Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

I hesitated before replying. I was not sure what might happen, and above all, I could hardly wait for it to happen. This caused him to ask me in dismay whether something of the kind had not perhaps already befallen me, whether I had already done it. I did not understand the meaning of his question. He leaned towards me and asked me in a whisper whether I had already fornicated. Coming from his lips, that word exuded an evil stench which hung in the air long after he left. Then I got up and fetched a pile of illustrated magazines from the kitchen, leafing through them all until I finally discovered a photo of Rita Hayworth. She was lying on a couch with her hair loose about her, wearing only the briefest of swimming costumes and her magnificent breasts really were almost uncovered. I gazed at that piece of printed paper and felt a hot pang of delight rising from my genitals.

Brother Augusta appeared early the following Sunday and asked me if I was able to leave the house. I told him I was only allowed out on short, slow walks. He was overjoyed. In that case, he could invite me to divine services. I hesitated and even tried to find some excuse, but he assured me and my mother that in church I would be sitting down and that there was neither a hill nor a single step for me to negotiate on the way. As we neared the church, he told me that everyone was already looking forward to meeting me. That news was no comfort to me and I felt like turning tail and retreating while I still had the chance.

Even after that first visit, when the minister himself actually shook me by the hand as I was leaving and my patron introduced me to his parents and several other members of the congregation, whose names I was too agitated to register, I could still have said no and admitted that my belief in God and Jesus Christ came second to my belief in science, progress, reason and socialism. But I kept it entirely to myself, out of shame and a reluctance to offend. So the following week there I was attending confirmation classes and mouthing the hymns (I was unable to sing). And because I did not have the patience to sit in silence and had just finished reading the Bible from cover to cover — probably the only one of the assembled youngsters to have done so — I readily demonstrated my newfound knowledge, raising instances of God’s mercy, about which I had my doubts, and mentioning miracles which I myself regarded as fables.

My efforts were soon rewarded. I became the minister’s pride and favourite. Maybe I also attracted him because my background was such an unusual one for the Church — because I had surfaced from the depths of catastrophe. He invited me to his house, so that he could help me prepare a biblical essay, and lent me books which he emphasised he would lend to no one else in my group as the others were not yet capable of understanding their message. That indirect tribute to my maturity and my capacities so gratified my vanity that it reconciled me with the books, even though they dealt with concepts and problems as abstruse as the essence of God, predestination and incarnation. For a long time I felt those books had nothing to say to me, until the day the thought struck me suddenly that even if Jesus were not born of a virgin as the son of God, even if He was only a man, what a man He was! What a personality! He gave the world the idea of a way of life that people have tried to follow for centuries. Single-handed, He had changed and influenced the entire course of history more than any ruler, warrior or philosopher.

And there, in front of me, loomed my own future, my life’s mission: I would be a missionary, preacher, teacher and judge, and guide my neighbours to a better life. I would teach them to live in real love. I would teach them continence, modesty and kindness.

Shortly after my confirmation, I was elected chairman of the youth fellowship and took a seat alongside the minister at the head of the table — a long table made up of several shorter tables pushed together. I felt as if I was at the Last Supper as I knew it from Leonardo reproductions. The minister spoke of my piety, my knowledge of Scripture and my sincerity, which stood as an example to everyone else, and I listened in amazement to this improbable depiction of myself, beneath the stern gaze of John Hus and John Calvin and the rather more charitable eyes of the last bishop of the Unitas Fratrum, the three of whom looked down at me from their portraits on the walls. But they had all believed. I felt a sense of shame and disgust with myself for having let myself be elected. Then it occurred to me that I might well differ little from the rest. None of those around the table could be sure of their faith in God, not even the minister. It was inconceivable that anyone could believe fables about Samson killing hundreds of enemies solo, or believe in a God of universal proportions who created billions of stars and then transformed Himself into a gaunt, bearded Jew solely in order to be nailed to a cross and suffer all the pain, horror and despair of dying. (Though how could He have despaired, seeing that He was omniscient and knew He was God and therefore immortal and inviolable, and in a few hours’ time would once more be flying through the universe or wherever His kingly seat was to be found?) Hence it must just be a game, an unspoken agreement not to think about one’s doubts or talk about them, but to talk instead about faith.

If I were now to voice the things I felt, they would tell me that the Lord was testing my faith. Even the Saviour had been visited by the Devil in order to be tempted, and they would all pray that I stood the test. And they might actually have prayed on my behalf to a God whom they doubted, moving their lips and staring into the void. It was maddening; everything would have gone on undisturbed, everything would have been all right, everything was all right. The election was over. I thanked them for their trust, announced we would be meeting again the following Thursday and asked everyone to be sure to be there.

5

It was mid-spring when Brother Filip Augusta brought his cousin Anna to the youth fellowship. By then I ran the meetings like an experienced chairman: as is the way with those who really preside in order to assert their own importance, I excelled at devising activities that seemed to express my deep commitment but actually screened the shallowness of my intentions. Quite a few youngsters attended. The one I best recall was a corpulent young man who used to wear an ex-US Army uniform, complete with a forage cap with the words US Army sewn on to it. To my annoyance and the others’ satisfaction he would sit down at the harmonium before the meetings started and play the Farewell Waltz, Roll Out the Barrel, Chatanooga Choo Choo and many other hits which I considered out of keeping with the surroundings.

A full hall gave me enormous satisfaction. I tried hard to imitate the sincere interest with which the minister welcomed guests. I was only too pleased to shake people’s hands as every handshake confirmed my pre-eminence. I also welcomed Brother Augusta’s cousin and told her how pleased I was to see her there. She said she had moved to Prague a week earlier and was living at her uncle’s while she attended college, and was glad she could join us. She went over to the clothes hooks and took off her threadbare winter coat to reveal a fiery red sweater underneath. When she returned to the table at which I presided, I was astounded to note that she had lasciviously magnificent breasts that wobbled at every step she took. She sat down at the table and the room went silent. It was the moment for me to start the meeting and say the opening prayer.

I stood up. Ritual prayer remained something foreign to me. I had no humility, and my awareness that the God I addressed was not listening always made me feel I was acting the fool. This time I offered the prayer as never before. My voice became clearer, beseeching God to hear, entreating, repenting and speaking of love.