grabbed a napkin, half a dozen crackers and cheese slices, and a bottle of beer. “Too busy at work for lunch today, and I’m starving,” she said. She had come straight from the office and was still in full-fledged work mode in a lawyerly black pantsuit and matching black thick-framed glasses.
Jim, who’d carried the cross with a nuclear bomb on his back at the Good Friday action, gave me a warm hug, his eyes twinkling with affection. Then he went over to Norton, talking to me over his shoulder. “What church did you get this beautiful chair from, Sylvia?”
“It was in the Bronx,” I said. “My ex-husband did his seminary internship there, in the sixties.”
His head tipped to the side with surprise. “You, a minister’s wife?”
I laughed and said, “A lousy one.”
He nodded like that was just what he expected and then reached down to shake Norton’s limp hand. He gave it an extra squeeze, a kind of reassurance.
Katyna plopped down on the couch, ecstatic about being free of the demands of her kids for a few hours. “I love your apartment. It’s outrageously unique, s-s-so much personality. S-s-suburban houses like mine are so sterile.”
Jane, a mother and grandmother in her fifties, gave Katyna a sympathetic look. “I sure am glad I’m done with all that,” she said. She held up her knitting bag as if to say the day would come when Katyna, too, would be able to enjoy making nice things for her family without having to cook for them every day. She poured herself a glass of wine and then looked from me to Norton. She was always good at picking up on emotions and could tell something was amiss right away. She’d probably suspected long ago that Norton and I were having an affair, but, thank goodness, she wasn’t a gossip.
Tony trailed the others into the living room. He greeted Norton and me with eyes that melted into grandfatherly crinkles at the corners and then claimed my desk chair, just as I knew he would, so he could swivel around to face people when they were talking.
In the flurry of everyone arriving and getting settled, things almost seemed normal, but then I noticed the fixed smile on Norton’s face, a look I’d never seen before. Instead of sitting next to Katyna on the couch as I’d planned, I sat on a wooden chair directly across from the pulpit chair so I could keep an eye on him.
There was no need for introductions or formalities at the beginning of the meeting. We all liked and trusted each other. We’d gone through several nonviolent training sessions together. We’d had each other’s backs at several actions. We knew who wanted to be bailed out and when. Who planned to cooperate with the police and how. Whom to contact if someone was held in jail overnight. Who had special medical or other needs. Who wanted or needed a lawyer. All critical pieces of information that, to my shame, I’d failed to provide to anyone before I was arrested at the military depot in New York.
Logical, plainspoken Madeline took charge. She tucked in her chin and looked at us over the rims of her glasses. “Okay, our trial starts November seventh, only a month away, so let’s get to it. Everyone ready?”
Jim gave her a thumbs-up. “You bet, boss.” Madeline and Jim were night and day. She was an in-charge person, he was laid-back. She dressed in formal business attire, he in a gray hooded sweatshirt and faded jeans. She was a legal assistant in a high-powered corporate firm, he a former minister turned addictions counselor.
Everyone nodded that they were ready. Except Norton. Madeline either ignored him or didn’t notice. “Before we get down to the nitty-gritty,” she said, “a quick reminder about why we’re going on trial instead of pleading guilty, okay?” She didn’t wait for a response. “We’re using the trials as educational tools. It’s a way to get the message out that one of our local corporations is producing parts for nuclear weapons, including cruise missiles.”
Tony raised his hand and swiveled his chair to face Madeline. “But it’s not just information for information’s sake.” His voice was patient and paternalistic, honed through decades of working with people who have developmental disabilities. “We hope that, when people become aware of the danger of nuclear annihilation, they will do something about it.”
“Yes,” Madeline said. “That is our mission. Everyone agreed?”
“Agreed,” everyone said. Everyone but Norton. He shrugged his shoulders and stared at the posters on my living room wall like he’d never seen them before.
“Okay, then,” Madeline said. “Martin Lind gave all the affinity groups a sheet of instructions.”
“I have it here,” I said. “Want me to read them out loud?”
Everyone but Norton nodded.
“The first decision each affinity group needs to make is whether to request a trial by judge or by a jury of your peers.” I heard Norton shuffle his feet. I stopped reading and looked at him. His hand dismissed me, so I continued. “The second decision each affinity group needs to make is if you want to have a coalition attorney assigned to your group as counsel or if you want to go pro se.”
“Excuse me,” Katyna said. “I don’t know what pro s-s-se means.”
Madeline eagerly jumped at the chance to explain things. She smiled indulgently at Katyna, our youngest member and a neophyte to the nuclear disarmament movement. “Pro se means we would represent ourselves without an attorney.”
“Legalese,” Norton grumbled under his breath.
Madeline either didn’t hear him or decided to forge ahead anyway. “Okay, folks, you heard the instructions. First decision. What’ll it be? Trial by judge or jury?”
“Jury,” everyone said. Everyone but Norton, who sat still as a statue, his eyes downcast and his arms crossed over his chest.
Madeline laughed. “Well, that was easy! Let’s move on then.”
Jane put her knitting down, her face laden with concern. “A jury is a way to reach more people with our message, Norton, don’t you agree?”
“I’m sure it is, Katyna.” Norton’s words dripped with sarcasm.
Jane’s lips formed an O like she was going to correct him, tell him her name was Jane, not Katyna, but she furrowed her brow instead and picked up her knitting again.
Madeline clapped her hands. “Absolutely, Jane. A trial by jury is a way to reach more people. Okay, next decision. Do we ask for an attorney or do we represent ourselves?”
“Represent ourselves,” everyone but Norton said.
“Hell yes!” Katyna’s outburst was completely out of character. We all looked at her, bemused. “What?” Her cheeks flushed pink.
“Just agreeing with you,” Jim said, with a kindness derived from decades of rough-and-tumble life experiences.
Tony rolled the desk chair over to Katyna and patted her hand. “We share your enthusiasm,” he said.
Madeline slapped her knees. “Okay, pro se it is then.”
Norton raised his hand, then dropped it onto his lap. I noted with alarm how bony it was. Jim slouched down in his chair like he’d noticed it, too, and it was weighing on him.
Jane
