Chapter 10
Plutarch snatches the notebook from Mrs. Mellark's hands and in the process she stumbles backwards.
She catches herself and shrieks loudly. "Keep your hands off me."
In spite of the irony of her outcry, Rye and Phyl rush forward to defend their mother.
"It was an accident," Plutarch says quickly as he fiddles with the notebook, staring nervously at the two former wresting champions of District 12. While he may be taller and larger, they are younger and as muscular as he is doughy.
"This isn't right," Mr. Mellark protests. "You falsely accused our son of murder. And for what? A fictional crime show?"
"It's not exactly fictional," Plutarch tries to explain. "It's based on some facts. Technically it would fall under the category of docu-drama."
"I don't care what you call it," my father-in-law shouts. "You've destroyed my boy's good name and taken away his freedom."
"And lost our business a great deal of money," my mother-in-law adds.
I think Mrs. Mellark forgets that business has been booming since Peeta's arrest as everyone comes to the bakery seeking gossip about the case. In addition, the bakery has been quite popular among the Capitol visitors, who she charges at least three times the standard price for baked goods. If anything, the Mellarks have made a decent profit from the situation.
Haymitch has not said a word, but now he gets right into the Gamemaker's face.
"So how did I get recruited into playing a role on this television show?"
Plutarch takes a step back. "You're the most famous man in Twelve," Plutarch explains. "We needed a recognizable face to attract Capitol viewers. Beside you have a license to practice law. It makes everything so much more believable."
Haymitch shakes his head in disgust.
As for me, I want to throw myself at Plutarch and pummel him for what he has done to Peeta, to the way he has taken him from me. If I had my bow with me, I would shoot him through his paunchy hide and strike him directly in his miniscule heart.
Outnumbered by a hostile crowd, Plutarch babbles. "You shouldn't take it so personally. Look at all the national publicity your family has gotten. And new clothes, too."
No one speaks. The tension in the room grows and beads of sweat form on Plutarch's forehead. He puts his hand up to wipe them away.
"Look I didn't want to tell you how the trial ends; I wanted to film a genuine reaction, but if you're all this upset, I'll let you in on the finale." Plutarch's voice lowers. "Peeta is found not guilty."
While everyone remains grim, the tension in the room dissolves immediately.
"There's still the matter of lost income," Mrs. Mellark begins.
Her husband throws her a nasty look.
"We can talk about that later," Plutarch says. "I have some calls to make right now." He hands the script back to Haymitch.
Before Plutarch leaves though, he asks the Mellarks to keep the outcome a secret. "The best thing about the Capitol ignoring Twelve all these years is that you people still have a little spontaneity. The audience eats that up. It makes for good television."
"Like hell I'm keeping it secret," Rye says, when the Gamemaker has left the room. Phyl nods in agreement.
Haymitch frowns. "Just be careful. Your brother isn't free yet. Scripts can be rewritten."
Mrs. Mellark leaves with her sons and their wives in search of the catered luncheon the Capitol provides.
"Is that really how the script ends?" my father-in-law asks Haymitch.
The victor frowns. "I never read to the end of it." He flips the notebook open to the back. "Yes, right here." He points to the page. "Peeta is declared not guilty."
Haymitch rubs his head. "I need to warn you though, they're lifting up the carpet and dragging out the dirt. You and the missus don't come out smelling so nice."
"What do you mean?" Mr. Mellark asks, but the look on his face makes me think he knows exactly what Haymitch is referring to.
"The contract your wife negotiated between Peeta and the Dressers for one thing, and I'll have to address those bruises Peeta had. Plenty of people in the district saw them. We both know they didn't come from a fight with the tailor.
My father-in-law adverts his eyes from Haymitch, probably from embarrassment.
"It's also likely that the television analysis will mention your wife's time in the Community Home."
Mr. Mellark is pale. "Why would they bring that up? It has nothing to do with the trial."
Haymitch shakes his head. "It pushes along the agenda Snow is looking to promote."
My father-in-law nods. "She's not going to be happy, but I'll warn her."
He leaves and I am left alone with Haymitch. "Mrs. Mellark lived in the Community Home?" I can hardly believe it.
"I take it no one's told you much about the family you married into."
I shake my head puzzled, although not really surprised. I'm only just learning about the secrets in my own family.
"She lived there a short time, just a couple of months. Her parents took sick and died right before she graduated from school. The housing policy had just gone into effect so she couldn't stay with her older brother because he wasn't married yet."
A brother? "Who is her brother?"
"Oliver Finch, the owner of the Junk shop."
The man who sold Peeta silverware at a huge discount? Peeta never mentioned that they were related. I wonder if he even knows.
Haymitch continues his story. "She was beat up during her time in the Community Home."
"Why?" My eyes open wide.
"Because she was from Town. Most of the kids in there were from the Seam. I think your father-in-law married her more out of compassion than any real affection. He'd just lost his sweetheart to someone else and he was in bad shape too."
The story shocks me, yet it has a ring of truth about it. Because I could imagine Peeta doing the very same thing, sacrificing his future to rescue someone.
"As soon as they wed, she began popping out kids. She was determined to keep that bakery in the family, determined to put as much distance between herself and the Community Home. She's even managed to get two of her sons in position to inherit other families' businesses. For a woman who started in a bad spot, she's done well."
I'm puzzled though. "If she was treated so badly, beaten and all, why is she so mean? She hit her children regularly. I would think she'd treat them better."
Haymitch winces. "Well you know what they say, `hurting people hurt people'."
"That's no excuse." I snap.
"It's not meant to be. It's an explanation."
I don't think it's a very good explanation, but at this point I have more pressing things to think on.
"We have to let Peeta know that the trial isn't real," I tell Haymitch. My poor husband. I've been tortured enough; what must he be feeling?
"I've been thinking the same myself," Haymitch says. "But for now, let's get something to eat. "It will probably be a long afternoon."
A table has been set up with lunch in a nearby room. The production crew and Capitol cast, as I now think of them, along with Peeta's family are sitting in small groups eating. Even Mr. Dresser is there, eating alongside the prosecutor. I turn my back to him. Only Peeta is missing.
Haymitch and I fill our plates with bread, cheese, sliced meats, and fruits. We join Peeta's family who are nearly done with their meal.
I ponder the information Haymitch shared about my mother-in-law. I'd never given much thought to the reason she ended up the way she is - greedy, manipulative, spiteful, and violent even. Is her unhappy history the reason that her husband and sons put up with her behavior?
I almost feel sorry for her until I remember Peeta's bruises on our wedding night. Remember the contract she negotiated with the Dressers. Think about her exaggerated and misleading comments about my mother. No, I can't accept her actions despite the adversities she may have experienced. Everyone faces hardship of one sort or another, but there comes a moment when a person must let go of the sufferings of the past. Surely, it's immoral to expect recompense from people who are not responsible for the original pain.
Plutarch appears and calls an end to the meal. We all return to the courtroom and wait while he talks individually with the camera operators, the prosecutor, the judge, and even Haymitch.
Merchants return to attend the afternoon session. Probably more than attended in the morning because extra chairs are brought in. I wonder if Rye and Phyl have spread the word about the true nature of this "so-called" trial.
After nearly thirty minutes of waiting, Plutarch is ready to restart the filming. Two Peacekeepers escort Peeta inside.
Peeta's eyes are on me as he enters; his expression is solemn. I want to jump up and tell him not to worry because nothing is real. Haymitch leans close and whispers something, then passes him a slip of paper. I hope he's telling him that the trial is all for show.
Haymitch continues to cross-examine Mr. Dresser. He holds the script in his hand while he speaks, occasionally glancing down at it. However, he must go off it several times because Plutarch calls "cut" frequently.
The victor gets Mr. Dresser to admit to the poor health of his wife for the past several months. When the prosecutor interrupts and calls it "irrelevant," and the judge agrees, the audience begins to boo and hiss. I think they are tired of the interruptions.
Plutarch calls his final "Cut" around three. He needs time to edit his material. Haymitch grabs my arm before I walk out with the Mellarks.
"Plutarch wants some footage of you and Peeta."
I frown, but follow Haymitch to another room where two Peacekeepers stand watch.
"There are recording devices inside sweetheart," he says before I am pushed inside.
Peeta is seated and springs up when he sees me.
"Katniss."
I fall into his arms.
A photographer from the Capitol take posed pictures of us. It is torture to sit next to my husband, to hold his hand, to stare into his eyes and kiss his lips while we are on display for all of Panem.
I'm not sure what was written on the paper Haymitch slid toward Peeta, not sure if he's been informed, but I desperately want reassure him that he has nothing to worry about. Everything will work out. But because we aren't alone the best I can do is spell out letters on his arm in plain site of everyone. N-O-T R-E-A-L.
He gives me a curious glance and I hope with all my heart that he understands what I'm trying to tell him.
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Haymitch is right about the cameras. Footage of our photo shoot is included in the mandatory viewing of the trial that evening.
It's embarrassing to watch myself kissing Peeta on television with his family surrounding me.
"Look at that lover boy," Rye laughs. Phyl joins in.
"They're newly married Rye," Delly chides. She reaches for my shoulder to give me reassurance.
My mother-in-law snorts loudly.
Fortunately Haymitch is there with me. He talks loudly during the kissing portion and I'm glad for the distraction.
As selected parts of the trial are shown, Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith interrupt to add colorful commentary.
They make a big to-do over Haymitch being the district's only victor, and then they go into a detailed description of the social distinctions in Twelve, the wealthy Townspeople versus the poor miners who live in the Seam.
"Didn't Haymitch Abernathy come from the Seam?" Claudius asks Caesar.
"He did, as do almost all of the tributes he mentors," Caesar points out.
"Why is that?" asks Claudius.
"Likely because the Community Home in Twelve is full of children from the Seam. Their parents die off early due to the poor living conditions in that section of the district."
I look toward my mother-in-law to note her reaction. Her face has taken on a steely grimace.
I expect they will mention her name now, but they don't.
"It's a shame the tributes are limited to residents of the Community Home," Claudius muses. "Imagine if Peeta was reaped when he was of age. A big, strong, good-looking fellow, like that. He would have been a fine contender in The Hunger Games."
"He's certainly photogenic," Caesar agrees.
"What is this nonsense about?" Mr. Mellark turns to Haymitch. "This has no relevance to the trial at all."
"They're setting the stage for Snow's policy changes."
The banter between the hosts ends and we are back to watching bits of the trial.
Before the show is over, Claudius asks Caesar how long the legal proceedings will take.
"It should wrap up in a few more days," Caesar says. "There is a special treat for the people of Twelve, at the end of it too," he hints mysteriously.
"Oh do tell," Claudius gushes. "You know I'm not good at waiting."
Caesar grins. "Claudius, do you think all our friends here can keep a secret?"
"I feel quite certain of it," says Claudius.
"President Snow is planning his first ever visit to District Twelve."
"Is that true?" My father-in-law turns to Haymitch.
Haymitch nods. "Plutarch mentioned it this afternoon. He's timing the ending of the trial with the appearance of Snow. The president is going to give a speech in which he revokes the housing policy and announces the expansion of tributes for The Hunger Games."
"So he's really going through with it?" Rye asks. "Changing the rules of the reaping?" He exchanges a quick glance with Delly, and then wraps his arm around his wife, pulling her toward him. A tear falls down her cheek and she puts her hand up to wipe it away.
Haymitch eyes Delly. He turns to me, a strange glint in his eye. Embarrassed I put my hand to my side. I'd been absentmindedly rubbing my hand across my padded midsection. The fabric of Cinna's dress is so soft that touching it soothes me.
It crosses my mind that Delly might be expecting. Of course they'd both be upset. What parent wouldn't be? But they don't have to worry for at least twelve years. I could lose my sister to the reaping next month. The thought makes me sick.
"Why travel all the way to Twelve?" my father-in-law asks. "Why not give the speech in the Capitol?"
"He's been criticized for years that he's distanced himself too much from the people," Haymitch says. "Twelve is probably the only district where he'd be somewhat safe. Our population is small and as those two jackanapes just pointed out, we're not a united district."
"What does it matter if we're united?" I ask.
"If people would pull together, Panem would have taken down that monster years ago."
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I am dejected when we return to my house. Even though I know Peeta will be released, I'm sick over thoughts of losing Prim. The mental exhaustion fatigues me, so I'm surprised when Haymitch asks me to make him coffee so he can stay up late and prepare for tomorrow. He sits at the dining table with the script and his yellow pad side by side.
"Why are you spending time on that?" I ask him. "Plutarch already said Peeta will be released."
Haymitch shakes his head. "If there's one thing I've learned in The Hunger Games it's that the real enemy is not the person in the arena trying to kill you."
What are you talking about?" I am baffled.
"Peeta's enemy isn't that fool tailor, or his foppish prosecutor, or that peacock of a judge. And Plutarch could care less about any of it. He's only concerned about advancing in his career," Haymitch explains. "The real enemy is Snow and his reign of terror."
"So what? It's not like Peeta can stop Snow."
"By himself no, but Peeta's situation mirrors that of every person in every district – ensnared in a trap of which they can't break free. I want to speak to people about that trap. Give them hope.
"Won't Plutarch edit what you say?"
"Of course," he said. "But you forget. I have a live audience, too."
The Merchants attending the trial? What can they possibly do? How can they change Panem?
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I am sure my brothers-in-law have been talking because even more Merchants appear the second day.
The prosecutor finishes presenting his case mid-morning. Plutarch calls for a break before Haymitch takes over.
The victor has a challenging job, following the script as best he can so that Plutarch is satisfied, yet adding enough additional information to drive the point home to the Merchants who have shut up their businesses to attend the trial, that Peeta has been framed and that it is all a farce. Although I must admit, I can't figure out what that will accomplish since Plutarch has already promised Peeta will be freed.
Haymitch spends the morning talking about the different varieties of sumac. Most are safe. The berries can be ground down to make a spice. The leaves can be used as a dying agent. However, poisonous sumac is another matter. Even touching it can cause a deadly rash, unless one wears gloves. Ingesting it can kill. Haymitch gives a detailed physical description of the poisonous variety and even mentions where some of the bushes are located in District 12, close to the fence in the meadow.
He finishes his lecture about the plant by pulling out a copy of the report provided by the Capitol laboratory. The berries found inside the bread the tailor bought were not cooked. They appeared to be put in after the bread was baked which clearly points out that anyone who touched the bread could have poisoned it.
Plutarch calls "Cut."
The room buzzes with conversation. While Haymitch speaks with Plutarch, I hear talk behind me filled with anger and frustration.
I strain to listen. Do people think Peeta is guilty of this crime? His name never comes up.
Instead differing theories of Mrs. Dresser's death are discussed. The first is that no crime was ever committed. That Mrs. Dresser died of natural causes and in his grief the tailor devised a plan to steal the pregnant wife of another Merchant to gain an heir.
The second is that Mr. Dresser poisoned his wife to get out of his marriage. There are whispers that he has been more than friendly with some of his female customers. After his actions towards me, I'm not surprised.
The third theory is that Mrs. Dresser killed herself because she was infertile, as the tailor claimed during his questioning.
But whatever the cause of Mrs. Dresser's death, the Merchants are convinced that the Capitol exploits this matter. Questions are raised about the banter between Claudius and Caesarduring last night's mandatory viewing, the talk of the Community Home and the reaping. The attention paid to the division between Town and Seam. Snow's planned visit to Twelve.
Peeta is in the witness chair after we return from our lunch break. Calmly he explains that he had no relationship with the tailor's wife. He blushes when questioned about the fertility contract.
It is an awkward topic because it makes him look like a stud animal, like one of the Goat Man's buck's we rented to impregnate Lady to keep her milk flowing.
One of the cameras is pointed at me while he speaks, the other is on Peeta. I try to keep my head down, but occasionally lift it so I can peek at the monitor out of the corner of my eye.
Delly, who sits next to me squeezes my hand reassuringly. Maybe she shares in my embarrassment or perhaps she's glad Rye was already wed so his mother could not farm him out as well.
Haymitch questions Peeta about the bruises he bore that were clearly seen by people in Town as they took many days to fade away. Peeta admits to being attacked by his mother when he told her about our marriage. Even though it's humiliating, it has to be addressed because it counteracts Mr. Dressers' claim about a fight with Peeta.
The camera is pointed at Mrs. Mellark while Peeta speaks and when she sees her face on the monitor she screams "Cut" and stands up immediately.
When her face continues to stay on the screen since the camera operators aren't taking direction from her, she walks out of the room. My father-in-law follows after her.
Plutarch calls "Cut" at that point and hurries after the two.
The room hums with conversation while Plutarch is outside speaking with my in-laws.
Oliver Finch, who I now know to be Mrs. Mellark's brother, stands up to address the crowd. "This is personal business that should be discussed at home not on television."
He throws Haymitch a nasty glare and leaves. Others agree and follow him as well. By the time Plutarch returns alone, most of the audience has left.
"What happened?" Plutarch asks Haymitch, as he surveys the near empty room.
"They were tired of waiting," the victor says. Haymitch sticks to Plutarch's script now because he has no one left to impress. Peeta states that he never saw Mrs. Dresser or the tailor on the day she died. He was in the back baking. His mother sold her the loaf of bread.
When Plutarch calls the final "Cut" for the day, Haymitch is through with Peeta. Witnesses will be called first thing tomorrow morning.
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Haymitch and I return to my in-laws' house a second night to watch the show.
"Don't you have a television at your house?" My mother-in-law rudely questions when we arrive.
I shake my head.
We gather around the television with Rye, Delly, Phyl, Beryl, and my father-in-law. Although it's technically illegal, my mother-in-law doesn't watch. She goes down the hallway and shuts herself in one of the bedrooms. I suppose it's because she expects to look like a fool.
It's probably good she avoids the show. Between coverage of Peeta on the witness stand, the show includes snippets on the tailor, the Mellarks, and Peeta's and my marriage. All of it is slanted in such a way as to emphasize the impact of the onerous housing policy and to stir up anger between Town and Seam.
My mother-in-law's brief residency in the Community Home is mentioned. Claudius concludes it must be the reason for her "rough" upbringing. He jokingly notes it's a shame she wasn't there long enough to be reaped. "With that arm District 12 might have had another victor."
That comment doesn't go over well with her family. In fact Mr. Mellark breaks the law and leaves the room at that point to join his wife.
"Do you really need gloves to handle that stuff?" Rye asks after we watch a segment that includes Haymitch's description of the poisonous variety of sumac.
"Don't get any smart ideas boy," the victor warns.
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It's late when Haymitch and I make it home. I suspect he wants a drink, would do anything for one, but tries for Peeta's sake to stay sober.
We enter the house and I offer to make him some chamomile tea. It won't provide the immediate relaxation a bottle of white liquor could produce, but it will sooth his frayed nerves. I make a cup for myself as well.
We sit in the living room, Haymitch on his sofa and me in the Peeta's battered armchair drinking tea and discussing the television coverage of the trial.
A pounding on the door startles both of us.
"Are you expecting someone?" Haymitch asks.
"No." Late-night visitors mean trouble and I don't need anymore today.
The pounding continues.
Haymitch stands up.
"Where are you going?"
"To answer your damn door. I already have a headache."
I spring up. "It's my house." I rush forward to beat Haymitch. "Who is it?" I call out before opening it.
The pounding stops.
"Catnip, let me in. We need to talk."
It's Gale. My half-brother.