Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

"A disease. You understand."

His head was tinging now, and his throat and chest felt terribly constricted. He asked, nonetheless, as he knew he was required to.

"Herpes?"

Her mouth opened somewhat and then, to his amazement, Silvia smiled-in a reltictant fashion, part grimace. She would never see through him, she would never understand him. Only from Stern in the entire world might this be tolerable, but if he insisted, she would find humor in the pain of the past. Older brothers, after all, forever reserved the tight to tease,.

"Oh, Stern," she said to him with a girlish wag, "you knew all along."

EVENTUALLY, Remo descended the staircase. H had brought the safe with him, and he took eac step sideways, in a straddle, lowering one booted foot, then the other. It was slow work and he stopped at one point and rested the safe.

He lit a cigarette and eased down the remaining stairs, with the Marlboro tucked in the comer of his mouth and one eye closed to the smoke. From his seat on a living-more settee, Stern could see Remo coming, but he made no move to assist him, nor did he open his mouth to speak. He was capable of movement, no doubt of that; but he was uninterested. Perhaps he would remain here, with his hands folded, for what was left of his life. He did not feel any emotion with particular strength, except that he was no longer himself. His head was still ringing, and his arms were light; but, predomi-nanfly, he was beset with the sensation of difference, departure. A new man-not better or worse-but someone else would leave here.

"I heard you talking in the hallway," said Remo when he finally arrived.

He knew his presence was no secret.

"Of course," said Stern. "Remo Cavarelli, Silvia Hartnell."

Silvia nodded properly to the man who had broken into her house.

"We goin or what.9" asked Remo.

"Stern, are you all right?" asked Silvia. This was not the first fime ,'Quite all right." Stern managed a smile. His voice, sounded peculiar to him, weak. It was as if his spirit had fled his body and was outside, examining him,

"We still takin this thing?" Remo nodded to the safe at his feet. art grimace. She would never see through him, she would never understand him. Only from Stern in the entire world might this be tolerable, but if he insisted, she would find humor in the pain of the past. Older brothers, after all, forever reserved the tight to tease,.

"Oh, Stern," she said to him with a girlish wag, "you knew all along."

EVENTUALLY, Remo descended the staircase. H had brought the safe with him, and he took eac step sideways, in a straddle, lowering one booted foot, then the other. It was slow work and he stopped at one point and rested the safe.

He lit a cigarette and eased down the remaining stairs, with the Marlboro tucked in the comer of his mouth and one eye closed to the smoke. From his seat on a living-more settee, Stern could see Remo coming, but he made no move to assist him, nor did he open his mouth to speak. He was capable of movement, no doubt of that; but he was uninterested. Perhaps he would remain here, with his hands folded, for what was left of his life. He did not feel any emotion with particular strength, except that he was no longer himself. His head was still ringing, and his arms were light; but, predomi-nanfly, he was beset with the sensation of difference, departure. A new man-not better or worse-but someone else would leave here.

"I heard you talking in the hallway," said Remo when he finally arrived.

He knew his presence was no secret.

"Of course," said Stern. "Remo Cavarelli, Silvia Hartnell."

Silvia nodded properly to the man who had broken into her house.

"We goin or what.9" asked Remo.

"Stern, are you all right?" asked Silvia. This was not the first fime ,'Quite all right." Stern managed a smile. His voice, sounded peculiar to him, weak. It was as if his spirit had fled his body and was outside, examining him,

"We still takin this thing?" Remo nodded to the safe at his feet. Stern, after recalling ehat he was speaking aborn, smiled fieetingly again,

"Oh, yes"

Remo departed for the car. Silvia, too, left the room m make a phone call, Thereforas a local fireman who did work around the house and might even be available on Sunday to repair thekitchen.

Stern was left alone with the safe. Remarkable, really, Stern thought, that he had spoken Spanish to Silvia-he would have wagered a Iarge sum that he could not finish a sentence. Occasionally over the years, certain latino gentlemen appeared in Stern's office, Cubans usually, who needed the assistance of bilingual counsel. And of course, during the 1970s there were the pathetic impoverished Mexicans who were arrested here by the gross for distributing browr heroin, sad, unlettered men, spewing their chingas and begging Stern to take their case at any price.

Stern h/td always declined 'such representations. It was not the drags that bothered him; it was the old fear of being recognized for what he feared he was, someone else who did not belong here. But he saw very clearly, as he held off more pressing thoughts, that that period and those attitudes were behind. him. Those clients would henceforth be welcome. The words, he was sure, would come back to him over time.

He reached for his soft drink and tasted it. Silvia had' said he knew all along. She had meant something else, naturally, but alone here he wondered if the unintended meanings were also correct. A part of him remained solidly composed with the truth; his first faith would always be in the facts. But in another region-someplace silent but still known to him-the toll was mounting, the damages were still being assessed. If he had foreseen this, it was only with that inner eye that always envisions the bad dreams-the worst dreams-coming true. It was clear now that it was who much more than what that Clara dared not live to tell.

Her choice of a lover was no accident; he would never be persuaded otherWise- Clara knew her husband too well. AfterWards, even she must have been frightened by the sheer ferocious spite that had moved her. It Was that which she trembled to reveal. Well, at least the evidence of his senses had not failed him. Clara indeed had no use for Dixon after he returned to Silvia. She must have been disgusted with him. And herself. What transpired between them? What conversations? He was back here again, a familiar point of arrival, feeling he would probably rather not know.

Stern hunched forWard on the settee and brought a toe to the door of the safe. It was still open and Stern with the sole of his shoe wedged the little door wider. The lump of papers was in there. Oh, why not? he thought. He could put up with anything.

There were two full sheets from a microfilm printer, heavy with toner, each folded in four. As he removed them from the safe, various items, about which the records were wrapped, fell out: two checks and a number of the.gray celluloid squares which Stern recognized as microfiche cards.

"The phones are not working," said Silvia, coming back to the living room; she was deeply perturbed. "How can I reach him?"

Remo returned at that moment.

"Who's that?" he asked. "Who's comin?" Remo'd had enough time in the closet to noflce the weights and, all things considered, wished to be gone when the man of the house arrived. Silvia explained her difficulty, and they disappeared together so Remo could reconnect the phone lines. In the interval, Stern went through the papers from the safe, studying them for some time. Remo returned first, then Silvia breezed back in.

"He's on his way now," Silvia said. She seemed consoled by the thought that the disorder in her kitchen would be quickly repaired.

"Well, let's get goin," said Remo, a hasty departure still on his mind.

He bent over the safe. "Alley-oop," he said.