Kessler?
He swiveled his head. “Kid stuff! Who wants to live forever? Who wants to let a chance go by?”
Johnson threw up his hands. “Let’s hope we get a cell together. Let’s all go crazy.” And that was that.
We went to work in a blazing drive of mutual hope and understanding. In four months the lipreaders were through. There’s no point in detailing here their reactions to the dynamite they daily dictated to Sorenson. For their own good we kept them in the dark about our final purpose, and when they were through we sent them across the border into Mexico, to a small ranch Johnson had leased. We were going to need them later.
While the print duplicators worked overtime Marrs worked harder. The press and the radio shouted the announcement that, in every city of the world we could reach, there would be held the simultaneous premieres of our latest picture. It would be the last we needed to make. Many wondered aloud at our choice of the word “needed.” We whetted curiosity by refusing any advance information about the plot, and Johnson so well infused the men with their own now-fervent enthusiasm that not much could be pried out of them but conjecture. The day we picked for release was Sunday. Monday, the storm broke.
I wonder how many prints of that picture are left today. I wonder how many escaped burning or confiscation. Two World Wars we covered, covered from the unflattering angles that, up until then, had been represented by only a few books hidden in the dark corners of libraries. We showed and named the war-makers, the cynical ones who signed and laughed and lied, the blatant patriots who used the flare of headlines and the ugliness of atrocity to hide behind their flag while life turned to death for millions. Our own and foreign traitors were there, the hidden ones with Janus faces. Our lipreaders had done their work well; no guesses these, no deduced conjectures from the broken records of a blasted past, but the exact words that exposed treachery disguised as patriotism.
In foreign lands the performances lasted barely the day. Usually, in retaliation for the imposed censorship, the theaters were wrecked by the raging crowds. (Marrs, incidentally, had spent hundreds of thousands bribing officials to allow the picture to be shown without previous censorship. Many censors, when that came out, were shot without trial.) In the Balkans, revolutions broke out, and various embassies were stormed by mobs. Where the film was banned or destroyed written versions spontaneously appeared on the streets or in coffeehouses. Bootlegged editions were smuggled past customs guards, who looked the other way. One royal family fled to Switzerland.
Here in America it was a racing two weeks before the Federal Government, prodded into action by the raging of press and radio, in an unprecedented move closed all performances “to promote the common welfare, insure domestic tranquillity, and preserve foreign relations.” Murmurs—and one riot—rumbled in the Midwest and spread until it was realized by the powers that be that something had to be done, and done quickly, if every government in the world were not to collapse of its own weight.
We were in Mexico, at the ranch Johnson had rented for the lip-readers. While Johnson paced the floor, jerkily fraying a cigar, we listened to a special broadcast of the attorney general himself:
“…furthermore, this message was today forwarded to the Government of the United States of Mexico. I read: ‘the Government of the United States of America requests the immediate arrest and extradition of the following:
“ ‘Edward Joseph Lefkowicz, known as Lefko.’ ” First on the list. Even a fish wouldn’t get into trouble if he kept his mouth shut.
“’Miguel Jose Zapata Laviada.’” Mike crossed one leg over the other.
“’Edward Lee Johnson.’” He threw his cigar on the floor and sank into a chair.
“’Robert Chester Marrs.’” He lit another cigarette. His face twitched.
“’Benjamin Lionel Bernstein.’” He smiled a twisted smile and closed his eyes.
“ ‘Carl Wilhelm Kessler.’ ” A snarl.
“These men are wanted by the Government of the United States of America, to stand trial on charges ranging from criminal syndicalism, incitement to riot, suspicion of treason—”
I clicked off the radio. “Well?” to no one in particular.
Bernstein opened his eyes. “The rurales are probably on their way. Might as well go back and face the music—” We crossed the border at Juarez. The FBI was waiting.
Every press and radio chain in the world must have had coverage at that trial, every radio system, even the new and imperfect television chain. We were allowed to see no one but our lawyer. Samuels flew from the West Coast and spent a week trying to get past our guards. He told us not to talk to reporters, if we ever saw them.
“You haven’t seen the newspapers? Just as well—How did you ever get yourselves into this mess, anyway? You ought to know better.”
I told him.
He was stunned. “Are you all crazy?”
He was hard to convince. Only the united effort and concerted stories of all of us made him believe that there was such a machine in existence. (He talked to us separately, because we were kept isolated.) When he got back to me he was unable to think coherently.
“What kind of defense do you call that?”
I shook my head. “No. That is, we know that we’re guilty of practically everything under the sun if you look at it one way. If you look at it another—”
He rose. “Man, you don’t need a lawyer, you need a doctor. I’ll see you later. I’ve got to get this figured out in my mind before I can do a thing.”
“Sit down. What do you think of this?” and I outlined what I had in mind.
“I think … I don’t know what I think. I don’t know. I’ll talk to you later. Right now I want some fresh air,” and he left.
As most trials do, this one began with the usual blackening of the defendant’s character, or lack of it. (The men we’d blackmailed at the beginning had long since had their money returned, and they had sense enough to keep quiet. That might have been because they’d received a few hints that there might still be a negative or two lying around. Compounding a felony? Sure.) With the greatest of interest we sat in that great columned hall and listened to a sad tale.
We had, with malice aforethought, libeled beyond repair great and unselfish men who had made a career of devotion to the public weal, imperiled needlessly relations traditionally friendly by falsely reporting mythical events, mocked the courageous sacrifices of those who had dulce et gloria mori, and completely upset everyone’s peace of mind. Every new accusation, every verbal lance drew solemn agreement from the dignitary-packed hall. Against someone’s better judgment, the trial had been transferred from the regular courtroom to the Hall of Justice. Packed with influence, brass, and pompous legates from all over the world, only the congressmen from the biggest states, or with the biggest votes were able to crowd the newly installed seats. So you can see it was a hostile audience that faced Samuels when the defense had its say. We had spent the previous night together in the guarded suite to which we had been transferred for the duration of the trial, perfecting, as far as we could, our planned defense. Samuels has the arrogant sense of humor that usually goes with supreme self-confidence, and I’m sure he enjoyed standing there among all those bemedaled and bejowled bigwigs, knowing the bombshell he was going to hurl. He made a good grenadier. Like this:
“We believe there is only one defense possible, we believe there is only one defense necessary. We have gladly waived, without prejudice, our inalienable right of trial by jury. We shall speak plainly and bluntly, to the point.
“You have seen the picture in question. You have remarked, possibly, upon what has been called the startling resemblance of the actors in that picture to the characters named and portrayed. You have remarked, possibly, upon the apparent verisimilitude to reality. That I will mention again. The first witness will, I believe, establish the trend of our rebuttal of the allegations of the prosecution.” He called the first witness.
“Your name, please?”
“Mercedes Maria Gomez.”
“A little louder, please.”
“Mercedes Maria Gomez.”
“Your occupation?”
“Until last March I was a teacher at the Arizona School for the Deaf. Then I asked for and obtained a leave of absence. At present I am under personal contract to Mr. Lefko.”
“If you see Mr. Lefko in this courtroom, Miss… Mrs.—”
“Miss.”
“Thank you. If Mr. Lefko is in this court will you point him out? Thank you. Will you tell us the extent of your duties at the Arizona School?”
“I taught children born totally deaf to speak. And to read lips.”
“You read lips yourself, Miss Gomez?”
“I have been totally deaf since I was fifteen.”
“In English only?”
“English and Spanish. We have… had many children of Mexican descent.”
Samuels asked for a designated Spanish-speaking interpreter. An officer in the back immediately volunteered. He was identified by his ambassador, who was present.
“Will you take this book to the rear of the courtroom, sir?” To the Court: “If the prosecution wishes to examine that book, they will find that it is a Spanish edition of the Bible.” The prosecution didn’t wish to examine it.