by Pat Conroy
“Overruled, Mr. Rowland,” Gauldin said. “I am curious about what they are trying to prove by this line of questioning. I’ve been curious the whole evening about the nature of the defense.”
“No, it did not disturb me,” I answered. “It relieved me.”
“Would you tell the court why it relieved you, Mr. McLean?” Mark said, fixing me with his expressive dark eyes.
“Because if it was my car, there could be no question of its being an honor violation. If it had been any other cadet besides one of his roommates, then it was probable that Pig was about to commit an honor violation. But because of the code that exists in our room, Pig could not commit an honor violation against me even if he had taken every drop of gas in my car.”
“Objection, objection, objection, your honor.” Jim rose, shouting above the attendant murmuring that ran through the court. “That is the most preposterous suggestion I have ever heard delivered between these four walls. To suggest that the honor system does not exist among roommates is preposterous.”
“I don’t understand what you’re driving at, Mr. Santoro,” Gauldin agreed.
“We are trying to explain how a code developed in our room, your honor. It was a code among the four of us. It was as important to us as the honor code and we have lived by it.”
“This is the honor court, Mr. Santoro.” Gauldin spoke, his voice an accurate gauge of the court’s rising exasperation with our line of defense. “We did not come here to discuss the code that happened to have developed in your room. I’m very happy that y’all developed a code, but it has nothing to do with this trial.”
“If Mr. Pignetti did not break the code of the room then we can prove he did not break the honor code of the Institute, Mr. Grace,” Mark said, and he raised his hands in a sign of entreaty, of subordination.
“Get on with it,” Gauldin said with a sigh.
Mark turned back to me and said, “Why do you say that it was impossible for Mr. Pignetti to commit an honor violation against you, Mr. McLean?”
“Because the four of us had made a pact together. It began in our freshman year. The pact worked like this: If I had money, then they had money. If they had food or clothing, then I had food or clothing. If I was in trouble, then they were in trouble. It was an imperfect system, but we worked on it for four years. We helped each other out and supported each other with the system. Pig could not steal gas from my car because it was his gas, too. He could not steal the car because it was his car. He could not steal money from my wallet because it was his money. If he needed gas from my car, then it was his for the taking and he did not have to ask my permission.”
The court groaned in a collectively annoyed chorus and Jim Rowland jumped to his feet with a vociferous objection.
“This is madness, Mr. Chairman,” Jim said amidst the hubbub. “This has nothing to do with the honor system of this school. This is a pitiful attempt to subvert the system and make this court forget what brought us here tonight. Cadet Pignetti was caught in the parking lot of fourth battalion with a gas can and a siphoning hose, unscrewing a gas cap from an automobile. Those are the facts and that is why Mr. Pignetti is up before the honor court. To suggest that Mr. Pignetti is immune from the honor system if he is lucky enough to be caught stealing from his roommate is absolutely ridiculous. These arguments are not worthy to be heard by this court.”
“If it was my car, then it was his gas,” I said.
“I have not ruled on that last objection,” Gauldin snapped at me, flustered.
“And I strongly suggest that you rule in my favor,” Jim said peremptorily. “I think the honor court has had enough of this.”
“Overruled,” said Gauldin feverishly. It was not a smart strategy to suggest too strongly how Gauldin should rule on an objection. He was a man of resolute will, and Jim Rowland knew he had made a critical error by the vehemence with which Gauldin ruled and then gavelled the other members of the court into silence. Gauldin, though serene in appearance, had an inflammable temper, which the application of too much pressure could quickly ignite.
“When did you last fill your car with gasoline, Mr. McLean?” Mark asked.
“Last Sunday at the Gulf station by the Ashley River Bridge,” I answered.
“Who was with you when you filled the car up?”
“Mr. Pignetti was with me.”
“Who paid for the gasoline?” Mark asked.
“I had left my wallet in the barracks. Pig gave me the money to pay for the gas,” I lied.
“Mr. Pignetti paid for you to fill up your gas tank?”
“Yes,” I lied again.
“So even if Mr. Pignetti had actually taken gas out of your tank, which he did not, and even if you insist that the gas belongs to him since he is your friend and roommate, it is also true that he paid for the gas in your car anyway.”
“Yes. He paid for the gas.”
“But even if he had not paid for the gas, you insist it still would belong to Mr. Pignetti.”
“And to you and Tradd. It would belong to all of us,” I said.
“I will not even honor this line of reasoning with an objection, Mr. Grace,” Jim Rowland said from his chair.
“Then I suggest you keep quiet, Mr. Prosecutor,” Gauldin answered, still miffed.
“Your witness, Mr. Prosecutor,” Mark said.
“I do not have a single thing to ask Mr. McLean,” Jim Rowland said, coming up from behind me, grabbing the back of my chair, and looking over my head at the members of the committee. “Except this: Why didn’t Mr. Pignetti just tell you he was going down to the parking lot to siphon off a couple of gallons of your gas, Will? I mean really. Even though you had this beautiful relationship in this room, please explain to me, and the members of this court why Mr. Pignetti just didn’t tell you that he needed a couple of gallons worth of gas and was going down to take them from your car, which, of course, as we all know by now, in this beautiful and socialistic room, was also his car.”
“I don’t know why he didn’t tell me,” I answered, grateful to be telling the truth again. “I think he might have been embarrassed to tell me.”
“Embarrassed?” Jim said sarcastically. “Embarrassed? How could anyone be embarrassed in this beautiful room? All were comrades in this room. All was common property. How could there possibly be embarrassment in fantasyland, in this fourth battalion utopia?”
“I had just lent Pig twenty dollars. Tradd had lent him thirty. Mark had lent him five. I don’t think Pig wanted to waste any of that money on gasoline.”
“And why not, Mr. McLean?” Jim said, leaning down close to my ear. “I think fifty-five dollars is more than sufficient to buy a tank of gasoline.”
“Pig was getting married this Saturday in St. Mary’s Church downtown,” I said. “I’m sure he wanted to use all that money for his honeymoon. I’m sure he didn’t want to waste any of it on gasoline.”
“You are aware, Mr. McLean, that this is a military college and that we sign statements at the beginning of the year saying we are not married,” Jim stated officiously.
“Yes, I have heard this is a military college,” I answered, irritated by his tone of voice, but I caught an admonishing gesture from Tradd warning me that this was an inappropriate time to practice the craft of my wiseass humor. “But I only said that Mr. Pignetti was planning to get married. The ceremony was set, his fiancee was flying down, the papers were being readied, they had both taken blood tests, but unless Mr. Pignetti had actually gone through the entire wedding ceremony, he would not have been married. It’s just like the gasoline.”
“Nonsense,” Rowland said.
“Possibly,” I answered. “But you also realize that being married while you’re a cadet is not an honor violation. It’s an expellable offense but only through the Commandant’s Department. All of us know seniors who are married. Some of us have even met the children of our classmates.”
“But flouting the rules of the Institute seems to have been common in t
his beautiful room.”
“If you would like, Mr. Rowland, I can introduce you to a cadet sitting on this honor court tonight who is married. It’s not a common practice in the Corps of Cadets but it’s not all that uncommon either.”
I had made an irrevocable tactical error and regretted it as soon as I had spoken. My rigid competitiveness made me want to win every single verbal joust with Jim Rowland. When I saw Fuzzy Swanson blush deeply and begin to write notes furiously on the yellow pad in front of him, I knew I had probably lost Pig one crucial vote on the committee. I had no right to forfeit any votes for my roommate because of some perverse psychic hunger to illustrate the cunning of my wit.
“I hope the committee will forgive me that indiscretion. I had no right to say that and I apologize,” I said, but I had lost Fuzzy Swanson forever.
“You certainly didn’t, Mr. McLean,” Gauldin agreed.
“So you are testifying to the court that you believe Mr. Pignetti was stealing gas because he was embarrassed to ask his roommates for any more money,” Jim Rowland said.
“I did not testify that Mr. Pignetti was stealing gas,” I corrected. “I testified that he stole absolutely nothing.”
“No further questions, your honor,” Jim Rowland said, returning to his seat.
“Do members of the honor court have any further questions?” Gauldin asked. Then he granted a twenty-minute recess while we prepared final arguments.
Jim Rowland pulled no surprises in his summation; he was not given to verbal legerdemain or tricks of logic. He had a mind that worked in cogent and predictable ways but he brought to his argument a profound integrity, a total commitment to his belief in Pig’s guilt. When he finished, I knew from the silence in the room, the quality and menace and duration of the silence, that Jim Rowland had convinced at least some of the members of the court of that guilt.
Tradd lifted himself up from his seat and walked to the center of the room in his shy, unhurried gait. His voice quavered as he began to speak. The words he spoke were fragile and delicate. Jim Rowlands summation had the strength of his integrity behind it; Tradd St. Croix’s summation would be a cry from his heart.
“I know the court has been angered by our defense of our roommate, Dante Pignetti. This is because we love our roommate and would do almost anything to save him from a conviction by the honor court. But there is one thing I personally would like the court to consider when you make this decision. It’s something that has nothing to do with the honor code but has everything to do with why Pig was out in the parking lot that night. It’s because Pig’s poor. I don’t mean just that he comes from a family that doesn’t have enough money. I mean poor in ways that the rest of us will never be able to understand. I have always had money, plenty of money, and it never occurred to me how I would act if I had no money at all. Pig is the first person I ever knew well who is without money. You act differently when you’re poor. It affects the way you view the world, and you worry irrationally about how you’re going to pay your tuition or buy your uniforms or borrow enough money to pay for your ring. It makes you different from everyone around you.”
Tradd paused and looked at Pig. But Pig was looking at the floor and a deep crimson flush of humiliation and shame colored his face. Tradd continued, and his voice gained power and conviction as he turned back to face the members of the committee. “I would like for the court to consider carefully what Will said, what Mark said, and what I am saying to you now. The system was different in our room. We never talked about it because it embarrassed all of us to talk about it. But our room had to be different because of the simple yet crucial fact that Pig was poor. Will didn’t have much money and neither did Mark. I was the rich kid in the room, and they had to protect me just as they had to protect Pig. If any of us received any extra money from our parents, we kept what we needed and put the rest of it into the room kitty. We pooled the money we did not need. I was not allowed to put in more money than Mark or Will. That was their rule because I was rich. If Mark, Will, and I had been rooming together we would not have had to work out that system. The system developed because Pig was in that room, and we had to figure out a way to get him money without humiliating him. Whenever he could, Pig would put money in the kitty, and those were the happiest days in the room. Normally, he would only take money from the kitty and he would always do it when we were not in the room, when we were not witnesses to him accepting our charity. But he knew it was for him. You see, we felt sorry for Pig, and guilty that he was poor and we were not.
“I think something terrible happened with our system. I think we put Pig on the dole. He was the poor kid, and we decided we would get him through college whether he asked for it or not. We turned him into a welfare case.
“I believe Pig when he tells me he took gas only from Will’s car or Mark’s car or my car. I believe he felt he had asked for too much already. He knew that what was ours was his for the asking. He knew that we would have gotten him more money if he needed more money, that we would have bought him gas for his car if he had only asked. I believe that Pig took the gas only because it would be one less thing he would have to ask for.
“We believe that there is nothing Pig could steal from us. If it was ours, then it was his, too. If he had been caught trying to siphon gas from another cadet’s car, then there would not have been a trial tonight. None of us would have defended him. But it was Will McLean’s car, gentlemen, and Will McLean’s gas. Pig could not steal from Will McLean and he could not steal from Mark Santoro and he could not steal from me. If there were a theft or an attempted theft, then I would like this court to show me the victim. You have heard the so-called victim testify that there was no theft. You cannot steal what belongs to you, what you know is yours. When the court deliberates, it will have to decide about the efficacy of the way our room worked.
“There has been an incredible courage in Pig’s career at the Institute. He has been an exemplary cadet, a platoon leader. He finished second in his platoon during ROTC summer camp. He has studied hard and performed well for the Institute wrestling team. You must decide tonight whether Dante Pignetti will wear the ring or not. You must decide whether you are going to punish him for being poor. We trust you will think about these things, gentlemen, and render a verdict of innocent.”
Gauldin Grace hit the table once with his gavel. “The court will be cleared for the deliberation of the honor committee.”
For one hour the court remained locked behind the huge oak doors that led to their inner chambers. We awaited the verdict in the small anteroom across the hall where witnesses were sequestered before being called in to testify. Tradd went down to the first floor and bought a package of Marlboros from a machine in the knob canteen. None of us smoked on anything like a regular basis, but all of us smoked that night. At first, we did not talk about the case at all. Instead, we reminisced about our plebe year, about Hell Night, about the time we put laxative in the fudge, about our first weekend leave, about Christmas furloughs, rank sheets—we talked about anything that would not remind us why we were gathered together in that room. We laughed too much but the laughter felt good. It was a sweet time together and it made the waiting go faster. At times, Pig would lose the drift of the conversation, and his mind would float out alone to a place where we could not follow. His eyes never left the floor. But before the hour was up, he finally had to speak to us about what had happened in court.
“What are our chances, Will?” he asked. “You know those guys and I don’t. They all looked like they would stomp babies to me.”
“I honestly don’t know, Pig,” I answered. “I don’t even know how I would vote if I didn’t know you. The case is a little strange.”
“They won’t kick me out,” Pig said, but his words sounded more like prayer than conviction. “They won’t kick me out because I’m a senior and I wear the ring and I’ve come so far. It’s only a little more than a month before we graduate. I wasn’t thinking good, with Theresa coming down on Saturda
y.”
“When was your thinking ever good, asshole-breath?” Mark said, scowling beneath blue smoke.
“You didn’t have any right telling them that my family was poor, Tradd,” Pig said, more to himself than to Tradd. “They looked at me like I was shit when you were saying all that. You said it like I didn’t pull my weight in the room, like I was some kind of freeloader. Hell, I always put in my fair share, paisan. You should have told them that. When you guys caught cold, who pumped you up with Vitamin C? Pig, that’s who. And when you looked anemic last year, Tradd, who was right there with the old iron tablets? Pig, that’s who. They should know all that. And you should have told them that my family may not have all the money in the world, but that the Pignettis are proud and don’t bow their heads for no man. Those assholes don’t have any respect for me. They think I’m shit. And look at them. They’re all in lousy shape. I mean really poor health. I’m going to write out a weight program for each one of them, Will. No matter how it comes out, I want these creeps to take better care of their bodies. They think I don’t have any pride or self-respect. I got more pride than all them motherfuckers put together. You should have told them that, paisan.”
“I’m sorry, Pig,” Tradd said. “I thought they could see that. I didn’t think there was any need to say something that is so obvious to everyone.”
“And, Pig,” I cautioned, “no matter what the outcome. I mean, I pray it’s going to be good, but if it isn’t, you’ve got to take it like a man. Do you understand? You can’t kick the door of the honor court shut and beat the living shit out of everything that moves in the room.”
Pig raised his hand calmly and said, “I told you that I have more pride than anyone in that room. They think I’m just a poor Italian slob. After they find me innocent, I’ll go to each of their rooms in the barracks, and I’ll explain to them that Tradd forgot to tell them about the pride of the Pignetti family.”
There was a knock at the door.