Big Bad Love (12 page)

I told you we were blindfolded.

Ah, yes.

And we weren't
allowed.
We were forced. That's all in my deposition. I don't see any need to—

Just answer yes or no, please. How well did you know this Mr. Varrick? Was he a close friend?

Well. [
Perhaps hedging here?
] No. I wouldn't say he was a close friend, no. I mean we ate lunch together a few times. We read a few of each other's stories.

And you took a few showers together, too, didn't you? Yes. Did you at any time of your last period of incarceration engage in a sexual act with Mr. Varrick?

I did not.

You're under oath here, sir. Need I remind you?

Never.

Did you ever catch Mr. Varrick watching you in the shower? While you were in there together? Naked?

I never noticed.

Never noticed. I'm constantly amazed at how much you didn't notice over a period of—what was it? Five?

Four. Four years.

Four years, five years, whatever. All right. Now back to Mr. Varrick. How long did you know him?

Let's see. Let me think. I think it was . . . four, no, three years. Yes, three years. [
Nodding vigorously, hands clasped in lap
]

I think we've already established your capacity for not noticing things, but during the time you knew Mr. Varrick, did you ever happen to notice what his first name was?

I believe it was Howard.

You
believe
it was Howard.

Yes.

Under the contention of cruel and unusual punishment, the defense would like for us to believe that this alleged torture actually took place without due cause. Without being deserved, in other words. All right, Mr. Lawrence. Doyle Huey, isn't it? [
Titters from crowd; judge's gavel rapped lightly, perfunctorily
] You have already stated, under oath, that you and Mr. Varrick had sex with these two unidentified women.
I would like for you to explain to the jury and to this court exactly how you knew this act was being consummated while you were blindfolded and, apparently, engaged simultaneously in the same alleged action.

What do you mean? I don't know what you mean.

Forgive me. Let me make it simple enough for you to understand it. I mean, how did you know Mr. Varrick made love to this woman while you were blindfolded? I believe in your deposition you also stated that you were equipped with earplugs? And nose plugs? Is that correct?

That's correct. We . . . we had to breathe through our mouths. So there was no kissing. Involuntary sex, well, for involuntary sex that's required. It was just one of the rules.

And you always followed the rules.

Always tried to, yes. I mean, we were at the mercy of these people. Every time we tried to—

Let's not go off on that particular tangent again, please. Please. Just. Answer the question. How do you know Mr. Varrick had sex with this woman?

Well. I could just tell.

You
could just tell. That's interesting. A prisoner for four years doesn't know why he was individually tortured only on Saturdays, doesn't know a close friend was a homosexual—

That hasn't been proved.

—isn't sure what that friend's first name was; in short, doesn't notice a whole lot about what is going on immediately around him for four years. Not very good recommendations for a writer, are they? Right?

[
Silence
]

I said, Isn't that RIGHT!

Yes. Yes. That's right.

Yet you knew without the shadow of a doubt what was going on in a cot twenty feet away,
clear across the room,
while you were blindfolded and literally deprived of any other sensory perception. Is that what you're saying?

Yes.

You're a liar. Aren't you?

No.

You
are
a liar. You've been a liar all your life, haven't you?

No.

Isn't it true that you were classified as a pathological liar by the United States Navy as early as 1966? Didn't you lie about your age to get into the Writers' Institute? Didn't you lie about the mileage on a 1963 Chevrolet Impala that you traded in Shreveport, Louisiana, for a Dodge Dart?

I . . . I don't—

Remember? Let me refresh your memory. Didn't you also take a Delco twelve-volt battery in good condition from that same Impala and replace it with a battery that actually had two dead cells, that you had been using with a trolling motor for three years?

Yes. [
With head hung
]

All
right.
Now we're getting somewhere. [
Speaking to jury
] Look at him, ladies and gentlemen! How'd you like to curl up on Christmas Eve with a good novel by him? [
Taking twenty seconds to stroll back to desk, pour glass of water, sip, reflect, study notes carefully, walk back to front
] Mr. Lawrence. Let's go back to the day you and Mr. Varrick were taken from your quarters. Why don't you just tell us about it?

Which part? You mean when we went over there? I mean, which part do you want to know about?

Why were you and Mr. Varrick selected for this alleged ‘involuntary sex'? Was it because of something you had done?

I'm not sure. They never told us.

Was anybody else ever forced to perform involuntary sex with obese women? Did they just pick people out at random? Did they walk down the line and say, “Well, let's get him today”?

I don't know. We were kept isolated.

How did you and Mr. Varrick manage to read each other's stories and eat lunch a few times if you were isolated? How did you and Mr. Varrick manage to take showers together?

We had visitation. Everybody did.

Well, which was it?

Which was what?

Was it isolation or was it visitation? Why do you keep changing your story?

I'm not changing my story! I'm trying to tell the truth!

I don't think you are. I think you're lying. I think you've been lying since the first day of this hearing. You'd do anything to get paroled. Wouldn't you?

No.

Yes you would. You'd perjure yourself to save your own neck, wouldn't you?

I'm telling you the truth!

I don't think so.

You weren't there! You didn't have to live through it! You don't know what they made us do! [
Rising from chair halfway, hands gripping armrests
]

Control yourself, Mr. Lawrence. Just tell us. Go on.

[Easing back. A little flustered, confused. Slight licking of lips
] Well. I guess it was about—about four o'clock in the afternoon. I was working on some revisions in my study. I remember it was almost time for beer call and I was trying to get through my revisions.

What kind of revisions are we discussing here?

Several different kinds. Some poetry. And I think, ah. Some short stories. Yes. I believe that's what it was. Well anyway. It was fifteen till four or something, and I was trying to hurry up and get through so I could turn in my revisions. We had so many each week we had to turn in for grading. But they turned on the siren ten minutes early. So, I just scooped everything up, boxed it up, then locked my study and went out to the yard.

Was Mr. Varrick in the yard when you got there?

Yes, he was.

Did you know the reason Mr. Varrick was in the camp?

Yes. [
Uneasy look. Shifting around in chair. Unable to find a comfortable position
] I did.

Would you like to tell us why Mr. Varrick was in the camp?

[
Extremely uneasy. Rubbing palms together, averting his face, appearing to be searching for something at his feet
] Well. It was common knowledge, I suppose. He was in for plagiarism. Like seventy-five percent of the other inmates.

Was this a first offense for Mr. Varrick?

I'm . . . I'm not sure. [
Obviously lying
]

Right. Not sure. Can't remember. Didn't notice. Isn't it true that Mr. Varrick had in fact had his probation revoked for plagiarism?

Well. . . yes. But it wasn't the same author.

Oh? Your memory seems to be improving. I don't suppose you'd remember who he plagiarized the first time, would you?

I believe it was Flannery O'Connor. I think it was a line out of “A Good Man Is Hard to Find.”

A line? Is that right? One line?

I believe so. Yes. I'm sure that's what it was.

[
Shaking his head. Wry humor touched with pity
] Mr. Lawrence. Didn't Mr. Varrick actually copy, ver
ba
tim, every single word from the time the grandmother's family went into The Tower, until they had the wreck? And turn it into
Playboy
as his own?

[
Shaken badly now
] I don't know. I—didn't know it was that bad.

Bad? You don't think it's bad to steal from a dead woman? Pilfer words from a sick, dying writer, who barely had the strength to work three hours a day? Who had more guts and talent in one little finger than you and your buddy Varrick have in your whole bodies?

I didn't mean that! I meant I didn't know he stole that much!

Stole! That's the right word. Robbed. [
With vigor
] Extorted. That's a better word. But even that. Even
that
wasn't as bad as what he did later. Was it? It wasn't as bad as what got him thrown in hacks' prison for five years, was it?

No. [
Almost whispering
] It wasn't.

Well. You're telling it. Your memory's coming back now, isn't it? Why don't you just tell us what he did do? After he was already on probation for the same crime?

I told you. It was plagiarism. Why do I have to say all this? You know it already. You know what he did!

Didn't it ever strike you that Mr. Varrick might have been just a little bit stupid?

Well. I suppose so.

You suppose so? Is that all you can say? You suppose so?

All right. It was stupid.

Who did he plagiarize the next time, Mr. Lawrence? The five-year sentence. And please don't tell me what you believe.

[
Grim, fatalistic conviction of lethargic hopelessness
] It was Cormac McCarthy.

Well, well. Now we're getting somewhere again. Now we're talking about
living
writers. Now we're getting up to a new level of theft. We're getting up into grant country now. Now we're talking about the American Academy of Arts and Letters. The big time.

Yes. [
Whispered
]

You're telling it so good I think I'll just let you go on. Why don't you just tell us what Mr. Varrick did to Mr. McCarthy?

[
Studying fingernails
] He stole different passages from three of his novels.

And?

And submitted—

Wait, wait. First—

First he put them into his own novel.

It was actually a novella, wasn't it?

I don't know. I never read it.

You never read it because it was never published. It was never published because it was submitted to the same house that originally published those same three novels. Ladies and gentlemen, the act of a stupid man. He stole ten thousand words, whole, uncut scenes, dialogue, ripped them up a little, tore them up some, and mixed them with ten thousand of his own miserable words and called it his own. Didn't he?

Yes. Yes, he did.

And he got caught.

Yes.

Just like you got caught.

Yes.

In a blatant, vicious act of plagiarism. Literary theft. And it got him five years.

Yes.

Did Mr. Varrick ever confide in you? Did he ever tell you any of his secrets?

Secrets? [
Shrugs shoulders, still studying nails
] We talked. Some.

Did he ever say to you that he thought his sentence was unfair?

[
Looking up
] Yes. He did.

What exactly did he say?

He said . . . he said he thought it was too long. And he said he thought the regimen was too strict. He said he thought we should have more beer and more recreational reading. More contemporary reading.

Like what?

Oh, you know. More new stuff. He thought we should have been allowed to read what was on the best-seller lists.

In short, he didn't want to have to read the classics, correct? He just wanted to skip Melville and Twain and Tolstoy, didn't he?

Essentially, yes. That's correct.

He thought they were a bunch of old geezers, didn't he?

Well. Not in so many words. I guess you could put it like that.

Didn't he actually say that once, though? Didn't he once, in the presence of two other prisoners, call Sophocles ‘a dried-up old fart'?

I . . .

You don't remember.

No.

Your memory just comes and goes, doesn't it? Well, why don't you just see if you can remember what happened on the afternoon you met Mr. Varrick in the yard, before you were taken in for involuntary sex? I'm sure everybody would just love to hear that.

It may take a while.

I've got all day.

[
Deep breath, gathering will
] Well. Like I said, we thought it was beer call. I mean, it was almost four o'clock. We just thought they were a little early.

Were they ever early for a beer call?

Not usually, no.

Up until that time, had you ever seen an early beer call?

No.

Wasn't everything timed to a very strict schedule, right up to the minute?

Yes. Well anyway. I saw How—Mr. Varrick, standing in line on the yellow footprints, and I went over to him. We talked for a minute. He'd been writing some poetry—

Whose? Raymond Carver's?

and he said he thought something funny was going on. He said they'd been heavy on his grading. He said all his papers were coming back with red marks on them, and they'd caught him with three comma splices in one week. And he'd lost his thesaurus. He was worried.

Under oath, Mr. Lawrence. Did he mention anything to you at that time about involuntary sex?