Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

In a proper battle, one worthy of the name, one in which well-matched forces and determination were pitched against each other, a life-or-death conflict, one could be destroyed, but could also achieve greatness. In the case of a squabble, a dispute devoid of all dignity when it was unclear what the dimensions and significance of the quarrel were and who were the protagonists, the only great thing was the pettiness.

At least there was still his own dispute, his own cause, and hopefully it was free of pettiness, though at this particular moment he was not so sure whether he wasn’t effectively just dragging another suitcase full of musty books and old letters.

He arrived at his office even earlier than he was expected to. He had a wash and then dialled the number of Matěj’s flat. Matěj’s voice took him by surprise.

‘You’re out already?’

‘To hear you, you’d think I’d raped a schoolgirl in the park.’

‘Was it very nasty?’

‘What if you were to drop by instead?’

‘All right, I’ll come this evening.’

‘How about your murderer? When’s the trial?’

It surprised him that Matěj should remember the case at this particular moment. ‘Next week.’

‘A pity. I shall be out at the caravan. Would you believe it, I’m just beginning to see the connection. It came to me when I was in that hole. If they don’t hang murderers, it’s unlikely they’ll hang those who type out poems or even write their own.’

He was sure the connection was not quite so immediate, but he said: ‘Thanks for the encouragement.’ He realised that the files on the case were still in the boss’s office, so he asked for a meeting.

‘I was just about to call you, Adam.’ His face looked even puffier than usual. There were dark shadows under his eyes. ‘Have you notified the witnesses?’

‘I was going to send out the letters today.’

‘Wait a bit. I’ve been thinking about it — I can understand your misgivings. Doesn’t it strike you there are a lot of things that still need clarifying?’

Adam stared at him in amazement. He didn’t know what else he could clarify in this case, and had not even given it any thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a case returned for further investigation.

‘For one thing,’ his boss went on, ‘I’d like to know what he was really doing that night. Or whether he really had any idea about the little girl’s presence.’

Could he really have misjudged him? He would like the fellow to hang, but he’d also like to be sure about his guilt? No, it was wrong to delude himself. Most likely he had just received new instructions. But even that was a good sign. ‘Do you think we ought to return it?’

‘If you provide good grounds.’

‘The prosecutor’s office will file a complaint.’

‘Leave that up to me. You wanted to take some leave: if it’s not too late, take it now.’ There was a note of cunning in the voice. But then it always sounded shifty — to Adam’s ears at least.

‘All right, I’ll put in for it.’

As he walked back through the long corridor he became aware of a painful feeling of strain in his back. As if he were still carrying that suitcase.

5

She asked for permission to finish work at mid-day on Friday.

Her mother promised to pick the children up straight from school. Adam was taking some leave and told her he was going off somewhere. He said he would be going alone; he needed some rest. She needed some rest too, but no one ever asked her what she needed.

She was not sure whether she wanted him to go or not. But she would probably be too afraid to stay alone in the flat. She had heard of women who had bled to death after such an operation.

She felt dizzy from weakness. Even though she already had her coat on she sat down again. It was still possible for her not to go. She feared the pain but most of all it appalled her that she was letting them tear that life out of her, that she was consenting to the murder of a human being which had already been conceived.

When she had first decided to get rid of the child, she had done so mostly on account of Adam. She had still believed in a speedy reconciliation and thought that the fruit of her infidelity would hardly help matters.

Since then, it had become increasingly apparent to her that Adam was going to leave her anyway, that they would separate and she would have destroyed a life for nothing. But she felt so exhausted from everything that had happened to her that she could not find within herself the strength to give life to another child, or to love and rear it.

But wouldn’t her despair become even deeper now? Over the past weeks she had found someone who possibly understood her and he had helped her discover a fellowship which came near to the ideal she had long held of a good human community, all of whose members were close to each other and strove for even closer mutual understanding. Perhaps the fellowship really did enjoy the grace of some higher, celestial power, and she earnestly prayed that they would accept her and help her to share in that grace one day. What if her coming act were to cut her off from them?

The previous Sunday, the minister had preached on the text: Suffer little children to come unto Me, and spoken about the world of children which was pure and how Jesus had been the first to understand this. At that moment she had decided to keep the child, even though the other one was the father, and she had actually felt gratitude for being a woman and having the possibility of becoming a mother. But afterwards, when she had left the chapel, it occurred to her that every child must one day grow up and leave its own world for one in which people deceive, cheat and betray, where they live in bondage and only strive in vain to find at least something, however small, of the world that remained in their memory.

The next week, she had withdrawn all her savings. The money had been put aside for Christmas presents (but what was the point of presents in a home where love and togetherness had been lost?). But she had not had enough and she had been obliged to sell two of her jumpers at work, as well as her prettiest dress, one she still had from America.

She got up again, picked up her bag and left the office. From the window opposite there peered the gaunt, ginger face of her ex-lover: still the father of the child which was not yet born, but which she had also not yet killed. He came out to meet her:

‘Alena!’

‘You know very well I’ve asked you not to wait for me.’

‘But I have to tell you something.’

‘You are always having to tell me something. There’s no point. I explained it to you, after all.’

‘It’s something else this time. Something completely different. Alena!’

‘But I’m in a hurry. You can see for yourself I’m on my way out.’

‘I’ll walk with you then, Alena.’

‘No, there’s no point. I don’t want you to walk with me.’

‘Just to the tram. Alena, the thing is I’ve got a girlfriend!’

‘You’ve found a girlfriend?’

‘Yes, Alena. I was desperate. I didn’t know what to do. Being on my own, I couldn’t help thinking about you all the time.’

‘And then you met her?’

‘It was at a concert, Alena. She’s a music-lover like you. She’s got hair like yours too. Sometimes when I see her from a distance I have the feeling that it’s you. I’ll show you her photo if you like.’

‘You carry it around with you?’

‘I got it today. So what do you think, Alena?’

‘I don’t know, she strikes me… she’s quite young, isn’t she?’

‘It’s an old photo. She’s eighteen already, and she’s so like you, Alena. Just as kind and gentle. She knows how to make other people happy. Would you like to meet her?’