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Show THE ASTONISHING POSSIBILITIES OF LOVE Smudged fingerprints stain the oak panelling and small rolls of dust stuff themselves between the moulding and the floor, but otherwise the atmosphere of this courtroom is exactly what I have been expecting: the hot noon light hidden away behind thick draperies, the judge's platform surrounded with an impenetrable chest-high barrier, an audience of miscellaneously attending people: some interested, some bored, some already overtly hostile. The court clerk drones, empanelling the jury: "Address. Age. Occupation." He says the words not like questions, but like points of accusation. "Association, if any, with the man who is accused." I do not pay much attention to the replies, but I do see who is selected to judge me: a middle-aged housewife, two young secretaries, a whiskey-faced construction worker who must be about 45. There is one old woman - i n fact, she must be almost as old as Sadie was- but she is immediately challenged by the prosecution. "They're going to keep the old ones out," my attorney whispers to me. I study the rest of the panel which has been called, and from which the twelve memebers of my jury will be selected. There are only two other people who appear to be anywhere nearly as old as Sadie was, and one of them is a man. "Can't you do something?" I ask, but it is a question of information, |