Indigo by Richard Wiley

now.”
    The guard left quickly and while everyone waited Justice Ogunde looked at Jerry and spoke in a kindly way. “I hope that you will accept my apologies on behalf of the court,” he said. “We have procedures, but we sometimes do not have the common sense to make judicious decisions as to when not to follow them.” He had started out speaking softly but had ended on a sharp note, and Jerry, though still angry with Lawrence over the deportation thing, knew enough to keep a serious face. “I’m fine, sir,” he said. “The guards were only doing their jobs.”
    As a matter of fact, Jerry thought it was great. The judge was mad and when the guard came back and unlocked the shackles Jerry sighed and rubbed his wrists, happy to have the shackles gone but wonderfully glad, now, that they’d been put on him in the first place.
    â€œAll right,” said the justice, “Mr. Biko, you are entering a plea of not guilty, isn’t that what you said?”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Lawrence.
    â€œVery well. For the record of the court, Mr. Jerry Neal, resident of Lagos state, citizen of the U.S. of A., you are charged with the crime of arson in the first degree and with the wrongful death of a certain Mrs. Purity Ono and you have entered a plea of not guilty on both counts.”
    The judge looked away from Jerry and spoke out into the room. “The defendant has entered a plea of not guilty to the charge of arson in the first degree and wrongful death under the heading of murder. Under the guarantees of a speedy trial, and due to the unusual publicity in this case, I hereby set the trial date for January, 1984, the first working day after the New Year. Madam Prosecutor, Mr. Biko, are your calendars clear on that day?”
    Lawrence and the thin woman nodded, and then Lawrence spoke again. “Your honor, the defense requests that the defendant be granted freedom, within the confines of Lagos state, on his own recognizance, up to and including the final day of his trial.” He had spoken softly but Jerry stiffened. This was the point about which he was desperate.
    Justice Ogunde looked at the prosecutor and then at the guard who still stood nearby with the shackles, and then, briefly, at Tunde Phelps-Neuman over on the other side. “Does the prosecution object?” asked the judge.
    â€œWe do,” said the thin woman. “What purpose, other than that of personal comfort, would be served by granting such a request?”
    â€œWhy, the easy preparation of our defense,” said Lawrence. “And we will, of course, relinquish the defendant’s passport as a guarantee.”
    The justice then spoke to the prosecutor. “The court is aware of the bailability of the charge, and I know that the prosecution is aware of the discretion of the court.” He then allowed bail, on Jerry’s own recognizance again, and pounded his gavel recessing the court for the day.
    Jerry watched as Lawrence and the prosecutor shook hands, talking with each other as they walked out the door. He knew, now that he’d had time to think about it, what Lawrence would say about refusing deportation. He would say that the charges were too easy to beat, that they had logic and the evidence of the school’s records on their side, a paper trail concerning the visas that went all the way back to San Francisco. He would say that it was impossible to lose. But Jerry had wanted the confounded man to consult him before making such fateful decisions, and the confounded man hadn’t.
    Still, now that he was free it was hard to maintain his anger, so while the two lawyers talked Jerry looked around the courtroom for friendly faces, someone with whom he could share the moment. It was late in the day and no one appeared to have come. As he walked toward the back of the room, however, he met a group of teachers coming through the outside door. Jerry smiled at them all, but as he