Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

Alexandra continued to stare out of the window; perhaps she was trying to catch sight of the land she hungered for, where she would know that she was alive, where people would know why they were alive.

And then the light started to resurge from deep in his memory. First of all it was no more than a frosty oscillation, but then it gradually grew into a gyrating disk, the fiery eye which had once gazed at him from the top of that nocturnal linden tree and pervaded him with its inscrutable grace. Why had he not glimpsed it for so long? What darkness was he walking in?

It was she who was freeing him from it, and only now did he realise the hidden meaning of their encounter. How could he have understood it? For so long he had judged everything in his life as he judged the cases brought before him. Anything that could possibly have been hidden and mysterious he had tried to bring into the open and explain. What if the reason for their encounter was to force him to return. But return where?

To himself.

He got up and went over to her in his bare feet. He put his arms round her.

She jumped. ‘You’ve come to see me? Do you want to make love here on this chest?’

5

She sat on a bench on Petřín Hill at the side of the scenic path. When Adam left she had taken the children to her mother’s and called her friend Maruška (whom she had not seen for months) and made arrangements to meet.

The city towered before her in a haze of smoke. It was a clear autumnal day, the path was littered with damply fragrant yellow leaves and on the grass alongside the bench the dew was still lying, but she was unable to concentrate on anything outside herself.

Never before had she been deserted so cold-bloodedly and cruelly by her own husband, the father of her children. And at the very moment that she needed him most. When she expected his understanding and help.

He had gone off to repair a fence that none of them cared about. She knew the fence had only been an excuse. He had not wanted to stay with her. Maybe he hadn’t gone off to mend the fence at all but was somewhere with her .

He would hardly have lied to her at the very moment she was telling him the truth. But he had deceived her even before that. How could he have? It seemed inconceivable to her that he could have deceived her. Maybe he hadn’t done any of the things he had told her at all. He had dreamt up the nameless woman out of spite and now he had gone off to mend the fence so as to punish her by his absence.

But for what reason would he want to punish her? After all, she had not intended to do anything wrong! Although he was a judge (or precisely because he was one) he was not concerned with the motives of human actions, only the actions themselves. Once she had quoted Voltaire in a letter to him: We judge a man more by his questions than his answers. But she didn’t expect he’d given it a second thought. He ignored anything that did not fit his picture of the world. She didn’t fit either, which is why he had been incapable of getting close to her. But who had ever got close to her, who had ever proved capable of understanding her? She knew no one in the world capable of loving her enough to understand her, and at least try to cross the gulf separating one person from another, and give her a feeling of security.

First she caught sight of the repulsive poodle dog and then the tall, slim figure of her friend.

The dog started to assail her and tried to lick her face.

‘Ferdy, leave the lady alone! You do look under the weather, Ali. Been ill?’

‘No, just haven’t been getting enough sleep. I’m not dragging you away from something, am I?’

‘You must be joking! I’d only be ironing, and this way Katy will do it.’

‘Katy must be quite grown up by now. What is she doing?’

‘What do you think? They wouldn’t let her into university. Top marks in everything, but they wouldn’t take her on account of our being expelled from the Party.’

‘That’s awful!’

‘And what about your Mandy?’

‘She’s only just nine.’

‘I know. Lucky thing; you’ve got another four years. God knows what the situation will be like in four years’ time.’

‘And have you appealed?’

‘Yes, but what’s the point? It’s a joke. And then they write in the paper about the poor blacks in America.’

‘I am sorry!’

‘It’s hardly your fault, is it? And how about the two of you? How’s Adam? Still managing to hold on to his job?’

‘So far. But he says it won’t be for long.’

‘Let’s hope he keeps it. At least there’ll be one decent judge. And you’re still in the library?’

‘So far.’

‘There you go! Most of the girls managed to keep their jobs. I was always bloody unlucky, that’s all. Sometimes I think I can’t stand it, that I’ll end up standing in the middle of Wenceslas Square screaming something nonsensical. You know what I’m doing now? Shop assistant in a florist’s. It’s fascinating: I’m learning loads about flowers and artificial fertilisers. And I get practice in Latin: tradescantia viridis or strobilanthes dyerianus maculatus or laurus nobilis . Straight away that reminds me of Virgil:

Ipsa ingens arbos faciemque simillima lauro,

et si non alium late iactaret odorem

laurus erat…

Those were the days. Do you remember? The awful thing is that my legs ache terribly in the evening. And I’m so tired I haven’t the strength to read. When did I last read a decent book? Where’s that dog gone again? Ferdy! Do you want mistress to spank you? And how about you? You’re not going to tell me anything about yourself? Are the children well?’

‘Yes. Martin sings beautifully. Manda is good at drawing.’

‘But you’re a bit under the weather. You haven’t been ill?’

‘No, thanks be!’

‘Thank heavens for that, at least. That’s the worst thing of all, when you start having health problems on top of everything else. My heart plays me up a bit. But I always say it’s nothing but nerves. Sometimes I get the feeling that it’s all insane. And then I say to myself: why, for heaven’s sake, do I still live in this insanity? You know all the work we put in to get our degrees. And what was the point of it? But I got the impression you wanted to tell me something. Over the phone I could tell there was something on yout mind.’

‘No. Not particularly. I just wanted to see you.’

‘That’s sweet of you, Ali. I often remember you too. What great times they used to be. I hardly get to see anyone these days. And whenever I do, everyone’s got a bellyful of their own problems and the last thing they want is to listen to someone else’s bloody misfortunes. But you always managed to be happy. Don’t think I don’t envy you. I’m glad that at least someone can be happy…’

Only four o’clock. She could hardly go home yet. Unless Adam had got back already. Her heart gave a sudden leap. If he was back by now, they would be able to talk it over and sort things out, and peace would be restored between them.

She entered a telephone box and dialled the number of her own flat. She waited for a long time (in case he was sleeping) before hanging up.

There was a patisserie next door to the theatre. She lingered for a moment in front of the window display. She had a taste for cream cakes and sweet things in general, but she had never indulged her appetite. Since her childhood she had always regarded it as debauchery to sit down in a tea shop and eat cakes. But what was wrong with her treating herself to a bit of luxury today?

There were two young men in front of her at the counter. They were not buying anything, just chatting to the assistant. One of them glanced round at her as she entered. He was a broad-shouldered youth with a high pink forehead and a dapper moustache. A black belt with a skull-shaped buckle showed from beneath a short military jacket.