Marek Hlasko - All Backs Were Turned

“Good, good,” the client said.

“Not as good as you think.”

“Why?’

“If you press charges against him, they’ll lock him up. Then, as soon as he’s released, they’ll have to lock him up again. For assault and battery. You’ll be the victim.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” the client said.

The bird didn’t answer; he was watching a police van that had stopped in front of the courthouse. A young cop got out of the cab and opened the back door. Two men jumped out. They were handcuffed together.

“Take these off,” one of them said to the cop.

“You have to enter the courtroom handcuffed,” the cop said. “Rules are rules.”

“We still have ten minutes,” the man said. “You can handcuff us again later.” Suddenly he turned around and saw the bird and his client; he started walking toward them, pulling the other man with him. The bird remained motionless when they loomed over his table. He watched the bigger man’s bronzed, muscular hand shoot out in his direction and tear the empty sheet of paper out of his typewriter. The big man crumpled the sheet into a ball and tossed it away. Then he and the other prisoner entered the building; the cop followed, fanning his sweaty face with his cap.

“You were right,” the client said to the blackbird. “I won’t press charges. I’ll save myself the trouble. There should be no quarrel between Jews.”

“My feelings exactly,” the bird said.

The client wanted to turn away, but the blackbird grabbed his coattail. “Hey, my money!”

“Money? What for?”

“Legal advice.”

The cop led the two men into the courtroom, almost empty at this time of day. A man sitting by the window was inspecting his dirty fingernails; they seemed to interest him more than the handcuffs he was wearing.

“The judge is a good man,” the cop said to the two men when they sat down. “You don’t have to be afraid of him.” He looked at them; the two men sat motionless, both suntanned, dark-haired, and slender, and when they didn’t answer, he said again, “The judge is a good man. You don’t have to be afraid of him. You’ll know that as soon as you see him.”

“They pay you for talking?” the man said. His face was swarthy, his eyebrows grown together, and he held his heavy head low like a tired railway porter or as if he were about to slug somebody. “Or just for being a pig?”

The man inspecting his nails jerked up his head, but the cop didn’t say anything. A moment later the judge and the bailiff walked in and the man with the grubby nails stood up reluctantly.

“Are you going to testify?” the judge asked the cop.

“Yes.”

“Are you ready to be sworn in?”

“Yes.”

“Then take the Bible,” the bailiff said, “and repeat after me… ”

The cop placed his hand on the Bible. The bailiff stopped.

“What’s this? Don’t you know that you must either wear your cap or cover your head with your hand when you’re taking the oath?”

“I’m sorry,” the cop said, reddening. “I’ve come to Israel very recently.”

After saying the oath he returned the Bible to the bailiff and signaled to the two men that they could sit down again. Then he sat down next to them and unlocked the handcuffs.

“Dov Ben Dov,” the judge said, and the man with the joined eyebrows stood up.

“Date of birth?”

“January fourteenth, nineteen twenty-two.”

“Place of birth?”

“Here,” the man said.

“Marital status?”

The man didn’t answer, only let his head fall even lower.

“I asked for your marital status,” the judge said.

Again the man didn’t answer. It was only when the man he had been handcuffed with — now sitting very straight in his chair like an eager student — touched his arm gently that he said, “Married.”

“Criminal record?”

“You have all the information about me in that file,” Dov Ben Dov said. “If you are to judge this case, you must have read it.”

“Answer the question,” the bailiff said.

“Yes,” Dov said.

“Where is your lawyer?” the judge asked. “Don’t you have a lawyer?”

“I don’t need one,” Dov said. “I have my own conscience; I don’t need to hire anybody else’s.”

“You are charged with disrupting public order in the city of Tel Aviv on June fifth. Do you plead guilty?”

“No,” Dov said. “As far as I remember, there’s never been any order in this city.”

“Defendant Dov Ben Dov will be fined ten pounds for contempt of court,” the judge said, and then added, turning to the bailiff, “Make a note that if he doesn’t have the money, he must spend three days in jail. And if he says something like that again, I’ll have him thrown out of the courtroom.” He turned back to Dov. “You can sit down now.”

The cop nudged the other man forward. He was somewhat thinner than his friend and had a handsome, alert face. His shirt was creased but clean; he must have washed it in jail.

“Israel Berg,” he said, not waiting for the judge’s questions. “Born October seventh, nineteen twenty-five. In Poland. Single.”

“Criminal record?” the judge asked.

“None,” Israel Berg said.

“Do you plead guilty?” the judge asked.

“Yes, Your Honor, it was all my fault,” Israel said. “Dov Ben Dov had no part in it. He was sitting quietly at a table when it happened. Actually, I am not even sure he was there. I was standing by myself at the bar when those men began to insult me.”

“Have the injured parties come to the hearing?” the judge asked the cop.

“That wasn’t possible, Your Honor,” the cop said. “Those men were foreigners. Their sworn statements, however, should be in the case file. If I were you, Your Honor—”

“The court knows where the sworn statements should be, officer,” the judge said. “Even if you find that surprising. Please answer questions and refrain from offering the court your advice. And remember to put your cap back on when you speak. Or, better, don’t take it off at all.” He gazed for a moment at the man standing in front of him. “Do you mean to tell me it was you who beat up those three men, that defendant Dov Ben Dov had nothing to do with it?”

“It all happened like I said, Your Honor,” Israel said. “He’s innocent.”

“He sat at a table, drank beer, and watched you, a man lighter by forty pounds, take on three strong sailors, and he did nothing to help?”

“Everybody who sees us thinks that he is the strong one,” Israel said. “But that’s not true.”

“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth,” the judge said. “You’re covering up for him because you know that defendant Dov Ben Dov has a whole string of such cases behind him. Such and worse. Manslaughter, brawling, and, before that, degradation, and dishonorable discharge from the army. And you know something else, too: defendant Dov Ben Dov is on parole. This means he has been released on condition that he keep his nose clean. This also means that if this court, today, finds him guilty as charged, Dov Ben Dov’s parole will be revoked and he will be sent back to jail.” The judge paused. “Nobody has been able to help him. What makes you think you can do more for this man than the army, his family, the courts?”

“I’ve told you the truth,” Israel said. “I am aware I’m testifying in court.”

“You’re much weaker than he is,” the judge said, “and yet you want to shield him. Even though you know very well that he started this brawl, just like all the brawls in the past.”

“I am not weaker,” the man said, and his face began to twitch nervously. “It just seems that way, Your Honor. I’m the guilty one.”