way?’

‘On the way ?’ she repeated vaguely. ‘Well, for one thing, trying to be normal means attempting to have normal friends. Jerry latched onto an acquaintance, George Perkins, tried to make him into a friend, because George was natural, no obvious hang-ups, and he had an easy way with women. I suppose Jerry hoped to become normal by osmosis. One night, with George taking the lead, they picked up - well, it was Sheri Moore, and they took her to her apartment.’

‘And she turned out to be a little swinger,’ said Barrett. ‘You know, I suspected it when I first started asking about her. I had a hunch she was permissive, liked to make the boys happy. I don’t know why I didn’t follow through on the hunch. I guess I allowed myself to be propagandized by everyone.’

‘You propagandized yourself,’ Maggie said with a slight smile. ‘You come from a generation that was taught to believe that all girls are - or should be - innocents. You wanted to believe little Sheri was sweetness and light, like your own mother had been, and your mother’s mother had been. I’m not speaking of the intellectual you. I mean, the son you.’