Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

It was odd how many people had talked to him about freedom — Alexandra had even sensed in him a free creature.

He had indeed been fixated with freedom since his childhood, but had never proved capable of entering it. The war had shown it to him as a gate one might pass through to reach a world which had everything that people longed for and which he was denied: forests and home, bread and butter and warmth and a train you could get off anywhere. It was a gate that could not be opened from the inside — inside all one could do was watch and wait until some more powerful force broke it down from the outside. And so he had pondered less on the gate than on the force that would demolish it. He had never pondered on his own role; all he had to do was to enter the world which that benevolent force had opened up to him.

The benevolent force had appeared and for years afterwards he would still hear that cry of elation and relief: The Russians are here. And again and again he would be standing by that half-demolished fence: blissful, saved, alive — watching his liberators, his rescuers, his dusty angels, pass by.

He had seen freedom as something outside himself and separate from him — he had never learnt to make demands on himself, to require of himself what he required of the world around him. He had made no effort to heed himself in the way he heeded words from outside. He had tried to satisfy others rather than himself.

Had he really wanted to don judge’s attire? To believe in violence? Enforce the law? Bow the knee to the clowns dressed up as rulers, rather than donning a bright-coloured costume himself and laughing at them.

Had he not yearned far more to find a land where he would know he was alive — though it was possible no such land existed; or to wander the woods with a pack to hold his two blankets, his loaf of bread and piece of salami, and then to make love with a wandering female stranger on a crumpled red and yellow costume?

Alexandra had realised it. She had managed to anticipate what was hidden within him and rouse him from his apathy. That was something he should be grateful to her for.

He suddenly heard footsteps. From the sound of them he guessed it was a woman. Someone stopped in front of the cottage and knocked on the door.

He went weak all over and was overcome with such agitation that he needed every ounce of strength to get up and open the door.

It was Magdalena in a black coat and a fur hat, looking to him like a Russian princess who had stepped out of an old painting. He felt a sense of disappointment mingled with relief. ‘It’s you. Where have you come from?’

‘I have to talk to you, Adam. Something dreadful has happened, so I took the liberty of looking for you at home. Your wife advised me to come here.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘Adam, they know everything. About that business — what we did on account of Jaroslav.’

‘Who could they know it from?’

She was aghast at the question. ‘How can I possibly tell?’

He helped her out of her coat.

‘I thought I just had to tell you about it… before it’s too late.’

‘I’m glad you came. Shall I put the kettle on for tea or — as you see, I’m hitting the bottle.’

‘I’ll have a drink with you.’

She sat by the stove. ‘You’ve got a nice place here, and it’s nice and warm.’

‘How did you find out they knew everything?’

‘He came to see me at school and showed me his pass. He said they needed to talk to me about Jaroslav. He sat me in a car and drove me all the way to Jihlava. Then we sat in his office. He behaved courteously and even spoke quite sensibly. He admitted that people sometimes got treated with excessive severity these days and sometimes the innocent caught it as well.’

‘He didn’t tell you whose fault it might be, did he?’ It had been his mistake that time when she came to ask for his help. He had meant well, or rather he had felt guilty about her for a long time. But two wrongs didn’t make a right.

‘But he’s small fry. He might not even agree with what’s going on.’

Her gaze was even more evasive than the time when she came to ask for his help. How long ago was it? Only five months. It seemed like five years to him. And it was as if all the things that had happened had started with her arrival. Had she turned up in his life in order to transform it, or had it been just a coincidence? ‘So what was he after?’

‘He said he could understand people trying to avoid reprisals, but I, for my part, had to understand that they had the job of seeing that people didn’t try to do it by illegal means. I was suddenly terrified that he knew something about our deal, but I said that I understood him perfectly. Then he asked me a few questions about how things were at our school as well as about Jaroslav. He asked whether it was true that they had wanted to dismiss him. Then I did something which I suppose was silly. I told him that threat had existed.’

‘It was stupid of you to talk to him at all.’

‘He could have sent me a summons, anyway.’

‘You are not obliged to answer questions about your husband. Not even at an interrogation.’

‘I wouldn’t have answered the question if it was anything important. But after all, everyone knew they wanted to throw him out.’

‘They always start by asking things that are common knowledge.’

‘But I’m not versed in things like that. You never talked to me about it. Then he asked why there was no longer a threat any more. I said I didn’t know. Perhaps they realised that Jaroslav hadn’t done anything wrong. But I had a feeling that he probably knew about the books. He asked me if I didn’t think there might be a connection between the fact he had kept his job at the school and my trip to Prague. And he cited the exact date I came to see you.’

‘It wasn’t difficult for him to find out about the trip. After all, you must have applied to the school for leave.’

‘No I hadn’t. It was during the holidays, remember.’

‘So you mentioned it to someone. Or your husband.’

‘He even knew you brought me back at night that time.’

‘He knew it was me?’

‘He knew that someone had brought me back by car. He wanted me to tell him what I was doing in Prague. And who I’d been visiting.’

‘You didn’t tell him, surely?’

‘What was I supposed to say? I couldn’t say I hadn’t spoken to anyone in Prague, could I? Or mention people I hadn’t met at all. Are you cross with me?’

‘What right have I to be cross with you? I got you into the situation. What else did he ask about?’

‘He wanted to know whom I’d met in Prague. I told him old friends. And I mentioned you too. Surely there was nothing wrong with saying you were an old friend of mine. But he knew about you anyway.’

‘How could you tell?’

‘He said: “And he was the one who drove you all the way home that night?” And again he cited the exact date. And the time. And he knew that we left again the same night.’

‘You’ve got observant neighbours.’

‘No, he knew about you. He asked why I had only invited you for such a short visit. I said that my husband and I wanted to consult you about something. He asked what we wanted to consult you about. I said we wanted your advice about what to do if Jaroslav lost his job at the school, of course. That you were the only lawyer I knew. He asked me what you had advised, saying it must have been something very effective, seeing that they subsequently kept Jaroslav on. Then he suddenly asked whether we hadn’t perhaps come for some money.’

‘And what did you reply?’

‘I said that we hadn’t. After all, we hadn’t come for money, had we?’

‘You don’t have to make excuses to me. I won’t convict you of perjury.’