Firefly. Part 26

The brooch was there, pinned to her decolletage on the left, calling attention to the swell of the breast. Jade Brown had been a mouse; none was a lovely creature. "It is beautiful," May said. "And so are you."

"You made it possible," none said.

May glanced around. Geode was somewhere else at the moment, not having much interest in groceries, male fashion. "I know it is none of my business, but have you-?"

"Soon."

"I'm glad."

She went outside. Geode was there, just standing. "We seem to be back to square one on the firefly," May said.

"Cyrano's working on it. It will feed again in two days. He will wait for it at the cabin."

"Not alone, surely!"

"He says it won't come if he isn't alone. He knows what he's doing."

"Surely so! But so, it seems, does the firefly."

Geode shrugged. none emerged. "Thank you so much," she said, like a hostess to a departing guest.

"You're welcome," May said, smiling as she returned to her car. Indeed none was welcome! Perhaps it had been her story which had pointed up the distinction between a worthless man and a good one, so that May's mind had sought and found that distinction between Bull and Frank.

She waved as she drove around the loop and out. none, now standing beside Geode with one arm around him, waved back.

* 32 - NONE WATCHED MAY go, feeling warm. The woman had done her the courtesy to inquire, and she had answered. Now it was in the open, in its covert way, and she felt free to be close to Geode in company. May had set it up; she deserved to see it.

They had had an excellent tour of the ranch, this time using a canoe to pa.s.s around some of the edge of it in the reed- and water-lily-overgrown Tsala Apopka Lake, and along the side of the Withlacoochee River. They had seen an alligator, and a big swimming turtle, but no firefly. Geode liked all living things, even alligators, so now none did too. He had shown her more of his world, and now it was time for her to show him more of hers.

They had supper, then went to his room for the night. "Leave the light off," she said. "This one requires imagination."

He shrugged in that way he had. "Lie on the bed, without your clothes," she said. "I will sit here without mine."

He obeyed. Naked, they shared the bed, in their separate positions, as the darkness became complete.

She took his left hand in her left. "You may not like this story," she said.

He merely squeezed her hand. He liked anything she told him, as long as she stayed with him. That was, of course, a great part of what attracted her to him.

The Trial was well advanced. The Prosecution had presented its case and fairly d.a.m.ned the man; there seemed to be no doubt he was guilty, especially since he had confessed. But the Defense insisted on entering a plea of Not Guilty for him. It seemed that the Defense had a secret weapon, and the Jury was becoming quite curious as to what it might be.

"Your Honor," the lawyer said, "the Defense wishes to present only one piece of evidence, but it is not in our possession. We ask that it be subpoenaed."

"What is it?" the Judge inquired, curious himself.

"Your Honor, it is the 8-mm recording of the Victim's testimony."

There were dropped jaws in the Jury box, and a murmur of astonishment in the Audience. The Judge blinked and reflexively rubbed his ear. "Whose testimony?"

"The Victim's. The film is in the possession of the Prosecution."

The Judge suppressed further reaction and turned to the Prosecution. "You have such a film?"

The lawyer for the Prosecution looked abashed. "We interviewed her, of course, Your Honor, but elected not to show the film. She is, after all, a child."

"I know that!" the Judge snapped testily. "If she wasn't, there would be no Trial! Why didn't you show it?"

"We felt it would be inappropriate, Your Honor, and we did not need it to establish our case."

"What is the general nature of it?"

"The Victim, in her own words, establishes the guilt of the Defendant beyond any doubt whatsoever."

"Then what the h.e.l.l was inappropriate about it?" the Judge demanded. He was quickly irritated by irregularities occurring in his orderly courtroom.

"We just feel it is unnecessary, and could be awkward," the lawyer said inadequately.

The Judge turned to the lawyer for the Defense. "You wish to show a film which will only confirm the guilt of your client?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Are you mad? What kind of defense is this?"

"Your Honor, if you will allow the film to be played in its entirety, I believe its relevance to the Defense will be apparent. The Defense asks that this film be shown."

"I find this just about impossible to understand! I remind you that you are obliged to do the best job you can for your client, to establish his innocence of the charge against him. If you instead try to undermine his case and cause him to be convicted, you are betraying your trust and could be held in contempt and disbarred. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Your Honor. I am doing my best for my client. I understand the child has a virtually eidetic memory for detail, and that her statement is most comprehensive."

The Judge threw up his hands. "Turn over the film," he said to the Prosecution.

"But, Your Honor!" the Prosecution protested. "This is a travesty!"

"I will determine that without your a.s.sistance," the Judge said grimly. "As far as I'm concerned, you're both crazy! Turn over the film."

"Exception!" the Prosecution said.

"Noted," the Judge said, giving him a curious look.

So the controversial motion picture film was shown in court. The Judge and Jury were mesmerized by it, and appalled.

Nymph was five years old. She had big green eyes and a mop of orangy-brown hair, and was a cute and active girl. But she was pensive as the lady interviewer introduced herself and explained that they were making a picture of this, so that the little girl would not have to go to the big, scary courtroom. "But where is Mad?" she asked plaintively.

"Do you mean Maddock Stoller?" the interviewer inquired.

"Yes, Mad. My friend. Why can't I talk to him instead?"

"Because we must talk about him," the interviewer explained. "It is not nice to talk about a person when he's listening."

"Oh." Nymph considered. "Is he in trouble? Someone said he was in big trouble."

"He may be," the lady said cautiously. "But perhaps what you say will help him."

"Oh, yes, I want to help him!" the little girl exclaimed, brightening. "He's my friend!"

"What you must do is tell me, in your own way, exactly how Mad was your friend," the lady said.

"Okay," the girl agreed brightly. She began to speak, and so eager was she to help her friend that she needed only occasional prompting by the interviewer. With the naivete of her youth, she held nothing back.

"I was hiding from George. He's my big brother. He was mean to me. So I went into this house across the tracks where we weren't supposed to go so he couldn't find me, and there was this nice man on a bed watching TV."

"This was Maddock?" the interviewer inquired.

"Yes, only I didn't know him yet. I just met him."

"Of course, Nymph. I was just getting it straight."

"He looked at me. He was a grown-up man with sort of frowzy hair and some-some-"

"Beard?"

"Yes. The way Daddy gets when he doesn't shave over the weekend."

"And what did the man do?"

The child a.s.sumed the aspect of a grown man, and mimicked his words with uncanny precision, and then her own. She seemed for the moment to become the man, and herself of the episode, her posture changing with her voice.

'Aren't you in the wrong house, miss?'

Tm hiding from my mean brother. Don't tell him I'm here.'

'But won't your folks miss you?'

'Not till six, when they come home from work. I gotta hide from George till then.'

"You are describing your conversation with Mad," the interviewer interjected.

"Yes. Just like it happened, close as I can remember."

"Very good, Nymph. What did he do then?"

"He sat up and put his feet down on the floor. 'But a cute little girl like you shouldn't be in a place like this. Something might happen to you.'

'Something'll happen to me if George catches me! Promise you'll hide me if he comes.'

'I promise. No one will hurt you here. What's your name?'

'Nymph. What's yours?'

'Mad.'

Nymph laughed, showing how she had laughed then, with that same marvelous accuracy. 'You're mad?'

Nymph smiled a tolerant adult smile, emulating the man she described. She was a consummate little actress. 'I'm Maddock. But that's such an awful name, they just call me Mad.'

'Mad,' she said, evidently liking it. "That's a funny name.'

'What does your brother do to you?'

'He makes me get on all fours and take down my panties and he pokes a candle or something in my bottom. It hurts.'

'In your bottom? You mean where you use the toilet?' The emulated man seemed to have trouble finding appropriate vocabulary.

'Yes. He says he'll make me s.h.i.t backward. He's mean.'

'He's mean,' Mad agreed, and she seemed to like him more for siding with her. 'You should tell your mother, to make him stop.'

'Nuh-uh! She'll punish me for lying again!'

Nymph emulated Mad, making a sort efface. 'Your father, then.'

'He's mostly too busy. But he's nice when he has time. He plays with me.'

'That's good. Maybe next time he's playing with you, you can tell him.'

'I don't know. Maybe he'd get mad like my mother.'

'Why should he do that?'

'Well, what he does, it's sorta like what George does, only it's fun with Daddy.'

'The way he plays with you? He wouldn't put a candle up your bottom!'

'No, he's got something else. He keeps it in his pants. It's hot and not as hard as a candle. But he never quite does it. Just when we're having real fun, and I'm going to sit on his thing, he changes his mind and sends me away, and I don't know what I did wrong. I wish I knew what it is, so it would be okay.' The girl stood, and turned to the interviewer as if she were the man. The interviewer had a funny expression, as if she were trying to swallow a bad-tasting worm without making a face. 'Maybe you can tell me, Mad. What's the matter with me?'

'Kid, you better get out of here before it gets out of hand!' she said for the man.

She began to cry. 'Now I've made you mad too, and I don't even know why!'

'd.a.m.n it, kid, you're not supposed to know why! I'm sorry I made you cry.'

'All I want is to know what it is,' the remembered girl said. 'How come George hurts me with a candle, and Daddy won't play?'

The girl put on an uncomfortable face. 'Look, kid, there's things little girls aren't supposed to know. A fellow can get in bad trouble just for telling them.'