Juli Zeh - The Method

‘Quiet!’ he shouts. ‘Order! Order!’

Two guards are on the scene, seizing the protester by the arms and marching him out of the room. In her mind, Mia marks them on technical merit and execution: ten out of ten.

At the front of the room the next black mannequin is on his feet. Mia recognises her lawyer. In her opinion, Rosentreter is overplaying himself. His movements are tediously slow and clumsy and he pulls on his forelock with unnecessary force, apparently intent on removing his scalp. Less would be more.

‘Your Honour,’ says Rosentreter, ‘bearing in mind the weight of evidence, the private counsel will not be speaking in Frau Holl’s defence.’

The crowd gasps. For once, Rosentreter has come to court without his usual stack of files. He picks up a single sheet of paper, smooths it with his fingers and takes a deep breath. He looks like a schoolboy about to read a poem to the class.

‘No one is obliged to become an enemy of the Method by representing persons identified by the Method as enemy combatants. Such persons are encouraged to represent themselves. Long live the Method. Santé.’

Rosentreter sits back down.

After such a lousy statement, Mia feels obliged to boo. She is joined by someone from the public gallery.

‘It’s a set-up!’ calls a voice from the corner and falls silent. The guards have positioned themselves around the courtroom and are scanning the crowd.

‘The court accepts the private counsel’s right to self-defence,’ says Judge Hutschneider loudly. ‘Now, moving on to the evidence. Heinrich Kramer, please take the witness stand.’

Instead of a black mannequin, the next person to rise is a tall, slim figure with a proud profile and eyes as dark as night; a figure who has played the part of the only real person in Mia’s life for days, or maybe weeks, or maybe all her life. As she follows Kramer’s journey to the front of the courtroom, her eyes begin to water, not because of the atomisers, which are squirting disinfectant at her face. She has missed him.

‘I swear by the Method to speak the truth, the whole truth, and so forth,’ says Kramer as soon as he reaches the stand. ‘After decades of hard work, we have arrived at a Method that guarantees to every citizen a long and happy life. Regrettably, not everyone appreciates our efforts. The enemies of happiness are numerous and deadly, but the Method will fight them! Our values will be protected.’

The spectators clap mechanically. Kramer nods and puts a finger to his lips to quell the noise.

Barker raises his voice to reinsert himself at the heart of the action. ‘Herr Kramer, for the benefit of the court, could you describe your—’

‘No one can claim to know the defendant better than I do,’ Kramer interrupts him.

‘It’s true,’ says Mia fondly.

‘Frau Holl is an enlightened individual — intelligent and self-aware. A strong character.’

‘Thank you, Heinrich,’ says Mia.

‘A former adherent of the Method, now a dangerous fanatic, Frau Holl is a crusader who wants to die for her cause. The maximum penalty is what she desires. The court respects her as a free human being. The punishment honours the criminal!’

Once again the spectators applaud, but no one applauds more vigorously than Mia.

‘Hurrah!’ shouts someone.

‘Quiet, please,’ says Hutschneider.

Mia nods, claps, cries and shakes her head. She claps so vigorously that she can no longer hear what is being said. At last she stops when three figures come into view. They are dressed in white tabards and walk nervously towards the judge, veering to the left and the right, ready to bolt at any moment. A guard leads them to the witness stand.

‘Please raise your hands,’ says Hutschneider. ‘Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?’

‘We do,’ says Lizzie.

‘So help us God,’ says Driss.

‘Don’t mention God,’ hisses Pollie.

‘My good ladies,’ says Hutschneider, ‘I call on you to testify that you were present when the defendant’s apartment was searched.’

‘We were, Your Honour,’ says Lizzie.

‘Mia is a martyr!’ shouts Driss.

‘Are you crazy?’ whispers Pollie.

The spectators whisper and mutter. By now an army of guards has surrounded the public gallery. Several detach themselves and approach the stand.

‘What Driss means,’ says Lizzie quickly, ‘is Frau Holl is a terrorist.’

‘It’s the same thing,’ says Driss. ‘A martyr and a terrorist!’

‘Dirty sympathiser!’ shouts a man from the public gallery, rising to his feet.

‘Gag her!’ shouts another, jumping up.

Hutschneider turns to the guards. ‘Do your damn job!’ he barks. ‘Get the troublemakers out of my courtroom!’

Driss stares at the uniformed men with her vacant gaze.

‘It was in the papers,’ she tells them. ‘But I knew all along: Mia is a good terrorist!’

‘Traitor!’

‘Get her out!’

‘Adjourn the proceedings,’ says one of the associate judges to Hutschneider. ‘Clear the court!’

‘The trial will continue!’ calls Heinrich Kramer from among the reporters. ‘We’re finishing this today!’

‘Quiet!’ shouts Hutschneider.

‘The Method is Murder!’ someone shouts back.

The man who has just spoken is small with a bullet head and thinning hair. Mia thinks he is probably a programmer. The man sitting next to him drives a fist into his jaw. We can infer from the bullet head’s expression that we are witnessing his first encounter with physical pain. Others join in while three guards charge towards them, grab the bullet head by the arms and drag him from the room.

‘You are sacrificing Mia on the altar of your delusions,’ cries someone else as the small man is lifted out.

‘Hear, hear!’ shouts Driss.

Several men are clambering over the railings towards the witness stand. The guards close in around Driss; the first handcuffs her, while his companions swing their batons to beat back the men. Mia watches as Driss is dragged to the door. The time has come for Mia’s moment in the limelight. By rights, the speech should be given by Moritz, but since Moritz is absent, it falls to her. She rattles the bars furiously and the whole cage starts to shake.

‘Quiet! Everyone, quiet! It’s my turn!’ Gradually, the activity in the courtroom dies down; heads turn towards her, and at last it is still.

‘Raze the system to the ground,’ says Mia. ‘Tear down the edifice! Fetch the guillotine from the cellar and kill! Kill hundreds and thousands, plunder, rape, starve and freeze! The rest of you, hold your peace. You can call it what you like: cowardice or good sense. You can think of yourselves as private citizens, collaborators or disciples of the system, as apolitical or individual, as traitors to humanity or champions of humankind. It makes no difference. Kill or be quiet. The rest is theatre.’

‘She’s got some strange ideas for a fanatic,’ says one of the associate judges in the ensuing silence.

‘I thought I’d get more of a reaction,’ says Mia. ‘Aren’t you going to applaud?’

‘That does it,’ says Hutschneider. Exhausted, he dabs his face with a handkerchief and wipes the sweat from his neck. ‘I’ve heard enough. The defendant is making a mockery of this trial. The hearing is over. All that remains is for the defendant to answer a final question. Frau Holl, is there anyone you would like to be present when the sentence is imposed?’

‘Heinrich Kramer,’ says Mia promptly.

‘I accept,’ says Kramer.

‘Splendid,’ says Hutschneider. ‘In that case, the verdict can be read.’

He opens a file to produce a document that we can assume was written before the hearing began.