Ivan Klíma - Judge On Trial

‘Most of the time, we all act with the best of intentions,’ he said. ‘Which of us has sufficient humility to look upon himself or herself as no more than a sinner among sinners?’

‘Do you think I have enough humility?’ she asked into the handkerchief.

He leaned over and stroked her hair.

No, of course she didn’t have enough humility. But he didn’t condemn her for it; he had understanding. She was aware of the consoling touch of his fingers. At last, after so many days, she felt a sense of relief.

Before we drink from the waters of Lethe

1

The train was late as usual. My parents had evidently been waiting at the station the whole time. I caught sight of them the moment I got off the train. Mother was waving at me and Father was running alongside the train towards me. I was lugging two enormous cases, the language of The Hole still surrounded me in the form of other travellers, although it was being diluted so rapidly as to seem foreign once more. I could see the familiar figures rushing away up the platform, leaving behind them the faint familiar stench of those far-off inns and courthouse corridors: sweat, dirt and alcohol. I realised it was for the last time and felt a blissful sense of relief.

Father would not allow me to call a porter and toiled along with one of my cases. He had not changed, whereas Mother had aged. She scurried along at my side talking away: I would have my bedroom back again, all to myself in fact, as Hanuš was doing his military service. Poor Hanuš was in despair over the time he was wasting on it and was constantly hoping I might be able to do something to get him out. Father broke in to ask whether I knew he had been nominated for a state prize. I told him that he himself had written to me about it. I suddenly realised that it wasn’t the reply he had been hoping for and quickly added that it was a magnificent tribute to his life’s work.

Standing in front of the station was Father’s quarter-century-old Tatra (newly resprayed dark blue, so that I almost failed to recognise it). Father attached the cases to the roof, the engine — which was only slightly younger than me — roared into life and I was on my way home.

My room was tidy, with the books dusted and not a speck of dust on the rug. I could hear my mother in the kitchen clattering the crockery. It was ten in the morning and I was bracing myself for a village loudspeaker to burst into life. Then came the unnerving realisation that I wasn’t in court. What was the matter with me; surely I couldn’t be ill?

And then it sunk in: never again that courthouse, never again that corridor full of people, that square beneath its cloud of hot dust; never again, either, Tibor Hruškovič, Hungarian goulash, my seedy inn room or the sound of horse carts and beery singing as I tried to get to sleep. Everything was drifting away and disappearing, as if I were waking from a dream, and I suddenly realised with dismay that she too was part of that dream. But unlike the others, Magdalena could follow me; at any moment she could be ringing the doorbell, crossing the threshold and entering the room she had never seen. Was it something I wanted — or feared?

Mother called me to the lunch table. She was smiling, happy that I had returned to the family circle.

Potato dumplings, roast pork and stewed kohlrabi. Even before the train arrived I knew what to expect for lunch. And the wine glasses, from which no one in our household drank wine, were filled with an egg-yolk dessert topped with strawberry mousse. What about my young lady, Mother asked, wouldn’t she be following me? I didn’t want to talk about it? That was all right, I was old enough, just so long as I didn’t hurt the girl. Anyway, as my mother, she was sorry I hadn’t once brought my young lady to see her.

And towards evening, the doorbell really did ring. Where would I put her up? What would Mother say to her, what would she say to Mother? Where would we live?

But it was only Uncle Gustav with Aunt Simona. They had come to see me. Aunt Simona had recently undergone an operation and she gazed at me with tears in her eyes and remembered those beautiful post-war days when I was still a little boy. Uncle Karel also arrived — in an official limousine. (He now occupied an important post of some kind and was also a member of the assembly, though I didn’t know for which constituency.) He greeted me and told me he was pleased to see me home again. (It had probably been thanks to him that I was able to return, thanks to him I had successfully applied for the job; it sufficed that he was, that he existed and could be listed in my application forms.)

We drank tea and ate apple strudel. Uncle Karel lit his pipe, the smoke from which irritated me. Father got into an argument with his brother, declaring that nothing in our country was as they claimed it to be, that leading posts had been taken over by incompetent careerists who would soon stifle all technical development, and his brother shouted at him that he was embittered and alienated from the people, and rapidly turning into a reactionary. Uncle Karel would smile indulgently when they addressed him. He said that Father was exaggerating slightly, but one could not deny that there was a lot of truth in what he said. The Party could never again afford to ignore the voices of conscientious specialists.

In spirit I was still back in The Hole beneath the gaze of drunkards and the windows of gypsy dens, hearing the clash of brawlers’ knives and the sound of nocturnal vehicles distributing bags of stolen cement and bricks; all that seemed more real to me than this room and their arguments. I wanted to say that everything looked quite different from what they imagined, but maybe precisely because their argument seemed so remote to me, I said nothing.

I thought about Magdalena. She had stood facing me while my cases lay in the dust at the edge of the footpath. She had not been looking into my eyes but gazing beyond me somewhere. Yes, the bus was there ready to leave. I asked her if she was intending to join me. She answered that we had already discussed it, and anyway it was time I went to load my cases; I didn’t want to miss my bus, did I.

I had repeated my question. She told me in reply that I knew very well she wasn’t. Whatever would she do in Prague?

I said that we would be together.

What would the two of us do together, you loony?

I had wanted to say that I loved her, after all; but the bus driver was already looking in my direction enquiringly and she urged me to go or I’d miss the train. I picked up my cases, and at the last minute she told me that I would forget her, that I would forget everything here. I was someone who quickly forgot, since I was always looking forward and never backwards. And the bus had moved off. I had scrambled through to the back window and could see her standing at the bus stop like a statue or like an abandoned child. I had waved but I was no longer visible as the bus steered out of the square.

Father turned to me, requesting me to corroborate that corruption was rife in the republic and I replied reluctantly.

I suddenly felt at a loss. Why was I sitting here? I was almost thirty and no longer belonged here. But where did I belong? Where was my home?

That night I could not get to sleep, aware all the time of the sound of the astronomical clock in the Old Town Square and the bell rung by Death for us, the living. I was afraid that the moment I fell asleep I would be transported back to my recent existence. And indeed that night I did depart in style from the godforsaken Hole. The band paraded up and down the square and the captain of the guard of honour reported to me. I was seated in a coach with tall gilded wheels, nodding genially to the crowd. At that moment I heard a screech. Magdalena was rushing towards me from the door of some house, shouting for me to stop. I called out to the coachman, but he wasn’t on the box. The horses were galloping and I didn’t have the strength to stop them. When I turned to look I could see my lover running behind us, casting off her clothes to help her run more easily. And then I noticed that her body was covered in fur and there was a long red tongue protruding from her mouth. The horses were galloping at full pelt and I wasn’t braking any more but laying on the whip for them to go faster. But it was useless. I could feel hot breath on the back of my neck and sharp fangs dug into my throat. I could feel the blood running down my neck and realised that I would never reach my destination.