Native Son - Richard Wright [172]
“Stand up, Bigger.”
He rose, holding on to the edge of the table, his knees trembling so that he thought that they would buckle under him. The judge looked at him a long time before speaking. Behind him Bigger heard the room buzzing with the sound of voices. The judge rapped for order.
“How far did you get in school?” the judge asked.
“Eighth grade,” Bigger whispered, surprised at the question.
“If your plea is guilty, and the plea is entered in this case,” the judge said and paused, “the Court may sentence you to death,” the judge said and paused again, “or the Court may sentence you to the penitentiary for the term of your natural life,” the judge said and paused yet again, “or the Court may sentence you to the penitentiary for a term of not less than fourteen years.
“Now, do you understand what I have said?”
Bigger looked at Max; Max nodded to him.
“Speak up,” the judge said. “If you do not understand what I have said, then say so.”
“Y-y-yessuh; I understand,” he whispered.
“Then, realizing the consequences of your plea, do you still plead guilty?”
“Y-y-yessuh,” he whispered again; feeling that it was all a wild and intense dream that must end soon, somehow.
“That’s all. You may sit down,” the judge said.
He sat.
“Is the State prepared to present its evidence and witnesses?” the judge asked.
“We are, Your Honor,” said Buckley, rising and half-facing the judge and the crowd.
“Your Honor, my statement at this time will be very brief. There is no need for me to picture to this Court the horrible details of these dastardly crimes. The array of witnesses for the State, the confession made and signed by the defendant himself, and the concrete evidence will reveal the unnatural aspect of this vile offense against God and man more eloquently than I could ever dare. In more than one respect, I am thankful that this is the case, for some of the facts of this evil crime are so fantastic and unbelievable, so utterly beastlike and foreign to our whole concept of life, that I feel incapable of communicating them to this Court.
“Never in my long career as an officer of the people have I been placed in a position where I’ve felt more unalterably certain of my duty. There is no room here for evasive, theoretical, or fanciful interpretations of the law.” Buckley paused, surveyed the court room, then stepped to the table and lifted from it the knife with which Bigger had severed Mary’s head from her body. “This case is as clean-cut as this murderer’s knife, the knife that dismembered an innocent girl!” Buckley shouted. He paused again and lifted from the table the brick with which Bigger had battered Bessie in the abandoned building. “Your Honor, this case is as solid as this brick, the brick that battered a poor girl’s brains out!” Buckley again looked at the crowd in the court room. “It is not often,” Buckley continued, “that a representative of the people finds the masses of the citizens who elected him to office standing literally at his back, waiting for him to enforce the law….” The room was quiet as a tomb. Buckley strode to the window and with one motion of his hand hoisted it up. The rumbling mutter of the vast mob swept in. The court room stirred.
“Kill’im now!”
“Lynch ’im!”
The judge rapped for order.
“If this is not stopped, I’ll order the room cleared!” the judge said.
Max was on his feet.
“I object!” Max said. “This is highly irregular. In effect, it is an attempt to intimidate this Court.”
“Objection sustained,” the judge said. “Proceed in a fashion more in keeping with the dignity of your office and this Court, Mr. State