Juli Zeh - The Method

‘DNA tests are popular,’ says Mia in a whisper.

Kramer pretends not to hear. ‘In your case, the chain of evidence is complete. All the same, the Method is keen to elicit a confession. You’re being offered certain privileges.’

‘Privileges?’ Mia lifts her head; she seems confused. She looks Kramer in the eye and a moment later she understands what the substance of the negotiations is to be. A state based on the Method, a state that takes human existence as its highest principle, cannot sentence its citizens to death. Instead, the ultimate penalty is vita minima , virtual death, which comes with the promise of rehabilitation, should the political circumstances change. It’s a sensible solution, though unpleasant for those concerned. If you die, you get away, Moritz used to say. But if you’re frozen, you belong to the system for good. You’re their trophy.

‘So you’re prepared to go all the way,’ says Mia, breaking the silence. ‘I don’t even know what I’m charged with.’

‘Of course you do, Mia. They used to call it high treason.’

‘What do they call it now?’

‘Method Defence has intervened on your behalf. Barker and Hutschneider are willing to commute your sentence in return for a confession. You’ll get a prison sentence instead of freezing. With a bit of luck, they’ll move you to a more comfortable facility once you’ve served a few years. You’re still young.’

‘Do you think I’m going to confess to your ridiculous botulinum plot? I’m not going to stand up in court and say that my brother’s death was the work of some fictional terrorist cell. You’re insane!’

‘If I were you, I’d think about it carefully.’

‘There’s no need. Everything I ever cared about has been taken from me: Moritz, my apartment, my work, my belief in something approximating justice, as far as it went. Do you know what I’m left with?’

‘No — but I’m bracing myself for another of your twentieth-century anachronisms.’

‘I’m left with my soul,’ says Mia. ‘My honour, my dignity … If it amuses you to freeze me, go right ahead.’

‘You can be certain that Moritz wouldn’t have wanted that .’

‘How dare you!’ screams Mia. ‘I hope you choke on his name if you ever mention it again!’

‘Good gracious,’ says Kramer in mock terror, tracing a crucifix in the air. ‘A witch’s curse. Vade retro! I’m sorry, Mia, it isn’t a laughing matter, of course. The whole episode with Moritz was a tremendous setback. For the first time, the Method showed itself to be fallible. You realise we’ve had terrorist threats.’

‘I thought the weekend revolutionaries had gone home.’

‘The PRI has gained momentum. Quite apart from that, compliance with health and hygiene regulations has fallen. Do you understand how serious that is?’ He leans forward as if there were nothing more natural than to reach for her hand. He seems to think they have been wedded by circumstances. ‘If society doesn’t work together to maintain security and hygiene, we’ll be hit by an epidemic in a matter of weeks. These days, we’re immunologically vulnerable.’

‘What has this got to do with me?’

‘From now on your brother’s name will be invoked to justify every subversive act in the country. History teaches us that isolated events can lead to appalling bloodshed — the defenestrations of Prague, the storming of the Bastille, the Archduke’s murder in Sarajevo, the death of Moritz Holl. Be reasonable, Mia! You say you’ve found your true self. Do you think you should burden it with such responsibility?’

‘Burden?’ Mia shrugs her shoulders. ‘It doesn’t feel like a burden to me.’

Kramer takes another step towards her. ‘If you had it in your power to stop the Archduke being murdered, would you?’

‘Maybe,’ says Mia hesitantly.

‘That’s the problem, Mia. Past actions can’t be retracted, but the future can be changed. Millions of people depend on the Method. Are you going to risk their lives for the sake of your dignity? Is it honourable to value your self above all else? What should we value most, Mia? What is humankind compared to your dignity?’

‘How should I know?’ says Mia defiantly.

‘I recommend you think about it. I’m giving you twenty-four hours.’

‘You’re wasting your time. I won’t betray my brother or myself.’

‘That’s your final word?’

‘It’s pretty straightforward. You think you can change my mind because I haven’t argued rationally. You’re wrong. I don’t need rational arguments: the fewer I use, the stronger I become.’

‘Mia …’ Kramer rubs his hands together, slips them into his pockets, takes them out. For a moment he almost resembles Rosentreter. He is obviously wrestling with an uncomfortable piece of news. ‘Mia, the Method is making you an offer. It has other ways of asking, if you know what I mean.’

When Mia says nothing, Kramer resumes pacing up and down the cell. ‘Mia, this conversation isn’t over. I’m sure you’re aware that the Method’s handling of criminal justice is extremely progressive, but progress is never an entirely straight line. In certain situations, in highly sensitive cases, when there is a threat to the greater good, a degree of backsliding has been known to occur. In such situations, the system may revert to somewhat medieval methods …’

For a few seconds, Mia stares at him, appalled. ‘Tell me straight,’ she says when she is finally able to speak. ‘What are they going to do to me?’

‘The basic procedure is nothing new. The same methods were used half a century ago. They’ll stand you on a crate, naked, of course, and place a black hood over your head. Contacts will be attached to your fingers, toes and genitalia — like clothes pegs.’ He presses his thumb against his forefinger as if he were opening and closing a peg. ‘They’ll start with maximum current — no messing about with incremental shocks. Two senior clinicians from the university hospital will be present to make sure you don’t … how should I put it? … pass away.’

Mia shakes her head, hiccups with laughter, turns away and runs to the door. It is locked. She rattles the handle vigorously, then she stops and raises a hand, tracing a finger over the cold metal as if checking the smoothness of the surface.

‘So there we have it: the system may revert to medieval methods.’ She turns round, laughing. ‘But deep down we knew as much, didn’t we, Kramer? You more than anyone. But I knew as well. Nothing has changed. Nothing ever changes. One system is as good as another. The Middle Ages is not a historical period; the Middle Ages is the name of human nature.’

‘Harsh words, but not entirely unjustified. So you’re not going to change your mind?’

‘No. Will you be there to watch?’

‘Not if I can help it.’ Kramer clears his throat. ‘I’m rather squeamish, but if you insist …’

‘IT’S ONLY MY body. A body. Only the body.’

It is clear from Mia’s voice that she has been talking to herself for many hours.

‘My toes belong to my body. My fingers belong to my body. My genitalia belong to my body. My arms and legs belong to my body. My stomach belongs to my body. My heart belongs to my body. My brain …’ She stops for a moment; a spasm takes hold of her shoulders and her head bangs up and down against the floor. ‘My brain belongs to my body. A world of matter staring at itself. They can have it! Moritz would be pleased.’

Another spasm takes hold of her and she tries to slot a hand beneath her right temple to cushion her skull. She is shaking as if she were still attached to the machine. Some time ago, they removed the crate and cables and left Mia on the floor. Curled up like an embryo, she is alone in her cell. She hasn’t moved from the spot, save for the spasms. The floor is tiled, which makes it hard and cold. In a sense, she is lucky to have lost sensation in her body. The bigger problem, from her perspective, is the flickering light. Every 1.5 seconds the light turns off and on. Mia’s body is bathed in blinding light and plunged into darkness again, and again. A constant flickering, off, on. A free man is like a faulty bulb. That’s how Moritz put it.