Solomon's Knife

by Victor Koman

  "Objection," Ron said. "Counsel must restrict himself to ar-eas covered in direct examination." Johnson snorted and looked at Lyang. "Counsel for the plain-tiff is trying to restrict me a bit too much. He did cover her choice to get an abortion."

  "Overruled," the judge said flatly.

  "What options did you consider, Ms. Dalton?"

  Valerie sat admirably still. Inside, she wanted to shake free. "I had no option besides abortion."

  "Did you consider giving birth? Raising the child?"

  "We weren't ready for that. I wasn't ready."

  "That's fine," Johnson said in a calm, accepting tone. "Lots of people have abortions. It's legal. It's relatively safe. Were you aware at that time that abortion was the only known method of pregnancy termination?"

  "I certainly didn't know about transoption, if that's what you mean."

  "It is indeed." Johnson put his hands back in his pockets and strolled around with a meditative air.

  "Did you know that abortion entailed the killing of the fetus?"

  "Objection," Czernek said. "To use the term `killing' in re-gards to abortion implies that a first-trimester fetus is a living human being, something denied by every major court deci-sion of the past thir-"

  "Sustained, Mr. Czernek. I am familiar with the law."

  Johnson smiled. Right where I wanted you, you litigious bas-tard. "Allow me to rephrase the question. Did you know when went in for an abortion that the individual cells in the tissue removed from you during the abortion would, one by one, cease to function after said removal?" Valerie shook her head. "I don't understand the que-"

  "Surely, Ms. Dalton," Johnson's voice rose, "you can com-prehend that when a piece of living tissue is deprived of its source of nutrients, it won't survive long. Did you know that extraordinary measures are taken during organ transplants to keep a heart or a liver viable-àlive'-while being trans-ported to its new host?"

  "Yes. I guess I-"

  "Did you know that once aborted, your fetus would soon cease to be a fetus and become a mass of nonfunctioning tis-sue?"

  "Well, yes. Of course."

  He turned to her. "So you didn't really consider it alive to begin with?"

  "No. I mean, not in the sense of it being a person. That's the way I learned it." She sounded more confident.

  "And if you had lived in the South a century ago and had `learned it' that blacks weren't human, you'd believe that, too, right?"

  "Objection!" Czernek shouted, Johnson mouthing the word in perfect synchrony.

  "Sustained." Judge Lyang leaned slightly forward to address Johnson. "Your analogy is totally prejudicial. The difference between a fetus and a human is far greater than that of mere skin color. And may I remind you that the Supreme Court has long ago recognized the humanity of all races."

  "At one time it had not," Johnson replied. "Just as at one time it had not considered children to have human rights." He stared at Lyang. "Or women." Before the judge could react, he immediately said, "I'll retract the question, of course, and ask Ms. Dalton if she did not in fact sign a waiver of claim to the non-living bit of tissue she wanted removed. Did you?"

  "I signed something."

  Johnson reached into his briefcase. With a flourish, he placed a transparency on the overhead projector and threw the switch. On the screen opposite the jury box glowed several pages of typescript.

  "Would this be the contract?"

  She looked at it. "Yes," she said, "it is."

  "Am I correct that it says nowhere on that contract that you were to receive an abortion?" She looked at Ron, then at the jury. "Yes. I thought the word-ing was a bit strange, but the way people use euphemisms for everything these days-"

  "What term do you see that you thought meant àbortion?'"

  "The term was `pregnancy termination.'"

  "And you thought that the only way to terminate a pregnancy was through an abortion?"

  "Of course."

  Johnson pointed at the screen. "It says right here that the undersigned-that's you, Ms. Dalton-`relinquishes any and all claim to tissues removed during said pregnancy termina-tion.' Did you agree to that?"

  "I don't remember," she said. She took a deep breath to calm herself.

  "Are you in the habit of forgetting what you sign?"

  "No, I remember it."

  "Did Ron Czernek read it?"

  "Yes."

  "I see." Johnson began walking about again. He handed a copy of the contract to Czernek, then to the clerk, saying, "Please make this contract Exhibit A." He put his hands in his pockets. "So you knew that the abortion you wanted would result in the-Well, I want to say `death,' but how about the `cessation of viability' of the fetus?"

  "Yes," Valerie said.

  "Since you didn't consider it a living human being, though, you contracted with Dr. Fletcher to have it vacuumed out of you and disposed of. Is that a clear statement of the facts?" Valerie paused, looking to Ron for guidance. The lawyer's jaw tightened. He could object to the argumentative nature of the question, but the issue would remain. His head nodded ever so slightly.

  "Yes," Valerie said without emotion.

  "And you meant to sign away any claim to this non-living bit of tissue?"

  "Yes."

  Johnson walked over to the witness stand, placed both hands on the rail, and looked her fiercely in the eye. "Why, then, are you now laying claim to this bit of garbage you threw out?" Czernek shouted a loud objection. Johnson shouted even louder over the other lawyer's protest.

  "Why do you suddenly care about this child that a few short months ago you paid to have killed?"

  "Objection! I want that stricken from the record! Harassing the wit-"

  "I am capable," the judge said loudly, "of discerning harass-ment, Mr. Czernek." Ron sat down, fuming. Lyang laid down her gavel and folded her hands. "Approach the bench." The lawyers stepped toward the judge.

  "Mr. Johnson," she whispered, "the entire subject of abor-tion and the rights of the unborn is frightfully emotion laden, as the two groups of protesters outside this courtroom dem-onstrate. You do your clients' case no good by harassing the plaintiff." She glanced down at the court reporter, a young man fingering the keys of a battered old Stenotype. "The last two questions shall be stricken from the record, and"-she turned to the jury box-"the jury is to disregard the nature of the ques-tion and any inferences they may draw having heard it. You may continue, Mr. Johnson."

  "No further questions, Your Honor." I've never heard of a jury yet that could erase its own memory.

  "Then I suggest we recess for lunch," Lyang said, knocking once with her gavel.

  XV

  "If his tactic is to act self-righteous and abusive," Ron said, "it can only help our case." He faced Valerie across a small blue table in the courthouse cafeteria. A few yards away sat Johnson, the Chandlers, and Dr. Fletcher. Johnson spoke quietly, but with intense empha-sis about something. Czernek glanced over at them, then turned his attention back to Valerie.

  "I'm not going to redirect you, so I don't think you'll have to worry about any more testimony." He bit down into the club sandwich, chewed on it while thinking. "I'm going to call Mrs. Chandler next. If I can establish that she was a knowing acces-sory to the transoption, that'll draw a pretty bad picture of her for the jury. Then I'll follow up with the expert witnesses-"

  "Is it okay if I talk to Dr. Fletcher now? There aren't any reporters around."

  "Legally you can, but I don't think you should," he said.

  She stood. "I just want to find out about Renata."

  Ron grunted and took another bite of the sandwich. Men-tally, he rehearsed his line of questioning, knowing that if he kept it narrow enough, Johnson would have practically noth-ing to seize on in the cross-examination. Calling a hostile wit-ness was risky, but he calculated that he could turn that hostility to his advantage.

  "How's Renata?" Valerie asked, sitting in an available chair next to Dr. Fletcher. Fletcher gave her a comforting smile. "S
he's still in guarded condition. We just won't know for a while. She's hanging in there, so we've got to, too."

  "Valerie?" Terry looked at her.

  "What?" Her voice was as cool as the air in a glacial cavern.

  "I'm sorry I put you through that. You know why I had to, don't you?"

  "Lawyers will be lawyers," she said, rising.

  "Mr. Czernek will be just as rough on Karen," he said. His tone was matter-of-fact, but his eyes revealed an apprehen-sion about something, the nature of which Valerie was un-aware. She chalked it up to the trial jitters she assumed everyone else also felt and returned to Ron. He hovered over his coffee, searching his notes to prepare for the afternoon.

  "How is she?" he asked without looking up.

  "They don't know yet."

  It was strange reporting to him in such a way. His attitude seemed almost that of a man in some gothic romance. Dark and brooding, he pondered his own thoughts while express-ing only a cursory interest in their child. He flipped over a sheet of the yellow legal pad, continuing to read his hasty shorthand. Suddenly, a repetitive beep erupted from his jacket. For a moment, he was unsure what it meant. Then he remembered that in his haste to bring the case to trial, he had rented a pager to keep in contact with his office. He pulled it from his pocket, noted the phone number on the LCD display, and switched it off.

  "That's my callback from the doctor I asked to be an expert witness." He headed for the phone booths. "I hope he agrees to testify-it's cutting things close to do this so far into the trial." Valerie watched him go, then turned to observe the defen-dants. It was her first opportunity to view them together in a relaxed climate.

  David Chandler doted on his wife so sweetly, she thought. Always an arm around her or a hand touching hers. She knew it couldn't be an affectation. Ron sometimes did that: a pat on the hand or an obligatory hug. The impression she received, though, was one of distraction, as if her lover had more on his mind than pleasing or soothing her.

  Karen had that troubled look of a mother concerned about her child. Valerie could tell that the woman was unable to con-centrate on the courtroom proceedings; her mind was miles away in a hospital room at Bayside. Renata created a bond between the two of them that was even stronger than the one between Ron and her. It was a bond, though, with built-in stress, one that could never be acknowledged as long as they vied for possession of Renata.

  It was Dr. Fletcher's fault. Valerie glared at the woman, at her black and silver hair, at her starched white demeanor. She acted as if she cared about Renata, about Valerie-indeed, about everyone. Was it a sham? Just so much bedside manner repeated rote? What really lurked behind that doctorly exte-rior?

  Was she trying to help all women and unborn children, as Johnson implied? Or was Ron more correct that she had used her and Karen as a means to test her theories?

  She knew Ron's reasons for being here. What were Johnson's? He seemed sincere to the point of a stroke, yet he used every nasty rhetorical technique available. Stuff she'd seen Ron use in other trials. He knew how to play the jury, just as Ron did. Was that the key? Would the best player win re-gardless of who was right or wrong?

  "He's in!" Ron returned to the table, scraping the chair across the linoleum to sit. "He'll be available tomorrow to give expert testimony on embryo transfer. And here's something I didn't know; he's on the ethics committee of his own hospital, so he really knows the implications of Fletcher's actions."

  "Tomorrow." Valerie finished her coffee in one swallow. It went down bitter despite the two packets of Equal. "What about today?"

  Ron grinned and looked across the room at Karen. "Leave that to me." " Karen sat in the witness stand, determined to answer the questions without overreaction.

  "We had exhausted all other-"

  "Just a yes or no answer," Czernek said coolly. "Did you en-ter the Bayside University Medical Center fertility program to become pregnant by any means possible?"

  "Yes."

  Rather than stroll around before the bench in Johnson's manner, Czernek stayed close to Karen, facing her to ask his barrage of questions in a clipped, businesslike manner.

  "Were you aware that your problem could have been solved by the medically accepted method of non-surgical ovum trans-fer?"

  "We'd tr-"

  "Yes or no?"

  "Yes, but-"

  "So you knew about non-surgical ovum transfer?"

  "Yes. We tried-"

  "Just yes or no, Mrs. Chandler. Did you know that clinics performing the procedure regularly contract with women as conscious, informed ovum donors?"

  "Yes."

  "And you knew that the Bayside clinic had a frozen supply of fertilized and unfertilized eggs available for you to pick and choose the traits you want in a child?"

  "Yes." Karen burned to tell the jury about her failures with the procedure.

  "Yet you instead allowed Dr. Fletcher to implant an embryo in you by surgical means?"

  "Yes."

  "And you allowed this even though you knew that such an embryo must have been torn from the womb of another woman?"

  Johnson popped up. "Objection! The question is argumen-tative and establishes nothing new." Judge Lyang nodded. "Sustained."

  "Were you aware that the embryo must have come from an abortion?" Czernek asked.

  "Yes," she answered firmly.

  "And yet you allowed Dr. Fletcher to perform this proce-dure?"

  "Yes."

  "And you carried this child to term and gave birth to it?"

  "Yes."

  "And you filled out a birth certificate naming you and David Chandler as the mother and father even though the child bore no genetic relation to either of you?"

  "Dr. Fletcher told-" She stopped just as Czernek opened his mouth. "Yes, I did."

  "And you had no compunctions about that? You didn't think that perhaps there was something dishonest or perhaps even illegal about it all?"

  "I object!" Johnson said. "Mrs. Chandler is not a legal ex-pert."

  "Sustained."

  Czernek rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It's a simple ques-tion, Mrs. Chandler. Did you suspect that you were involved in something that was wrong?"

  "No, I did not."

  "I see. And now that you have been caught, do you feel any remorse?" Johnson shot to his feet again. "Objection, Your Honor! The question of remorse is totally irrelevant."

  Judge Lyang sustained.

  Czernek shrugged and turned to face Karen. "I have no more questions." On his way to the witness stand, Johnson glared at the more experienced lawyer, turning his head so that his expression was hidden from the jurors' view. Czernek smiled cordially and regained his seat.

  "Mrs. Chandler," Johnson began, his hands in his pants pock-ets, jacket bottoms draped over his wrists. "Please tell the court why you had to seek out the services of a fertility clinic." She looked at the women in the jury, speaking softly. "David and I had always wanted to have children, and we tried right from our wedding night. But nothing ever seemed to happen. We went to doctors, and they determined that it was sort of both our faults." She lowered her head for a moment, then looked up, this time at the men. "I had very poorly developed ovaries, and David had an industrial accident when he was twenty and had a very low sperm count."

  "And what options did you consider?"

  "Non-surgical ovum transfer was one method," she said, glancing over at Czernek in pleasure that the truth could now get out. "Of course, since David couldn't contribute the sperm, we used eggs that had already been fertilized."

  "Did you actually undergo such an operation?"

  "Yes. Four times."

  The spectators began to trade whispered sounds of aston-ishment. Johnson stepped close to Karen.

  "What was the outcome of each?"

  "I miscarried all four."

  The murmuring in the courtroom increased an increment. The judge gaveled for quiet. The sounds abated momentarily.

  "At what point did these pregnancies spontaneousl
y abort?"

  "All of them within the first three weeks."

  "And were these your first attempts?"

  "No. We had tried in vitro fertilization with donor ova and sperm."

  "How many tries there?"

  "Three."

  "Any other methods?"

  "Yes," she said in an almost ashamed tone. "Three attempts at artificial insemination before my problem was properly di-agnosed. But that was long before I found Dr. Fletcher."

  "So altogether, how many times had you tried orthodox methods of artificial impregnation?"

  "Ten times."

  "And the outcome each time?"

  She looked straight at the jury. "They all miscarried."

  "How soon after each procedure?"

  "All within the first three weeks, when they took at all."

  Johnson gazed at the members of the jury as if to drive his point home. Actually, he scanned their faces for some sense of their reaction. He read sympathy on most, but the two young women seemed a bit put off by the idea of such colossal ef-forts. One of the older men, too, appeared embarrassed by the clinical details.

  "Did Dr. Fletcher," he asked, "say why she suggested surgi-cal embryo transfer? Transoption, as she calls it."

  "She said she suspected that a more fully developed embryo might have a better chance of thriving. We were at our wits' end. We'd tried everything else under the sun." Tears welled in her eyes. She pressed at them with a tissue. "We just wanted a baby."

  Terry held up his hand and nodded in sympathy. He ran the hand through his curly mop of hair and said, "Did Dr. Fletcher ever speak to you about abortion?"

  "Yes."

  "What did she say?"

  Karen put her hand in her lap and crumpled the tissue in its grasp. "She said that transoption was something that she hoped would make abortion obsolete."

  "I object," Czernek said loudly. "This line of questioning is not germane-"

  "On the contrary, Your Honor." Johnson stepped over to face the judge. "Counsel for the plaintiff has raised the question of the defendant's awareness of abortion. I am merely probing the question further." Lyang mulled the problem for a moment. "Overruled," she said. Johnson strolled around the witness stand. "Mrs. Chandler," he said, "were you aware of the identity of the embryo donor?"