Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

Then she decided to confide in Anka and tell her everything that had happened. So she called her and they arranged to meet; suddenly the hope grew in her that Anka would be able to advise her and would come up with something; or maybe her husband would. Matěj would then drive off to see Adam and tell him he was behaving neither properly nor sensibly and bring him back.

But when Anka arrived, they first talked about children and acquaintances and Anka started to tell her about a teacher friend of hers who had fallen madly in love with one of her pupils, who was twelve years younger than she was; then, when the lad left school, that reckless woman had left her husband and children.

The thought of Anka relating her troubles in similar vein to a third person killed any desire to confide in her. She only said that she knew of lots of marriages which had ended on the rocks lately and people were beginning to look for some other meaning to existence. Oldřich Ruml, for instance, who had always given her the impression of being a trustworthy sort of person, was said to be carrying on with Adam’s colleague at court.

Anka was curious to know what Oldřich’s wife thought about it, and then recalled that she had recently caught sight of her: she was going into a shop with Adam. Anka had scarcely recognised her as she had dyed her hair black.

When Anka left, Alena realised that in the course of their conversation she had learnt something that perturbed her, although it probably meant nothing. After all, Adam would hardly be carrying on with his friend’s wife. And anyway she was such a reprehensibly empty person! But why had he been going to shops with her? And why hadn’t he even mentioned meeting her? She realised there had been no opportunity to mention anything, as they hadn’t spoken together for weeks.

And if Ruml was carrying on with another woman, she realised with sudden concern, his friendship was not binding on Adam. And what sort of friendship was it? The two of them had hardly been seeing each other lately as far as she knew. Adam tended to associate with those who had been persecuted. He had never spoken about Oldřich. Apart from that one single reference to Oldřich’s infidelity. Why had he drawn her attention to Oldřich’s peccadillo, in fact?

She tried to picture Oldřich’s wife. She had not seen her for several years. All she could remember were rich colours: silver nail varnish and long shiny hair bleached almost white, false black eyelashes and an exotic dress made of a material imitating leopard skin. She could not recall exactly when and where she had seen her. And apparently she’d had her hair dyed black!

She couldn’t abide women who wasted enormous time and money at hairdressers, dressmakers and cosmetics counters.

A thought struck her. For a while, she resisted the temptation, and went and washed up the coffee cups. Then she wiped them and put them away. Only then did she go into the front hall, and with the sort of tense curiosity with which we open letters that are not addressed to us but we suspect contain important information about ourselves, she opened Adam’s wardrobe. He only had two suits: one he had taken with him, the other she had recently brought back from the cleaners. A crumpled sweater still lay where he had left it, and on a hanger there was a pair of trousers that he had bought in America; she could not recall when he had last worn them. With sudden shame she picked up the sweater and brought it out into the light. She really did find several dark hairs on it, but they seemed quite short to her and could easily have been his own.

And even if they were not his hairs, so what? She did not need any proof he had had relations with another woman: he hadn’t denied it.

If it really was Oldřich’s wife, then it was obvious why he had refused so doggedly to reveal the slightest thing about her. It would be just too loathsome and shameful.

She was overcome with excitement; as if she had discovered the mechanism which would open the impregnable gateway at last.

Her first inclination was to rush off to the station that same night and go after him. But what would she say to him? Could she ask him straight out? What if he still didn’t tell her, or didn’t tell her the truth?

When she went to bed, she tried to pray but was unable to concentrate and take her thoughts off her .

Next morning, she started to make a cake, in order to have at least something to take with her for Adam. She put it in the oven and went to wake the children. When they heard about the trip they wanted to go with her and she had to contrive all sorts of reasons why they could not.

To take their minds off it she played at doctors and hairdressers with them, allowing her daughter to invent several different hair-styles for her, and her son to prescribe her some toothache pills. By the time she remembered the cake in the oven, the kitchen was full of thick smoke. She almost burst into tears; it was not a good start to her journey.

She took the children to her mother’s and then went straight to the bus-station.

Dusk was falling when she got off the bus. She still had at least another half-hour’s uphill trek ahead of her.

It had become colder; a cold wind was blowing straight at her. When she finally reached the house, her fingers were so numb with cold she could not even insert the key in the lock. She banged on the door, but no one came to open it. Besides, she had not seen the car. Obviously Adam had not been here at all; he was off gallivanting somewhere with her .

She unlocked the door and went into the kitchen. The stove was cold, the ashes left in the grate; but the washing-up had been done and stood tidily on the draining-board: two cups and two glasses.

She knelt down and lit the stove and then pulled a chair over to it. As the room warmed up she became drowsy.

What if he refused to talk to her yet again? Would he go on repeating that cheap excuse that the two of them were incompatible?

Just tell me one thing: was it her? She made an effort to pronounce the name distinctly: Alexandra?

How did you find out?

I heard about it from someone who saw you together.

He said nothing. He wasn’t brave enough to admit it. He wasn’t afraid to judge other people, but he lacked the courage to own up himself.

How could you have… With someone like her! And what’s more, she’s your friend’s wife. It’s shameful. Can’t you see how shameful it is? We may not count for you any more, but what will your friends think about you!

I needed someone to love me, seeing that you didn’t love me any more.

You’re a coward. Instead of making a play for me, you went crawling after the first slut who crossed your path.

She suddenly heard voices from a long way off; then came the sound of a bell followed by heavy footsteps. She opened her eyes and then recognised Adam’s voice. She stood up quickly.

Three of them rushed in the door at once.

‘You’re here?’ he asked in surprise. ‘You’ve got the stove going. That’s good. We got frozen on the bikes.’

‘You came on bikes?’

‘We’ve been on a trip.’

She had been preparing herself to meet him on his own; what was she to do now? What did these two know? How was she to behave towards them?

Hanuš said: ‘You look fantastic as always, Alena!’ But he grimaced as if he meant she looked even more ghastly than usual.

‘You too, old chum.’

She offered them tea, but they declined. They sat down at the table. Matěj opened his pack and pulled out smoked sausages, a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine. Adam tossed the sausages into a pan of hot water and fetched the glasses. For her too. Then he went out again and she could hear him lighting the stove in the next room. Where and how would they sleep? Where would he sleep, and where would she?