Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

His wife spread a lace cloth on the table and brought the coffee in tiny little cups with gold handles, together with a cake on a glass plate, and asked me whether I was aware that her husband had been an airman. And her husband interrupted her, saying I was sure to know, and in his cage on wheels he rolled back to the desk, opened a drawer and took out an ordinary cardboard box. When he took off the lid, there, on the base of red velvet, lay a round piece of metal with a coloured ribbon, looking much like a coin; he held it up for me to see and told me that that was what they had given him for his legs.

My classmate intervened to say that his father had been shot down over London and blushed once more. Then they invited me to help myself, and in general to make myself at home. And the man in the invalid chair asked his son if he’d shown me the safety-lamp. And when my classmate, still red-faced, shook his head, his father ordered him to fetch it, and he brought over some kind of old, but brightly polished miner’s lamp, and the white-haired lady explained that her husband’s first job was in the pits and he had kept the lamp as a souvenir. He said that it was back in the days of Austrian rule, and offered to show me a photograph. He rolled back to his desk once again and fetched a yellowing photo showing a group of young men in miners’ helmets standing in the yard of the mine, with the winding gear looming in the background. He explained to me that it was taken in Ostrava, where he worked for three years down the pits and spent his evenings studying. In those days he still had the strength, now he had neither strength nor courage, and what use would they be to him anyway? When they had told him that they must amputate his legs, he had thought there was no sense in living any more, but he had wanted to come back here to see his wife and boy. But now he was only a burden on them anyway, and could no longer give them the help they needed. A tearful note came into his voice and my classmate scolded him for talking that way. The coffee on the table was getting cold and the cake smelt inviting, but I didn’t dare help myself with the others taking nothing. The man in the invalid chair declared once more that he had nothing left to live for, adding that he had hoped, at least, to see his son become a doctor, and asking whether he had shown me his books.

My classmate blushed yet again and without looking at me muttered yes, he had. Now at last his mother noticed I wasn’t eating and told me to be sure and help myself. And she addressed me as Comrade Adam. I got up from the table and announced that I really had to leave and ran out of that flat without having said a single word: either of explanation, apology or justification of what I had done.

The following week — as if as a reward for my services (though in fact the timing was a coincidence as they had offered me membership several weeks earlier) — they admitted me into the Party. The meeting took place in the art room, which still reminded me of the gaunt, once beloved Ivandolič, and put me in mind of a vault in which still lifes by Cézanne had been forgotten on the walls. Apart from Švehla, all the other members were teachers. I was not accustomed to moving in such circles on an equal footing. I sat there at a paint-stained desk, scarcely able to take in what was happening around me. They read out my application and the recommendations of my guarantors. Then the history teacher, a small woman with a hunch back, spoke about my class-consciousness, devotion and selflessness. She said — and I remember her words — that I could serve as an example to many Party members too. Then they approved my application unanimously and they all clapped. I stood up and stuttered my thanks to them for their trust, with the worrying feeling that I had been through it all before.

I tried to feel as if there was something to celebrate but instead all I felt was the depressing realisation that my future was now irreversibly restricted. I had become a foot-soldier, and though I had chosen my destiny freely and even enthusiastically, now that my uniform was being brought to me, I was overcome with anxiety.

It was about that time that the telephone once rang unexpectedly in the middle of the night. I picked up the receiver and heard someone in the distance whispering to someone else that it was me. And out of that dry, quiet crackle, an unfamiliar, strident female voice started to hurl abuse at me, calling me a stinking, communist pig of a Jew.

I stuttered something into the mouthpiece, but that voice went on hurling insults without pause, threatening to string me up, cut off my genitals, hang me by my legs from a strong wire, until at last I realised that while I might not be able to silence it, at least I didn’t have to listen to it.

As I remember, scarcely had I hung up than the phone rang again, but I no longer had the courage to pick up the receiver, and for fear of waking my mother I covered the telephone with a cushion and placed it on the carpet, kneeling beside it until the phone bell’s muffled rattle finally stopped.

1

Dear Karel,

BEFORE YOU TAKE a look at my letter, I want to thank you for yours which came as a real surprise. I didn’t realise that you were in trouble again, and it’s a pity you didn’t tell me exactly what you’re charged with. I want you to know that I enjoyed your letter very much too, because after such a long time, I didn’t expect to hear from you again. I don’t want to accuse you of not showing enough interest in me, after all it’s not me that counts but little Katka. Even that little child can tell someone is missing who should be number one in the family. Adults can control their wishes and their wants, and control their feelings too, but it is very hard to explain such complicated things to a child. Karel, it would be lovely to have you with us. Little Katka is sweet and lovable. You’re wrong to think she has my eyes; the expression in them and their shape are yours. Karel, I showed her your letter and said it was from Daddy. She held out her hand and looked at me with eyes so like yours and called out Daddy, Daddy. And she kept looking towards the door, as if you might come through it, I was ready to cry I felt so sorry for her and I would have been happy myself if it had happened. I think that children have a way of learning to bear the most unbearable things and with their help it’s possible to swallow much of the suffering thai: life has brought us or that we brought on ourselves. I expect you won’t recognise her, after all I expect you’ve even forgotten what I look like myself. Karel, if you send us a visitor’s permit then if not me at least you’ll see your daughter. I can’t believe you don’t care about her. It must matter to you the life of your child who has your blood in her veins. Now that you’re so completely cut off from what is happening in human society!

Cut off from your parents, your job, your friends and the two of us, you must have plenty of time to think about what went on in the past and especially about what will happen in the future. Have you any ideas? Have you got any goal or plan to follow? Do you think about your child too? Karel, life goes on and there’s no stopping the clock. The minutes and the hours keep on passing and one day you’ll find yourself an old man, and maybe not such a strong one, your lovely hair will turn grey and you’ll wish you weren’t alone and I’d be happy to have you with me, Karel mine. Write again when you feel like it. I’ll sign off here.

Jarmila and Katka

The letter was harmless, harmless from the judicial point of view at any rate and he therefore initialled the envelope. There was still half an hour of the working day left, he ought to take a look at another of the files but he didn’t fancy starting anything new. And he needed to write to his brother; he had given him rather short shrift on the phone the last time. He had only been half awake and unprepared for a conversation of that sort. Besides being not at all sure if it was prudent to chat with someone who was hesitating over whether to return to the homeland. The fact they were related would likely make matters worse.