Clanton. Within an hour they were running everywhere with cameras and microphones gathering important words from a sergeant or a corporal.
"What is your name, sir?"
"Sergeant Drumwright."
"Where are you from?"
"Booneville."
"Where's that?"
" 'Bout a hundred miles from here."
"Why are you here?"
"Governor called us."
"Why did he call you?"
"Keep things under control."
"Are you expecting trouble?"
"No."
"How long will you be here?"
"Don't know."
"Will you be here until the trial's over?"
"Don't know."
"Who knows?"
"The governor, I reckon."
And so on.
Word of the invasion spread quickly through the quiet Sunday morning, and after church the townfolk streamed to the square to verify for themselves that the army had indeed captured the courthouse. The sentries removed the barricades and allowed the curious to drive around their square and gawk at the real live soldiers with their rifles and jeeps. Jake sat on the balcony, drinking coffee and memorizing the notecards of his jurors.
He called Carla and explained that the National Guard
had been deployed, but he was still sate, in tact, ne naa never felt so safe. As he talked to her, he explained, there were hundreds of heavily armed army militiamen across Washington Street just waiting to protect him. Yes, he still had his bodyguard. Yes, the house was still standing. He doubted if the death of Bud Twitty had been reported yet, so he did not tell her. Maybe she would not hear of it. They were going fishing on her father's boat, and Hanna wanted her daddy to go. He said goodbye, and missed the two women in his life more than ever.
Ellen Roark unlocked the rear door of the office and placed a small grocery sack on the table in the kitchen. She pulled a file out of her briefcase and began looking for her boss. He was on the balcony, staring at notecards and watching the courthouse. "Evenin', Row Ark."
"Good evening, boss." She handed him a brief an inch thick. "It's the research you requested on the admissibility of the rape. It's a tough issue, and it got involved. I apologize for the size of it."
It was as neat as her other briefs, complete with a table of contents, bibliography, and numbered pages. He flipped through it. "Damn, Row Ark, I didn't ask for a textbook."
"I know you're intimidated by scholarly work, so I made a conscious effort to use words with fewer than three syllables."
"My, aren't we frisky today. Could you summarize this in a dissertation of, say, thirty pages or so?"
"Look, it's a thorough study of the law by a gifted law student with a remarkable ability to think and write clearly. It's a work of genius, and it's yours, and it's absolutely free. So quit bitching."
"Yes, ma'am. Does your head hurt?"
"Yes. It's been aching since I woke up this morning. I've typed on that brief for ten hours, and I need a drink. Do you have a blender?"
"A what?"
"Blender. It's a new invention we have up North. They're kitchen appliances."
. "There's one in the shelves next to the microwave."
she disappeared. It was almost dark, and the traffic had thinned around the square as the Sunday drivers had grown bored with the sight of soldiers guarding their courthouse. After twelve hours of suffocating heat and foglike humidity in downtown Clanton, the troops were weary and homesick. They sat under trees and on folding canvas chairs, and cursed the governor. As it grew darker, they strung wires from inside the courthouse and hung floodlights around -the pavilions. By the post office a carload of blacks arrived with lawn chairs and candles to start the nightly vigil. They began pacing the sidewalk along Jackson Street under the suddenly aroused stares of two hundred heavily armed guardsmen. The lead walker was Miss Rosia Alfie Gatewood, a two-hundred-pound widow who had raised eleven children and sent nine to college. She was the first black known to have sipped cold water from the public fountain on the square and live to tell about it. She glared at the soldiers. They did not speak.
Ellen returned with two Boston College beer mugs filled with a pale green liquid. She sat them on the table and pulled up a chair.
"What's that?"
"Drink it. It'll help you relax."
"I'll drink it. But I'd like to know what it is."
"Margaritas."
Jake studied the top of his mug. "Where's the salt?"
"I don't like salt on mine."
"Well, I don't either then. Why margaritas?"
"Why not?"
Jake closed his eyes and took a long drink. And then another. "Row Ark, you are a talented woman."