Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

He stopped in front of the house in Vyšehrad. The door of the small shop next door was barred and most of the windows were shining in the darkness.

He tried the handle of the front door and found it unlocked. He hesitated a moment, but there was no reason why he should not enter, now he had come this far. He went down the few steps into the backyard. The small area was bare apart from four dustbins just behind the door; one of the bins lay on its side giving off a reek of decaying refuse. He skirted it and walked to the wall opposite where he turned and looked upwards, to the two — very familiar — small windows right in the roof. The first was in darkness, the second emitted a faint purple glow.

He left the yard again, closing the door quietly behind him. A drunk was staggering along the opposite pavement while from the neighbouring park came the scent of rotting leaves. Come to think of it, what is a to the power of zero? What sort of silly idea was it anyway? One — that’s one I still do remember. What’s a to the power of one? A , Dad. So what are you making such a fuss over then, Adam? What do you get if you raise a to the power of infinity, when a is greater than one?

Infinity, Dad.

Good. So what will a to minus infinity be, then? You don’t know? I’ll help you then. How much is a raised to infinity if a is less than one? You don’t know that? You mean you don’t know something as simple as that? Hanuš, come here. This little child will know! Hanuš, pay attention! If you raise some number less than one to infinity — a half, for instance — what do you get?

You can’t get anything, Daddy.

Did you hear that, Adam? Zero! The same goes for all numbers less than one. And stop crying; that won’t help you!

He had a feeling that something hopeful had happened today, though, after all. Yes, of course: he might be be seeing his brother soon.

3

He arrived home; the children were still awake. Martin was in bed already, his daughter was finishing her homework, Alena was darning stockings. He had found his family in its proper place and for a moment could enjoy the illusion that things were going on just as they should.

His wife looked at him expectantly. Whenever he had returned in recent days she had given him the same expectant look. Where had he been? Who had he been with? With that other woman. When would he finally begin to talk it all over with her?

But he always eluded her gaze, and acted as if he didn’t even notice it. And when he did speak, it was only to say something unimportant. ‘I was with my father,’ he said, opening the refrigerator and taking out butter and cheese. ‘Hanuš wants to come home and Dad’s annoyed.’

‘It’s good news he wants to come back, isn’t it?’ she asked.

He shrugged. Throughout this period he had felt intense pity in her presence, though he could not explain it. He pitied her for not being equal to her own notions about life. He pitied her incompetence in getting embroiled with some immature, hysterical youngster. He regretted he was unable to love her as he had done before, partly because she had lost her ingenuous innocence, or rather he felt sorry for himself for having lost his image of her as an ingenuous innocent. ‘Good for whom, do you think?’

‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

‘My feelings are neither here nor there.’ He chewed his bread slowly. Pity and love had a lot in common. He would have gladly got up and stroked his wife’s hair and said something nice to her. Nothing, however, could be more humiliating than to receive expressions of pity in place of expressions of affection. If someone were to treat him that way he would be horrified and covered in shame.

He glanced through Manda’s Czech homework and then yielded to her plea for him to play a game of draughts with her. Amazingly, he actually concentrated on the game and this time did not surprise his daughter by losing.

Oddly enough, he felt a soothing sense of peace beginning to pervade him. It might be the first presage of death — but he had received that long ago. Maybe familiar home surroundings were soothing him. But he did not have a genuine sense that he had returned here. Rather he felt estranged from everyone and everything; it merely remained for him to take a final bow on all sides: live your lives in peace and wish me peace also: and to jingle his bells in farewell.

‘Where are you off to, Daddy? Are you going out somewhere?’

‘Just to my room.’

He had only just got to sleep when he was awakened by an insistent ringing.

‘Adam, Adam. Are you asleep already?’

‘What’s up?’

‘There’s someone at the door!’ Alena was standing in the doorway.

‘All right, I’m going.’

‘I’ll go if you like. What if it’s the… I could say you weren’t home.’

He quickly pulled on his shirt and trousers. They’d only come at this time of night if he had really committed some heinous crime. And they’d make a lot more noise about it. It suddenly crossed his mind that it might be her: ‘the other one’, Alexandra. Something had happened to her. It had all got to Oldřich’s ears and he had kicked her out. Or she had caught sight of him in the yard when he was looking up at the window, and had now rushed over here to explain everything.

But it was only his friend Petr with a large leather case.

He showed him into his room. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Do you think it’s safe to talk here?’

‘It makes no odds. Go ahead.’

‘There’s no need to worry; I wasn’t followed.’

‘I’m not worried. And I don’t even see why anyone should be following you.’

‘They’ve arrested Matěj. Haven’t you heard?’

He hadn’t. Yesterday he had gone to the cinema with his children, this afternoon he had been discussing his brother’s situation with his father and this evening he had wandered through the Old Town lanes and been to check on his mistress’s fidelity.

They had confiscated some books, letters and documents from Matěj’s flat. So far no indictment had been issued, which might be regarded as a good sign, but Petr was anticipating further searches. ‘Adam, I know it won’t be nice having the case around, but at least they won’t be coming to your place.’

‘So long as no one saw you coming here with it.’

‘No one did, Adam. I’ve been racking my brains for half the day trying to think where to take it. There’s my mother-in-law, but she’d go out of her mind with worry, besides which she’d blow the gaff somewhere. Apart from her, everyone I know is in the same boat as me.’

‘Except me.’

‘It’s awkward for someone in your position, I realise.’

‘My position has got nothing to do with it.’

‘It’s so bloody ludicrous. The day they finally come to write about it, it’ll seem so funny.’

‘No one will ever write about it, that’s for sure. People will have other things on their minds. Give me a rough idea of what’s in the case, anyhow.’

‘That’s what’s so damned silly about it, Adam. Nothing at all. Just old papers. Articles of mine that were published in magazines, a couple of books, and a few letters. Strictly personal. The case is unlocked and you can have a look through it if you agree to take it.’

‘I’m hardly going to look in your case.’

‘There’s nothing in there, Adam, I swear to you. It would just be a shame to lose them, that’s all. But see for yourself.’ He knelt down and opened the catches.

‘There’s no need! What about Matěj if they don’t release him?’

‘Surely they won’t be able to hold him. He hasn’t done anything. Apart from typing out a few of his own articles or a couple of poems by other people. It would be a disgrace — for them, Adam!’