“They invited Laurette and Artiste, who didn’t have a television. “Thank you, sweetheart, but we’re going to Art’s,” Laurette had told Judy on the phone. “We go there for dinner once a week anyway.” Leon and Marion came over, after getting a sitter for Gwennie. He and Dad would probably talk afterwards, put their heads together on how things had gone.

Everybody on the Island was probably watching. How often was an Islander on television?

But what, Judy wondered, were they gathering to see?

“Here is how it will go…” Dad explained.

“They will ask Miss Pascoe the ‘are you now and have you ever been’ question. If she answers in the affirmative, admits that she is not now but yes, she once was in the party, they will ask her when precisely she was a Communist. If she answers that, they will ask her to name people she saw at Party meetings at that time, and if she refuses, she can be charged with contempt, possibly even jailed.”

“Or, they could trot out one of their unprincipled paid witnesses who’ll swear up and down that yes, Miss Pascoe was present at party meetings during the time she just said, under oath, she was not a member. Then she’ll be charged with perjury.”

“So,” Marion said, “what should she do?”

Leon shrugged. “Well, when they ask her that million-dollar question, she has to invoke the fifth amendment against self-incrimination.”

“Which, according to policy adopted last year in the infiinite wisdom of the Island Council, means she will no longer be able to teach in the Island public school system. Or draw a pension as a civil servant.”

Dad was pale and unusually quiet. In the week since they’d heard about Miss Pascoe, Judy had noticed more of those moments of still silence. He’d be talking and suddenly stop, and sometimes he’d even turn away. Earlier in the day Judy heard him arguing with Mother about his pain medication. “I want to be awake,” he’d said. Mother had poured him an extra glass of tonic, in addition to the one he typically drank after dinner.

There was a lot of stuff going on before Miss Pascoe appeared. Talk about transmitters, budgets… “Maybe they won’t call her,”Marion said at one point.

“They dragged her to New York,” said Leon. “Of course they’re going to call her.”

And they did. Judy felt something inside her jump when she heard that familiar voice acowledging that yes, her name was Miss Renata M. Pascoe, heard her take the oath.

Suddenly, this black and white image on the television was uncomfortably real and close.

“Who’s that man with her?” asked Elisha.

“Her lawyer. Milton Blumenthal,” said Dad. “He’s a good guy, but they aren’t going to allow him to do much other than be there for her to consult.

Judy’s heart thumped again when she saw another familiar face.

“Miss Pascoe, we have it that you teach English at the Touperdu Island High School, and the fact that you participated in this broadcast on schools over the Voice of America to Hungary last year. My next question is. Are you now…”

“Here we go,” muttered Leon.

“…Or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?.”

Miss Pascoe leaned forward slightly, started to speak, then cleared her throat and said, “I am not a member of the Communist Party.”

Nor was I a member of the Communist Party when I participated in the Voice of America broadcast.”

“The question was, have you ever been a member of the Communist Party?”

“I feel that is an improper question. It seems to me to have no bearing on the question you are investigating now of my participation in the Voice of America broadcast.”

“Have you been a member of the Communist Party?” asked the heavy-set balding man.

“If you feel your answer will incriminate you, you have a right to refuse to answer, but that is the only ground that this committee will honor. You will not be allowed to refuse on any other ground.”

“I have answered the question that I was not a member of the Communist Party when I was asked to make this broadcast, and I am not now.”

“It’s not going to work,” Dad said.

“Were you a member of the Communist Party a year ago?” the heavyset man asked.

“That was when I made the broadcast. As I told you, no, I was not.”

“Were you a member of the Communist Party two years ago?”

“No sir. I was not.”

“Were you a member of the Communist Party three years ago…”

“They’re trying to trap her,” Marion said.

“I was not a member of the Communist Party for a number of years” Miss Pascoe was saying. “As of 1947 I was not a member of the Communist Party. I believe investigations into my beliefs or possible associations before are improper,”

“and because the question violates the provisions of the fifth amendment, I decline to answer.”

“That’s that,” said Leon.

“We knew this would happen,” said Dad.

The heavy man was talking to Miss Pascoe again:

“Miss Pascoe, the question was, do you honestly feel if you were to tell us whether you were a Communist in 1948 that your answer might incriminate you?”

“Yes, I think it could,” said Miss Pascoe.

“Some person could claim I was a member of the Communist Party in any given year. Would my word be taken against theirs? That is why I invoke this constitutional protection, which I understand is devised to protect the innocent.”

“No, madame,” the Chairman was saying. ”The purpose of the law is not for the purpose of protecting the innocent. Its purpose is not to force someone to convict himself of any crime, even when he — or she — is guilty.”

Leon snorted. “They don’t even deny that bit about their stooges. The bastards!”

“Now, I’m going to ask it again. The question is, Do you honestly feel that if you tell us whether or not you were a member of the Communist Party in 1947, that that might tend to incriminate you? If not, you will be forced to answer this question.”

“Are they going to hurt her?” asked Elisha.

“No, no, Lish,” Judy said. “I’m sure they won’t.”

“I must decline to answer that question on the same grounds,” said Miss Pascoe.

“You are ordered to answer that question,” said the slender man, making no effort to conceal his anger. “Do you understand me, madam?”

“I am ordering you to answer whether you truly feel if you answered that question, that the answer might tend to incriminate you…”

My God, Judy thought. It’s like the interrogation of Jeanne d’Arc.

They’re asking her about the voices in her head and heart.

“Yes, I truly feel that,” said Miss Pasco. For the first time, her voice was shaking.

The bald man cleared his throat. “Now, now, Miss Pascoe,” he said, suddenly all kindness and concern.

“Our intent is not to frighten or confuse you. We’re just trying to clear up a few things. You’re new to all this, in a strange place, a big city…”

Judy felt a small, hot spark of anger growing in her chest.

“…and it most all seem pretty strange to you, but we’re old hands, so let me explain things to you as simply as I can.”

“You didn’t invoke the fifth when you were asked if you’d been a Communist. You’ve pretty much announced that you were to the whole world, but you want to hide something else behind the fifth. What are you hiding? Well any thinking America is going to conclude your involvement was so deep it would incriminate you. Maybe, for all we know you were involved in espionage…”

“At Touperdu Island High?” exploded Mother. “Are these people mad?”

“When you invoke your constitutional immunity, it really is almost as good as a very damning confession.”

Miss Pascoe shook her head. “I have made no confession. I simply have no intention of discussing what I may have believed ten, twenty, or twenty-five years ago when the subject is that one broadcast I took part in,”

“..a broadcast I was asked to make by one of the people because I am fluent in Hungarian. My mother was from Hungary, you see, and it was spoken in our house…”

“Miss Pascoe,” the large man interrupted, “have you attended meetings of the Communist Party or Communist cells?”

“I must decline to answer that question on the grounds of the fifth amendment.”

“On the grounds that your answer might incriminate you.” He spat out the word “incriminate.” “How many years have you taught school?”

“Thirty years.”

“Have you ever attended any Communist Party meetings or any cell meetings which were attended by any of your students?”

“I must decline to answer that question.”

“On the grounds that the answer might incriminate you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever attempted to recruit any of your students into the Communist Party?”

“I am afraid I must decline to answer all such questions.”

“You are aware of the fact, I assume, of an organization on your island, a so-called church known as the Church of Christ the Sailor?”

Mother drew in her breath sharply.

“Yes sir.”

“Are you also aware that it has been cited as completely Communist controlled?”

“I understand there are people who believe it to be Communist controlled, yes, but I don’t…”

“It was named officially by the Un-American Activities Committee, as Communist-controlled. It was also cited by the Island Committee on Subversive Activity as Communist controlled. Your answer to that was ‘Yes.’ Now, if you want to change your answer, you may change it. You know it has the reputation of being Communist-controlled? You have known all along that this had the reputation of being Communist-controlled?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Will you identify those two documents which have been passed to you?”

“This is an acknowledgement of a contribution to the Church of Christ the Sailor. It lists me as the contributor.”

And the other?

“That is not me, and I want to say…”

“Whose is it? Please say who and what it is in full.”

“It is another acknowledgement from Church of Christ the Sailor, referencing a contribution from my brother in the name of the League of Island Socialists. But I should tell you that..”

“Miss Pascoe, have you attended meetings of the Communist Party or Communist cells?”

“This is ridiculous!” Judith exclaimed.

Everyone on the Island knew about Jerome Pascoe and his “League.” It was his idea of a joke. The League of Island Socialists consisted of Jerry, his wife, and his three children.

“I must decline to answer that question on the grounds of the fifth amendment.

“ On the grounds that your answer might incriminate you. Madame, how many years have you taught school?

“As I have already said, thirty years. And I should point out that…”

“How many students are at that school where you have been teaching for three decades?

“Roughly 1,000.”

“Roughly one thousand. One thousand students trickling through the fingers of a Communist educator.”

“One thousand students with whom you have had daily contact. Madame, I must ask you again. have you ever attended any Communist Party meetings or any cell meetings which were attended by any of your students?”

“I must decline to answer that question.”

“On the grounds that the answer might incriminate you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Have you ever attempted to recruit any of your students into the Communist Party?”

“I am afraid I must decline to answer all such questions…”

Judy stood up. “Excuse me,” she said quietly.

“Jude?” Elisha’s face was anxious.

“I’m fine, fine,” Judy said as she walked out.

In the kitchen she opened a Coke, hoping a cool drink would make her feel better.

It didn’t.

She thought of typing up lists in the office of Uncle Artiste’s church, of doing his filing, of attending a few of his sermons and wanting to shout “Yes, yes,” with other member of the congregation. None of that made her feel ashamed.

What made her feel ashamed was she couldn’t stop wondering who might have seen here there. Who might have written down her name. She couldn’t help wishing she’d done what she now knew would have been the safe, the cowardly thing — quietly attending mass and lighting votive candles at St. Elmo’s.

She thought of that knock on the office door at Town Hall, of watching a man sit wearily down on her father’s couch, of worrying that he might be ill. She remembered with hotfaced humiliation walking down the hall, carrying a cool glass of water to someone she thought needed help.

Whenever she imagined that man’s face, she felt something hot and ugly rising in her.

She thought of the Kilkenny Award. Of Harvard. Of all her plans.

And she realized that never before in her life had she truly hated someone.

When Judy returned to her seat, Miss Pascoe was talking, at last, about the broadcast. “It was in Hungarian. I talked about a poem, that’s all. A poem by Janos Arany, A Walesi Bárdok’ – The Bards of Wales.”

“Can you tell us how you came to make this broadcast?”

“I belong to a literary group at the library here. One month, we were talking about European literature, and I love Arany. My mother was Hungarian, you see. I grew up speaking it, and I read all of his poems. He is a great, great 19 century poet. One of the people in our literary group knows someone who has contacts with the VOA, and she was kind enough to mention to him my translation of the poem, and my recitation of it. I have it practically by heart. He contacted me and asked me if I’d be interested in doing a broadcast into Hungary on the poet and his work. Then…

“What was this person’s name?” the heavy man asked.

She hesitated only a moment.

“Mr. William Quiller,” she said.