(1969) The Seven Minutes (55 page)

‘As to whether the quotations on the jacket are immaterial,’ said Barrett. “There are five quotations written by five persons in the nineteen-thirties. Three are credited to the periodicals in which the quotations first appeared, but the writers were obviously anonymous staff members of these publications. I wish we had both the time and the money to discover and subpoena these writers, but we don’t. However, we do possess photostatic records of the original publications, to prove that the book jacket quotations are accurate. Regard ing the two quotations attributed to critics, one critic is long dead, but the other is alive, namely Sir Esmond Ingram, of England, and in due course he shall appear in this court to submit himself to crossexamination. As to the prejudicial nature of the quotations, if you will examine them, Your Honor, you will see that they are not mere puffs, that some are favorable to the book, some are qualified, and some should not make the prosecution entirely unhappy. I refer to the Vatican newspaper’s calling this book the most widely banned in history. Also to the French newspaper’s saying that while the book is brilliant, it is also the most obscene work in history. In short, both pro and con. If the defense doesn’t mind the con, why should the prosecution mind the pro? We contend that at Mr Duncan’s instigation a police officer purchased an object that was on sale, an object that his superior considered obscene, and if this object is entered into evidence, we insist it should be entered in its entirety, not in parts, but as a whole.’

Judge Upshaw looked at Duncan. ‘Very well. Mr Duncan, do you have anything more?’

‘Yes, Your Honor. I would liken the book’s being entered into evidence with its jacket as analogous to the Fargo F-600 unit’s being entered into evidence with its price tag still on it, with its guarantee Scotch-taped to it, with its advertising brochure included, the brochure perhaps reading, “The most widely used transmitting and receiving set in the world, according to one hundred leading businessmen.” Mr Barrett was concerned with the Fargo F-600 itself, not the extraneous trimming and window dressing. I repeat, Your Honor, that these statements by five writers, three of them anonymous, on the back of the jacket represent hearsay evidence, are inadmissible and prejudicial to the prosecution case, and bear no objective relevancy to the central issue, which is, in short, whether or not the Jadway book is obscene.’

Judge Upshaw placed his hands flat on the desk before him. ‘All right, gentlemen, let me rule on this matter. Now, I confess it is somewhat unusual for People’s counsel to offer an exhibit of which he wished only one part entered into evidence. At the same time, there is no immutable law that demands that materials acquired in a single purchase must be received in evidence as a unit. We are in this court to judge whether or not the contents of an entire book -

in this instance with pages numbering from one to one hundred seventy-one - are or are not obscene when the narrative is considered as a whole. In this light, in considering what J J Jadway wrote, it would appear that the drawing on the front of the jacket, the quotations and copy on the rear of the jacket, none of which are by Jadway and none of which form a part of the narrative of the novel, need not be considered when judging whether the book is or is not obscene. Therefore, I will rule that the request of the People that the jacket be removed from this copy of The Seven Minutes is a proper one, and I will order that the jacket now be removed from People’s Exhibit Three and the book devoid of covering be received in evidence by the court.’

‘Your Honor, I would like my objection noted for the record,’ Barrett demanded.

‘It has been so noted,’ said Judge Upshaw calmly. His attention shifted to the District Attorney. ‘Now, Mr Duncan, are you ready with your next witness?’

Removing the book jacket from the novel, Duncan said, “Thank you, Your Honor. As a matter of fact, in a manner of speaking, my next witness on the book will be the book itself. We are now prepared to have the book read aloud to the members of the jury, so that, for the first time, they may become acquainted with its contents in its entirety. I have a reader available, a neutral, impartial young man, a Mr Charles Wynter, who was recommended to us. I have no personal knowledge of him - he was recommended by a friend of my wife’s. He is a substitute secondary teacher locally, and in his spare time he has taped recordings for the blind, so he is used to reading aloud without overdramatizing or unduly emphasizing passages, which a professional actor might do. While I already have this young man available, I would willingly agree to let anyone of Mr Barrett’s choosing read the book to the jury. But this is our next witness, Your Honor, a reader who will read the book aloud.’

‘Very well, Mr Duncan,’ said the Judge, ‘Now let us hear from Mr Barrett. Do you have any comment on this procedure, Mr Barrett?’

‘I do, Your Honor,’ said Barrett. ‘As strenuously as I objected to the book’s being entered into evidence in part, just as strenuously do I object to its being submitted to a jury orally. The Penal Code is specific in defining printed matter as one thing and public performances as another. The Seven Minutes is printed matter. It was written by J J Jadway not as a play to be spoken or read aloud, but as a novel put down on paper to be read silently and privately by a single reader. Jadway wrote this work in order to communicate directly with a reader’s mind and to stir his emotions. Undoubtedly the author’s intention was that the reader be allowed to add or subtract mentally from the narrative, to skip or linger over whatever the reader wished, to let the reader emphasize in his own mind

certain words or sentences and slide over things. In short, as someone once put it, reading is essentially like marriage, an act involving two persons, the reader and the writer, and not three persons, involving also an actor. Three people involved in areading, like in a marriage, is a crowd, one too many. Inevitably, the amateur who will play actor will direct the audience’s attention to certain passages through conscious or unconscious inflections of speech, through phrasing, timing, pauses, pronunciations and whatnot.

‘Your Honor, the moment that The Seven Minutes is read aloud, in mixed company, the very candor and language of the narrative, which is enjoyable and acceptable in the privacy of one’s own room, may become an embarrassment. What will be judged, in this tiresome, cumbersome, time-consuming process, will be not the book alone, the book itself, but also the person reading it and directing it to his audience. Your Honor, I have twelve copies of The Seven Minutes, made available to me by the publisher, and I would suggest that it would be more just to our case if I were permitted to have these copies passed out to the jurors and let each read his own copy to himself or herself. From the point of view of the defense, that would be the only fair procedure.’

Judge Upshaw stared past the two attorneys, lost in thought. At last he looked at them and spoke.

‘Gentlemen, the book has been received in evidence and is an exhibit. It is within the court’s province to decide how this exhibit should be presented to the jury. In my past experience on the bench, I have sat in judgment on several trials where books were read aloud, always in a careful monotone, and I have sat in judgment on one trial where the jurors read individual copies silently and to themselves in a vacated courtroom. I have found that usually a jury listens better than it reads. The act of listening and comprehending is simpler and more common than the act of reading. The members of this jury have been listening all this day. They are conditioned to listen. Reading to themselves might be more difficult. Some are fast readers. Some are slow readers. Some are used to reading books. Others are not. Gentlemen, I am convinced that the simplest and fairest way to present People’s Exhibit Three, the most expeditious method of conveying the contents of the book to the jury, would be to do as Mr Duncan has suggested. I am, therefore, granting the District Attorney’s request. As to the person assigned to read the book aloud, does defense counsel have any objection to this Mr Wynter’s reading from the book?’

Barrett was distressed by the judge’s rebuff, by this second decision against him, and he had to struggle to keep resentment out of his voice. ‘Your Honor, I don’t care who reads the book aloud. What I care about is that it is being read aloud when a novel is not meant to be presented to readers in such a fashion.’ He paused. ‘That is my only objection.’

‘Well, Mr Barrett, your objection has already been ruled upon,’

said Judge Upshaw. ‘The Seven Minutes will be read in the manner that I have indicated … Mr Duncan, if you will produce Mr Wynter, we will proceed with this case. We will seat Mr Wynter in the witness box and order him to read this book aloud in its entirety, instructing him to read it clearly, distinctly, in a monotone that will preclude inflections or dramatics. Now let us resume.’

The remainder of this first day in court, and all the morning of the second day and afternoon of the second day, Mr Charles Wynter, substitute teacher, a rather dour, phlegmatic slender man in his early thirties with an engaging bass voice, sat on the chair in the witness box and read aloud to the jurors the words written in The Seven Minutes by J J Jadway.

For Mike Barrett, it was a small calvary, an excruciating and painful experience, hearing the beautiful story torn away from the privacy of the printed page and broadcast by an alien voice in a public place. It was as if Cathleen, the heroine, whose nakedness and love and emotions, so poignant in the bedroom of two hardcovers, had been brutally dragged out into the open, before leering eyes at a sex circus, to be humilated and cheapened and made to seem indecent.

Throughout the recital, Barrett had found himself squirming. And he knew Abe Zelkin was squirming beside him. But even though he heard words skipped or mispronounced, he restrained himself from objecting. He wanted this done and over with as fast as possible.

Only once, on Tuesday afternoon, the second day of the trial, just after the noon recess, did Mike Barrett voice any objection, and then he did it at the bench and out of the hearing of the jury.

‘Your Honor,’ he said, ‘I want to record my concern about one mannerism that the reader, Mr Wynter, possesses, which may be prejudicial to the defense.’

‘What is that, Mr Barrett?’

‘As he reads, he concentrates his attention fully on the pages before him. But whenever he reaches a passage that might be termed sexually realistic, or that employs words or language that are frank, he has the habit of raising his head, glancing at the jury, before continuing, as if to tell them, “Wait’ll you hear what’s coming next,” or “Hey, I’ve got something hot for you, but don’t blame me, I’m only reading it, I didn’t write it.” Then, after that little visual gesture, that warning to the jury, he goes back to the page again. Now, I’ve observed him do that a dozen times. I’m sure it is unconscious on his part. Still, it serves as a sort of snicker, an adverse commentary on certain portions of the narrative. It would make me happier if Your Honor would point this out to Mr Wynter and caution him to cease looking up, or at least cease looking up as his prelude to the more realistic sections.’

Judge Upshaw turned his head. ‘Mr Duncan?’

‘Your Honor, I too have been observing the reader, and I have seen him look up at the jury from time to time, but that is normal for a person reading aloud, and he does not seem to look up merely when undertaking obscene - or let us say, risque -risque passages, but he looks up when he is reading other passages as well. I’m afraid I cannot agree with Mr Barrett. I think he is being unduly concerned.’

Judge Upshaw nodded and addressed Barrett. ‘Mr Barrett, I concur with the prosecution counsel. I am seated right next to the reader. I have watched him closely. I am satisfied that he is performing in a manner as mechanical and objective as possible for a human being. I am sympathetic with your desire to protect the interests of the defendant, and to see justice in this case, and I will listen to any further objections you see fit to make. In this instance, I can find nothing wrong with the performance of the reader. As a consequence, I must deny your request.’

‘Thank you, Your Honor.’

After that, Barrett protested no more.

It was late Tuesday afternoon when Mr Wynter finished reading aloud the final paragraph of the book, paused, intoned, “The end,’ and looked up, as if expecting applause.

Immediately the reader was dismissed, the court recessed until nine-thirty Wednesday morning, and Mike Barrett, like someone who has finally escaped the Iron Maiden, felt restored after the grim ordeal.

As he and Zelkin began to stuff their briefcases he said, ‘Well, now we’ve got to pick up the pieces. At least we’ve got a chance to fight back tomorrow. Whom do you think Duncan’ll open with?’

‘A big one, one of his two biggest guns,’ said Zelkin. ‘Today was the lull before the storm. Tomorrow he’ll shoot the works, try to demolish Jadway and wipe out the book and the defense in one thunderous shot.’

‘You mean Leroux?’

‘None other.’

‘Do you know for sure or is that a guess ?’

‘Mike, when it’s going to rain, I get cramps in my legs. When there’s going to be an earthquake, I get an ache in my bones. And when the roof’s about to fall in, I get a pain in my ass.’ He snapped his briefcase shut. ‘Right now, friend, I got a pain in my ass.’

How people find out when something important is going to happen you never know, Barrett thought. It must be in the air. Psychic waves in the air. A kind of mass ESP. Or some damn thing. Because if the courtroom of the Superior Court of the County of Los Angeles had been filled to capacity the first two days of the trial, this Wednesday morning it appeared to be bursting at the seams. And now, two minutes after Judge Nathanel Upshaw had settled behind the bench, the room was silent except for the court clerk’s

rat-a-tat recital of the oath to the prosecution’s first witness of the morning.

‘… the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God ?’

‘I do,’ said the witness.

‘State your name, please.’