CHAPTER XII: Prim's Evidence
"Here!" cried Prim, quite forgetting in the flurry of the moment how large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with the edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jury-subjects onto the heads of the crowd below. And there, they lay sprawling about, reminding her very much of a globe of goldfish that she had accidentally upset the week before.
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she exclaimed in a tone of great dismay, and she began picking them up again as quickly as she could. With the accident of the goldfish kept running through her head, Prim had a vague sort of idea that they must be collected at once and put back into the jury-box or they would die.
"The trial cannot proceed," said Plutarch in a very grave voice, "until all the jury-subjects are back in their proper places...all." He repeated the last word with great emphasis, looking hard at Prim as he spoke.
Prim looked at the jury-box and saw that, in her haste, she had put Peeta in head downwards, and the poor little fellow was waving his legs about in a melancholy way, being quite unable to move. She soon got him out again and put him right. "Not that it signifies much with his current mental state," she said to herself; "I should think it would be quite as much use in the trial one way up as the other."
As soon as the jury had recovered a little from the shock of being upset, and their slates and pencils had been found and handed back to them, they set to work very diligently to write out a history of the accident—all except Peeta who seemed too much overcome to do anything but sit with its mouth open, gazing up into the roof of the court.
"What do you know about this business?" Plutarch said to Prim.
"Nothing," replied Prim.
"Nothing whatever?" persisted Plutarch.
"Nothing whatever," said Prim.
"That's very important," Plutarch said, turning to the jury.
They were just beginning to write this down on their slates, when Beetee interrupted, "unimportant, my Lord means, of course," he said in a very respectful tone, but frowning and making faces at him as he spoke.
"Unimportant, of course, I meant," Plutarch hastily said and went on to himself in an undertone, "important... unimportant... unimportant... important" as if he were trying which word sounded best.
Some of the jury wrote it down important, and some unimportant.
Prim could see this as she was near enough to look over their slates. But it doesn't matter a bit, she thought to herself.
At this moment, Plutarch, who had been for some time busily writing in his notebook, cackled out, "Silence!" and read out from his book, "Rule Forty-two: All persons more than a mile high to leave the court."
Everybody looked at Prim.
"I'm not a mile high," said Prim.
"You are," said Plutarch.
"Nearly two miles high," added the Queen.
"Well, I shan't go, at any rate," said Prim; "besides, that's not a regular rule. You invented it just now."
"It's the oldest rule in the book," said Plutarch.
"Then it ought to be Number One," said Prim.
Plutarch turned pale and shut his notebook hastily. "Consider your verdict," he said to the jury in a low, trembling voice.
"There's more evidence to come yet, please my Lord," said Beetee, jumping up in a great hurry. "This paper has just been picked up."
"What's in it?" asked the Queen.
"I haven't opened it yet," said Beetee, "but it seems to be a letter written by the prisoner to...to somebody."
"It must have been that," said Plutarch, "unless it was written to nobody, which isn't usual, you know."
"Who is it directed to?" said one of the jury-subjects.
"It isn't directed at all," said Beetee. "In fact, there's nothing written on the outside." He unfolded the paper as he spoke and added, "It isn't a letter after all; it's a set of verses."
"Are they in the prisoner's handwriting?" asked another of the jury-subjects.
"No, they're not," said Beetee, "and that's the queerest thing about it." (The jury all looked puzzled.)
"Katniss must have imitated somebody else's hand," said Plutarch. (The jury all brightened up again.)
"Please, your Majesty," said Katniss to President Coin, "I didn't write it, and they can't prove I did. There's no name signed at the end."
"If you didn't sign it," said Plutarch, "that only makes the matter worse. You must have meant some mischief or else you'd have signed your name like an honest woman."
There was a general clapping of hands at this: it was the first really clever thing Plutarch had said that day.
"That proves her guilt," said the Queen.
"It proves nothing of the sort," said Prim. "Why, you don't even know what they're about."
"Read them," said Plutarch.
Beetee straightened his spectacles. "Where shall I begin, please my Lord?" he asked.
"Begin at the beginning," Plutarch said gravely, "and go on till you come to the end, then stop."
These were the verses Beetee read:
"They told me you had been to her,
And mentioned me to him:
She gave me a good character,
But said I could not swim.
He sent them word I had not gone
(We know it to be true):
If she should push the matter on,
What would become of you?
I gave her one, they gave him two,
You gave us three or more;
They all returned from him to you,
Though they were mine before.
If I or she should chance to be
Involved in this affair,
He trusts to you to set them free,
Exactly as we were.
My notion was that you had been
(Before she had this fit)
An obstacle that came between
Him, and ourselves, and it.
Don't let him know she liked them best,
For this must ever be
A secret, kept from all the rest,
Between yourself and me."
"That's the most important piece of evidence we've heard yet," said Plutarch rubbing his hands. "So now let the jury—"
"If any one of them can explain it," said Prim, (she had grown so large in the last few minutes that she wasn't a bit afraid of interrupting him,) "I'll give them my food rations. I don't believe there's an atom of meaning in it."
The jury all wrote down on their slates, 'she' doesn't believe there's an atom of meaning in it, but none of them attempted to explain the paper.
"If there's no meaning in it," said Plutarch, "that saves a world of trouble, you know, as we needn't try to find any. And yet I don't know." The man spread out the verses over his knees, and looking at them discreetly, he said, "I seem to see some meaning in them after all. 'Said I could not swim' you can't swim, can you?" he added, turning to Katniss.
The young lady gave the man a confused look. "Of course I can. Didn't you watch your own Hunger Games?" she said. (Which surprised many in the courtroom, especially those made entirely of cardboard.)
"Fair enough," said Plutarch, and he went on muttering over the verses to himself, "'We know it to be true', that's the jury, of course. 'I gave her one, they gave him two', why, that must be what she did with the tarts, you know—"
"But, it goes on, 'They all returned from him to you'," said Prim.
"Why, there they are!" said Plutarch triumphantly, pointing to the tarts on the table. "Nothing can be clearer than that. Then again, 'Before She had this fit'. You never had fits, my Queen, I think?" he said to Coin.
"Never!" said the Queen furiously, throwing an inkstand at Peeta as she spoke.
(The unfortunate Peeta had left off writing on his slate with one finger as he found it made no mark, but he now hastily began again, using the ink that was trickling down his face as long as it lasted.)
"Then the words don't fit you," said Plutarch, looking round the court with a smile. There was a dead silence.
"It's a pun," Plutarch added in an offended tone, and everybody laughed. "Let the jury consider their verdict," Plutarch said, for about the twentieth time that day.
"No, no!" said the Queen. "Sentence first, verdict afterwards."
"Stuff and nonsense," said Prim loudly. "The idea of having the sentence first."
"Hold your tongue!" said the Queen, turning purple.
"I won't," said Prim.
"Off with her head!" the Queen shouted at the top of her voice.
Nobody moved.
"Who cares for you?" said Prim, (she had grown to her full size by this time.) "You're nothing but a pack of cards, playing the same game as President Snow."
At this, the whole pack rose up into the air and came flying down upon her. She gave a little scream, half of fright and half of anger, and tried to beat them off when she found herself lying on the floor in their compartment with her head in the lap of her sister, who was gently brushing away Buttercup's tail from her face.
"Wake up, Prim dear," said Katniss; "Why, what a long nap you've had."
"Oh, I've had such a curious dream," said Prim, and she told her sister, as well as she could remember them, all these strange Adventures of hers that you have just been reading about.
And when she had finished, Katniss kissed her and said, "It was a curious dream, dear, certainly, but now run done to the dining hall for your dinner. It's getting late, and you know they like their schedules."
So Prim got up and ran off, thinking while she ran, as well she might, what a wonderful dream it had been.
But Katniss sat still just as she left her, leaning her head against her bunk, watching the last traces of sunlight fade in the tiny window that allowed Buttercup to the surface of District 13. She thought of little Prim and all her wonderful Adventures, till she too began dreaming after a fashion, and this was Katniss's dream:
First, she dreamed of little Prim herself, and once again the tiny hands were clasped upon her knee, and the bright eager eyes were looking up into hers. Katniss could hear the very tones of her voice, and see that queer little toss of her head to keep back the wandering hair that would always get into her eyes, and still as she listened, or seemed to listen, the whole place around her became alive with the strange creatures of her little sister's dream.
Beetee's wheelchair creaked loudly when the man miraculously jumped to his feet, the frightened Mouse splashed his way through the neighbouring pool, Katniss could hear the rattle of the teacups as Cinna and his friends shared their never-ending meal, and the shrill voice of Coin ordering off her unfortunate guests to execution like a Queen. Once more, the pig-baby was sneezing on Duchess Johanna's knee while plates and dishes crashed around it. Once more, the shriek of the Gryphon, the squeaking of the Peeta's slate-pencil, and the choking of the suppressed Avoxes, filled the air, mixed up with the distant sobs of the miserable, love struck Merman.
So Katniss sat on with closed eyes and half believed herself in Wonderland, though she knew she had but to open them again and all would change to dull reality. The smell of fresh grass would be replaced by the smell of District 13's disinfectant, and the pool rippling would turn out to be the sound of rushing water in the bunker's plumbing. The rattling teacups would change to footsteps in the hall, and the Queen's shrill cries to the voice of the sentry on duty, turning away the occasional lost survivor from District 12, often lost in the underground maze. And the sneeze of the baby, the shriek of the Gryphon, and all the other queer noises, would change (she knew) to the confused clamour of the busy workings of underground life of District 13, while Buttercup's subtle growls would take the place of the Merman's heavy sobs.
Lastly, Katniss pictured to herself how this same little sister of hers would, in the after-time, be herself a grown woman and how she would keep through all her riper years the simple and loving heart of her childhood. How Prim would gather about her other little children and make their eyes bright and eager with many a strange tale, perhaps even with the dream of Wonderland of long ago. And how Prim would feel with all their naive sorrows and find a pleasure in all their innocent joys, remembering her own child-life and the happy simpler days.
THE END OF PART I
Part II: Looking Glass
(In Progress)