The officers testified that I refused to answer their questions, and that my only reaction consisted of guilty tears when I was finally confronted in the hospital with photographs of Marcel Jr. I learned later that the prosecutor shouldn’t have commented on my silence. However, I harbor no criticisms of his case. He put on a very good case against me, despite its want of truth. It took an experience in court for me to learn the difference between facts and truth. It is a wretched distinction.

The officers were very good with words, as I once was. The prosecutor and the officers talked for many hours. They displayed a pleasant conversational tone during the inquiries, and I could tell that the jury members were comfortable in their seats. An elder lady on the jury cried. The prosecutor handed her a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. I would have liked to have given her a handkerchief, but the prosecutor was quick on the draw. I only objected once, but it was because I had to urinate. I learned that an objection was not the appropriate means of seeking a recess. The law was such a complicated beast!

When it was my turn to testify, I told the jury that I had gone deaf and mute on January 7, 1991, and that all the events were the result of mischance. My direct examination of myself was very short and terse. The jury members stared at me with expressionless faces. The woman who had been crying had a mean countenance. After my explanation, I stepped down from the witness box. I’m serving a life sentence now. It was uncomfortable at first, but I am used to it. I wouldn’t recognize any other life. You see, I’m happy with my illustrated medical dictionary and some of the other books. I’m growing uncommonly good at checkers.