At eight o’clock the prisoners were fed (Pride ate nothing), and at eight-thirty they were chained together and led in a line the short distance to the courthouse. News of Pride’s arrest had spread during the night, so television cameras were present and photographers snapped pictures. Pride tried to cover his face with his cuffed hands.
The press corps followed the prisoners into the courtroom where they remained chained and were seated on a long bench against the rear wall. They were separated from the crowd of spectators and under guard. Pride sat hunched over.
“Pssst! Boss!”
He looked up to see a young woman staring at him over the back of the last spectator’s bench. Her extremely neat, dark hair was parted at the top of her head and framed the sides of her face, leaving off exactly at the jaw line. Because she wore her old glasses he could see her eyes, which were wide with shock.
“Reason, thank God you came!”
“Wh-what are you doing here, Pride?”
“But didn’t Doubt tell you?”
She shook her head. “I haven’t seen her.”
“But then how did you know to come?”
“I didn’t come to see you, I came to see—”
A guard stepped between them.
“No talking with the prisoners, ma’am.”
The judge took his seat and began hearing the cases, swiftly disposing of the prisoners who had tormented Pride half the night. When Pride’s turn came, he was unchained from the others and led forward to face the bench. A prosecutor explained the facts of the case to the judge, who listened thoughtfully and then asked Pride how he pled. Pride hesitated.
“Young man, we have the eyewitness account of the arresting patrolman, not to mention Mr. Power. We also have a photograph of Miss Vainglory’s badly bruised arm. Now how do you plead?”
“Guilty, Your Honor.”
“Just as you should! Do you have anything else to say?”
Pride did not dare to raise his eyes. “I guess I let my temper run away with me,” he murmured. “It won’t happen again.”
“I should say not. I don’t know what’s become of you young people, but you seem to have lost all moral bearings. You parade around as if you were a law to yourselves. Now it seems it’s not safe for a woman to have dinner with you.”
Pride was keenly aware of the reporters behind him, who were busy with their note pads and tape recorders.
“Since you plead guilty as charged, I will proceed to the sentencing.” The judge reached for a paper and put on his glasses. “Mr. Pride is sentenced to one year’s imprisonment. However, due to the problem of overcrowding in the prisons, and recognizing that it is a first offense—” The judge looked up. “Mr. Pride, you shall serve this sentence in your own home. You will not be allowed to leave your house, do you understand that? You’ll be wearing an electronic leash that will let us know if you do try to leave. You will also be required to house a member of the police force who will live there at your expense. That will be a service to the taxpayers, and he’ll also keep an eye on you when he’s off duty.”
He banged down his gavel. “Next case!”
Pride was led back to the wall and rechained.
Truth was next. As he was led forward, the prosecutor and judge put their heads together in whispered consultation. After a few minutes of this, it became apparent that something was unusual about Truth’s case. At last the judge announced in a dry voice that the case against the prisoner had been dropped by the prosecutor’s office. Pride watched in disbelieving envy as Truth’s handcuffs were removed.
Reason ran forward to grasp one of Truth’s hands in both her own, and they spoke to each other, staring into each other’s faces as if the rest of the world had disappeared, and as if they did not care that it had. But when a moment later Pride and the other prisoners were led away, both turned to look at him with expressions of concern.
Casting about in his mind, Pride soon discovered what he was sure was the reason for the dismissal of Truth’s case. It all depends on who you know. Truth had friends in high places. He was suddenly galled by the thought that he might have had such connections himself. Yes, if he had kept his friends at the Divine Embassy, they would have pressured the city to drop the case against him. But they would have demanded his house from him, which was outrageous and unthinkable.
In one of his rare forays into philosophy, he concluded that life is a barren maze of dismal choices, none of which satisfy. He thought of Fame again and literally gagged with mortification.
In the prison he was given his clothes back, and they locked on his right wrist a tamper proof electronic bracelet which would alert police headquarters should he leave his own property. Its black metallic surface was adorned with the seal of the City. He could tug it up and down, but he would have to break his hand to get it off.
The same hulking policeman who had arrested him led him out to a patrol car. Pride read on the man’s badge that he was named Pain. “I’m going to take you back to your home,” he said, “and I’ll be staying there to keep an eye on you. You and me are going to be seeing a lot of each other.”
As they drove along sunny streets past people not serving a sentence or even thinking of such a thing, Pride felt an impulse to laugh at his unbelievable predicament; he felt a weird, unhealthy laughter building within him. He examined it again and found that if it escaped it would be ragged sobbing.
On the way Pain explained that he and other single men on the force were commonly billeted in convicts’ houses. “My wife divorced me and my kids don’t even come for Christmas,” he said without sadness. “I don’t have any friends, either, ’cause I’m like hell to get along with, and I like it that way. Don’t try to make friends with me. As far as I’m concerned, you’re scum to me and I’m scum to you. Just make sure I get whatever I want, or I’ll make out a report on you that’ll have you up before the judge again like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Then you’ll serve out your year in jail.”
He laughed. “You look like you’re in shock or something. What did you expect? Knock Fame around and they’d pin a medal on you? You kids nowadays have got no idea of consequences.”
After they arrived, Pain was delayed in his car, talking on the radio. Pride stood on the sidewalk and looked up at his house, keenly aware that he would not step onto this sidewalk again for a year. It had been a long time since he had really looked at his house. It sat so high up that Sandhill Street was like a little valley below. It loomed over him like a huge ocean wave about to fall. Dark shingles, gray clapboards, dark closed shutters: three stories of triumphant hideousness, overshadowed by clouds. Dead bushes huddled at its feet, topping the steep rise from the sidewalk. He noted the uneven roofline pointed out to him by Miss Worry, portent of collapse.
Within were Doubt and Confusion and Worry and Tedium; and now he had returned bringing Pain. He had brought them all here, and he would have to live with them.