J. Coetzee - The Schooldays of Jesus

Dmitri clears his throat. ‘I spit on lawyers,’ he says, and spits on the floor.

The first assessor intervenes. ‘Our presiding judge has raised the possibility that you may not be yourself, as being oneself is understood by the law. To what he has said let me add that spitting in a court of law is not something one does when one is oneself.’

Dmitri stares at him fixedly, baring his teeth like an animal at bay.

‘The court can appoint a lawyer for you,’ continues the assessor. ‘It is not too late for that. It is within the court’s powers to do so. We can appoint a lawyer and postpone this sitting to give that officer time to acquaint himself fully with the case and decide on your best course of action.’

There is a low murmur of disappointment from the crowd.

‘Judge me now!’ cries Dmitri. ‘If you don’t, I will cut my throat. I will hang myself. I will beat my brains out. You won’t be able to stop me.’

‘Be careful,’ says the assessor. ‘My colleague has already recognized your wish to be seen to behave honourably. But you do not behave honourably when you threaten the court. On the contrary, you behave like a madman.’

Dmitri is about to reply, but the judge-in-chief raises a hand. ‘Be silent, Dmitri. We will all join you in silence. We will be silent together and allow our passions to cool. After which we will deliberate in a calm and reasoned way the question of how to proceed.’

The judge folds his hands and closes his eyes. His colleagues do likewise. People all around begin folding their hands and closing their eyes. Reluctantly he, Simón, follows their example. The seconds tick by. Somewhere behind him a baby whimpers. Allow our passions to cool , he thinks: what passion do I feel except a passion of irritation?

The judge-in-chief opens his eyes. ‘So,’ he says. ‘It is not contested that the deceased Ana Magdalena met her end as a result of the actions of the accused Dmitri. The court now calls upon Dmitri to tell his story, the story of the fourth of March as seen through his eyes; and for the purposes of the record let it be known that Dmitri’s narrative will be designated a plea in exculpation. Speak, Dmitri.’

‘When the fox has the goose by the throat,’ says Dmitri, ‘he does not say, “Dear goose, as a sign of my grace I am going to give you a chance to persuade me you are not a goose after all.” No, he bites off her head and tears open her breast and eats her heart. You have me by the throat. Go on. Bite off my head.’

‘You are not a beast, Dmitri, nor are we beasts. You are a man and we are men, entrusted with the task of achieving justice or at least an approximation to justice. Join us in that task. Put your trust in the law, in the tried and tested protocols of the law. Tell us your story, beginning with the deceased Ana Magdalena. Who was Ana Magdalena to you?’

‘Ana Magdalena was a teacher of dance and the wife of the principal of the Academy of Dance. The Academy of Dance occupied the floor above the museum, where I worked. I saw her every day.’

‘Go on.’

‘I loved Ana Magdalena. I loved her from the very first moment I saw her. I venerated her. I worshipped her. I kissed the ground she trod on. But she would have nothing to do with me. She found me uncouth. She laughed at me. So I killed her. I violated her and then afterwards strangled her. That is all.’

‘That is not all, Dmitri. You venerated Ana Magdalena, you worshipped her, yet you raped her and strangled her. We find that hard to comprehend. Help us. When the woman one loves spurns one, one’s feelings are hurt, but surely one does not react by turning upon her and killing her. There must have been some added cause, something that happened on the day in question that drove you to action. Tell us more fully what happened that day.’

Even from where he stands he, Simón, can see the flush of rage that creeps over Dmitri’s face, the intensity with which he grips the microphone. ‘Sentence me!’ he bellows. ‘Be over with it!’

‘No, Dmitri. We are not here to obey your commands. We are here to render justice.’

‘You cannot render justice! You cannot measure my guilt! It is not measurable!’

‘On the contrary, that is exactly why we are here: to measure your guilt and decide on a sentence that fits it.’

‘Like a hat to fit a head!’

‘Yes, like a hat to fit your head. To render justice not only to you but to your victim.’

‘The woman you call my victim does not care what you do. She is dead. She is gone. No one can bring her back.’

‘On the contrary, Dmitri, Ana Magdalena is not gone. She is with us today, here, in this theatre. She haunts us, you most of all. She will not go away until she is satisfied that justice has been done. Therefore tell us what happened on the fourth of March.’

There is a distinct snap as the casing of the microphone in Dmitri’s hands cracks. Tears well from his clenched eyes like water squeezed from a stone. He shakes his head slowly from side to side. Strangled words emerge: ‘I can’t! I won’t!’

The judge pours a glass of water and motions to the guard to take it to Dmitri. He sips noisily.

‘Can we proceed, Dmitri?’ asks the judge.

‘No,’ says Dmitri, and now the tears flow freely. ‘No.’

‘Then we will take a break to allow you to recover yourself. We will reconvene this afternoon at two p.m.’

There is a growl of dissatisfaction from the spectators. The judge bangs sharply with his gavel. ‘Silence!’ he commands. ‘This is not an entertainment! Bethink yourselves!’ And he stalks offstage, followed first by the two assessors, then by the guard, propelling Dmitri before him.

He, Simón, joins the crowd flowing down the stairs. In the foyer he is astonished to come upon Inés’ brother Diego, and with him Davíd.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demands of the boy, ignoring Diego.

‘I wanted to come,’ says the boy. ‘I wanted to see Dmitri.’

‘I am sure Dmitri finds it humiliating enough without having children from the Academy here to gape at him. Did Inés give you permission to come?’

‘He wants to be humiliated,’ says the boy.

‘No, he doesn’t. This is not something a child can understand. Dmitri doesn’t want to be treated like a lunatic. He wants to be left with his dignity.’

A stranger, a thin, bird-like young man carrying a satchel, has been listening in. Now he intervenes. ‘But surely the man must be sick in the head,’ he says. ‘How could anyone commit such a crime unless his mind is twisted? And he keeps demanding the heaviest sentence. What normal person would do that?’

‘What counts as the heaviest sentence here in Estrella?’ asks Diego.

‘The salt mines. Hard labour in the salt mines for the term of one’s life.’

Diego laughs. ‘So you still have salt mines!’

The young man is puzzled. ‘Yes, we have salt mines. What is so strange about that?’

‘Nothing,’ says Diego. But he continues to smile.

‘What is a salt mine?’ asks the boy.

‘It is where they dig up salt. Like a gold mine where they dig up gold.’

‘Is that where Dmitri is going?’

‘It is where they send the bad apples,’ says Diego.

‘Can we visit him? Can we go to the salt mine?’

‘Let us not get ahead of ourselves,’ says he, Simón. ‘I don’t believe the judge will send Dmitri to the salt mines. That is my sense of the way things are going. I believe he will rule that Dmitri has a sickness of the head and send him to a hospital to be cured. So that in a year or two he can re-emerge a brand-new man with a brand-new head.’

‘You don’t sound as if you think much of psychiatry,’ says the young man with the satchel. ‘I am sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Mario. I am a student at the law school. That is why I am here today. It is an intriguing case. It raises some of the most basic issues. For instance, it is the mission of the court to rehabilitate offenders, but how far should the court exert itself to rehabilitate an offender who does not want to be rehabilitated, like this man Dmitri? Maybe he should be offered a choice: rehabilitation via the salt mines or rehabilitation via the psychiatric hospital. On the other hand, should an offender be allowed any role in his sentencing? In legal circles the resistance to such a course has always been strong, as you can imagine.’