Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

‘I had second thoughts after all. Guilt was obvious. There was no point getting involved in a battle with them for the sake of a crook like that!’

‘That wasn’t how I saw it.’

‘We tried to find you, but you’d already left.’

The filthy liar. And there were countless like him. Those who stood up to them got swept away. Those who didn’t were gradually transformed in their image. ‘Did he confess?’

‘Yes and no. But there was no doubt of his guilt. Did you really have your doubts?’

‘I wasn’t given any opportunity to say what I thought. How did he take it?’

‘He put on a calm face, saying he had expected it. In fact he was shitting himself silly. Killers like him always shake when their necks are at stake.’

‘Everyone shakes when his neck’s at stake,’ he said. ‘I’d like to talk to him. Could you try and arrange it?’

‘Hardly.’ The Presiding Judge stared at him in consternation. ‘Whatever next!’

‘I know it’s impossible, but I also know that anything’s possible if they feel inclined.’

‘It’s against all the rules.’

‘The way you took the case off me was also against all the rules.’

The Presiding Judge did not bat an eyelid. ‘Where you’re concerned we acted entirely according to regulations. From the moment you returned it, it was no longer your case. If you think otherwise, you’re welcome to file a complaint.’

‘I don’t want to file a complaint. On the contrary, I wish to inform you that I’m leaving for good. As fast as I possibly can. I would merely like a word with Kozlík.’

‘You know very well I can’t allow you to see him. I can let you send him a letter if there’s something you want to tell him.’

‘I don’t want to tell him anything. I want to speak to him.’

‘If there’s something you want to learn from him, he could write you a letter. That can be arranged too.’

‘This is absurd! Only last week I was supposed to be trying him.’

‘May I ask what is so important that you wanted of him?’

‘I didn’t want anything important of him. I didn’t want anything at all of him!’

‘As for your departure, I’m glad you’ve raised it yourself. After all the scandals that have surrounded you…’

‘I don’t know of any,’ he interrupted.

‘I have in mind your exotic friendships, relations with foreigners and your altercation with State Security,’ he explained. ‘It wouldn’t even be a good idea for you to continue in your current line of activity.’ He paused for a moment, as if giving him a chance to object, but Adam said nothing.

‘I don’t want to finish you in the law, naturally, nor lose you entirely. You are well aware that I valued many aspects of your work. You’d have no problem becoming a notary. It would only mean moving up a floor and it’s not such a bad number. That’s unless you’ve something better.’

‘I’ve not been looking for anything, as you’ll understand.’

‘So think about it. There’s no rush. You’re on holiday. You could even extend it if you liked. Take another month!’

He was actually offering him paid leave. He was generous that way.

‘OK. I’ll think about it.’

Alice was no longer in the office. He was at a loss what to do. Start packing his things? He had nothing to put them in. Anyway he was still on a holiday. He remembered he had an empty case in his car from the things he’d taken to the cottage.

He came back with it shortly afterwards and started to fill it with the contents of his desk drawers. He ought to sort the papers out and throw away the ones that were of no more use — which was most of them. But he was unable to concentrate at that moment. Under his glass desk-top, Manda’s seven horses pranced — he had not had much time to enjoy them.

Go up one floor? How long would he stay there? He would hardly have time to set his bits and pieces out in his new office before he would be moved up yet another floor. The next floor up was the loft, and above that were just the chimneys!

The suitcase was so full he could hardly lift it. There was still his judge’s gown in the locker. He folded it as best he could and stuffed it in with the books and papers. It was unlikely he would ever wear it again. The grace that he had enjoyed conditionally so far had now been taken away. It was not long ago that the very thought of it would have terrified or even crushed him. Now he felt curiosity more than anything else: what was life like when one was bereft of the rulers’ grace?

All those people he had sent to prison during his time as a judge. If only he had had some sort of belief in the regime in whose name he had delivered those verdicts. If only he had had some belief in his own authority. But with the passing years, his self-confidence had dissipated. A judge who lacked self-confidence had to quit sooner or later, and accept with relief the moment when he could hang up his gown. What at first sight looked like defeat could bring liberation. On the other hand, he could be entirely mistaken, regarding as liberation what was actually defeat. The border between the two was imperceptible. It would be up to him how he interpreted what had just happened to him.

He sat down once more at his empty desk and again opened the drawers. In one of them, he found a long-lost photograph. It was of him and his wife. She was holding Martin in her arms and behind them towered some skyscrapers. The buildings were unfamiliar, though it must have been somewhere in America. He slipped the photo into his wallet and closed the drawer again.

All that remained on the desk was the black telephone. He lifted the receiver and dialled: ‘Is that you, bro?’

‘Yep. I thought you were at the cottage. I was just getting ready to come out to you.’

‘That’s good. I see you’re not working yet.’

‘Next week, maybe, all being well.’

‘What would you say to a bike trip?’

‘Now? Isn’t it a bit too cold for that?’

‘It’s quite warm outside. For the time of year.’

‘And where do you fancy going?’

‘To look for work, of course. And you never know, it might even be for real.’

‘Could be. But I don’t think I’ve got a bike any more.’

‘You could borrow one. A friend of mine…’

‘If you get me a bike, you’re on!’

‘OK, I’ll call you back.’ He picked up the case and left the office.

The route to Matěj’s took him past the Bránik brewery. He pulled up in the street called Za pivovarem. It contained just five old single-storey cottages. Several rusting cars were parked by the kerb and a stench of sewage, sauerkraut and brewer’s yeast hung in the air.

He hesitated. He hated gestures, but he had to wind the case up for himself somehow.

When he rang the doorbell he suddenly became aware of his unaccustomed status: he could now talk to anyone he liked, and say what he liked. He was no longer bound by any ties of responsibility or duty.

She came to the door herself. She obviously did not recognise him at first, so he introduced himself.

‘Oh, yeah, I remember now,’ she said with reluctance. ‘What do you want me for?’

Through the open door he could see into the kitchen. Nappies and brightly coloured underwear were drying on a line.

She was not very welcoming, but then he had not been particularly welcoming the only other time they had met.

‘Were you at the trial?’

‘Only for a little while,’ she said. ‘I can’t leave him alone for long.’

‘Is it a little lad?’

‘He’s a boy. What was it you were wanting, comrade?’

‘Did you speak to your fiancé?’

‘He’s not my fiancé.’

‘I’m sorry, I only wanted to know if they had allowed you to visit him.’