Ivan Klima - No Saints or Angels

'But we have documents to prove it,' Ondřej said, taking an entire folder out of his briefcase. 'We've brought them with us. Would you care to see them?'

Mr Rukavička — Hádek took his glasses case out of his pocket, but then shook his head. Reading tired him and he had no interest in our documents.

'I don't suppose you need me to enlighten you about your rights?'

'I'm always happy to be enlightened,' the old man laughed. 'Especially by such a pleasant pair of young men.'

My superior read out the relevant clauses of the law about witnesses' rights and then asked, 'But you don't deny having been a member of the State Security Corps.'

'I served in it for a while,' he admitted, 'fifty years ago. I trained as a cabinet-maker but they had a recruitment drive when I was in the forces. I thought the work would be more interesting.'

'And so you worked as an interrogator for the State Security under the name of Hádek?'

He explained that he was sometimes required to use a particular name. He really couldn't remember what name it was after fifty years.

'And how about the names of those you interrogated?' Ondřej asked.

'I didn't interrogate anyone.'

'Would you like to see the statements of those you interrogated?'

'People say all sorts of things. I've told you what I think about your papers. They don't interest me.' The old man looked annoyed and reached out for one of his crutches. Maybe he wanted to scare us off, or let us know he could leave at any time he wanted. 'I ought to know best what I did or didn't do.'

'So what did you do?'

'I sat in an office. What else?'

'OK. So what did you do in that office?'

'Lieutenant, do you think you'll remember what you did today fifty years from now? That you came to see an old fellow in an old people's home, for instance, and issued some absurd charges against him?'

'So far we haven't preferred any charges against you. We've simply spoken about your job and the name you used. Do you think that constitutes a charge?'

'You'd never know, these days.'

'I'll read you out a number of names,' my superior said, ignoring his invective, 'and then I'd like you to tell me something about

them.' He started to read the names of the Scout officials who were convicted, among them my fathers.

The old man shook his head in denial. No, he couldn't recall even one of the names. 'Who are they supposed to be?' he enquired.

Ondřej explained that they had all been convicted on trumped-up charges. Alleged evidence of their illegal activities had been supplied by a Captain Hádek.

'I've no idea,' he said. 'Maybe they'd done something if they were convicted, but I had nothing to do with it. None of those names means anything to me.'

'And what does the name Rubáš mean to you,' I intervened.

He looked at me as if to say, You keep out of it — your job is to write down that I don't remember anything. And then to my surprise he suddenly looked as if he'd remembered. 'I think that someone of that name used to be a trainer at Bohemians.'

'It's interesting that you remember a football coach but you can't remember the names of the people you interrogated.'

'I've told you already: I didn't interrogate anyone.' Then he added, 'A pity I won't be around in fifty years' time to ask if you remember my name after all that time.'

'It'll be harder for us,' I said. 'You had quite a number of names for one man, Mr Rubáš.'

He grinned as if my comment had pleased him. Then he said: 'You're still young. You've no idea what fifty years is. Let alone notching up eighty years. So you'll never understand what went on then. What it was really all about. We wanted to build something, not like today, when people are only after money.'

Ondřej tried to put a few more questions to him, but we both realized that nothing would come of it. The old man hid behind his eighty years and the half-century that had elapsed since the period that interested us; he pretended to remember nothing, no event, none of the names of those he interrogated, not a single name of those who collaborated with him. All he could remember was the name of a football coach. The witnesses who could

testify against him were all dead and what we really had against him was long ago covered by the statute of limitations.

There was no point in wasting any more time and giving this man the satisfaction of still managing to win a battle with the class enemy in his eightieth year. The statement I compiled contained not a single fact that might explain anything.

'A nice quiet old man,' I said as we drove back to Prague. 'A pity he didn't show us his parrot.'

'Canary' Ondřej corrected me. 'Maybe he's really fond of it. Under a normal regime he wouldn't have interrogated anyone or tortured them. He'd have spent his life making tables or coffins. The fact he had no conscience wouldn't matter to anyone; no one would even notice. What will we do with him now? Just recently a message came through from the ministry saying we waste money. I'm beginning to think they're right. We squander time and use up petrol. And on the odd occasion that we put a case together, it never comes to anything. The public prosecutor's office cheerfully returns everything to us, saying that it is insufficient for them to initiate proceedings. They imagine that after fifty years it's possible to find the same sort of witnesses and evidence as in a case about something that happened a month ago.'

'They imagine nothing of the sort,' I objected. 'It just suits them to use that pretence.'

Then the two of us fell silent. I was overcome with despondency. I thought about the fact that this very man had once wielded power over my father; he'd actually beaten him and tortured him for weeks, as well as dozens of others that we'd never find out about and never finish counting. We are powerless to do anything with him because, unlike him, we recognize the presumption of innocence. Because unlike him, we are decent people.

Maybe I'm a decent person, but at that moment it was more of a hindrance. I had the feeling I'd failed yet again; this was something else I hadn't managed to bring to a conclusion; in the name

of some higher law I had merely looked on as that beast ridiculed his victims. If only I'd told him what I thought of him!

It looks as if Dad will never receive justice anyway. And what about me?

I felt such a void before me that all of a sudden I didn't even feel like living.

What will I manage to achieve? What am I to set my hopes on?

On the way back I also thought anxiously about Kristýna. I'd lose her too, one day. Love is another area of my life where I'm unable to make the grade.

When I met her the following day I asked her if she knew the precise time of her birth.

'Do you want to make my horoscope?' she said in surprise. 'You'd better not. You might discover something dreadful about me.'

'I just wanted to see what my chances were.'

She told me the hour of her birth, but like most people, she didn't know the precise minute, and yet even a four-minute difference could lead to an error. But I compiled her horoscope as responsibly as I could and investigated the prospects of our relationship. Even though our elements, fire and water, seemed irreconcilable, we'd had hopes of setting up home together. According to ancient astrology we were both subject to Jupiter, who rules the household.

Kristýna is almost certainly highborn. She is like an underground lake. There is hidden within her a passion which, if it erupted, could be life-giving but also destructive. Not for those around her but for herself.

She is kind and caring, and her wish is to ease people's pain, which is why she does what she does, even though life held out many other possibilities to her. She is magnanimous but also anxiety-prone. She longs to marry but fears betrayal. So what hope do I have? I don't know.