Richard Weiner - The Game for Real

“We’ll see as soon as he arrives.”

“You know that Mr. Steel once wrongfully accused me of stealing.”

The commissioner turned around sharply.

“What are you up to?. . Appealing to someone who’s accused you of stealing!”

“And who didn’t ask my forgiveness; and who furthermore almost struck me for it.”

“Almost?”

“I don’t remember. — Perhaps you know better?”

The commissioner was drumming on the desk; you could see that this was his last weapon against the temptation to stand up.

“And what if he denies you? He wears a fur coat — so it’d be easy for him to deny any wrongdoing.”

“Mr. Steel committed no wrongdoing. He suspected me because he had reason to.”

“And he struck you. . Did he have reason for that as well?”

The suspect was sitting up straight. His hands were pressed against the plank bed. He shrugged his shoulders.

“Aren’t you a queer bird,” the commissioner said, and he no longer resisted: he stood up and came closer. With short, intermittent steps, because, hovering, he couldn’t do otherwise. But this time he no longer had second thoughts about his peculiar walk. His ruddy-blond mop of hair took heart as well: it stood up in impudent, sparkling spindles, and his youthful smile was confessing as well as commanding: it was commanding that this miracle must not be named.

Nonetheless, in that smile there was as though a residue of consent, of consent allowing the suspect to say “you’re not so much a commissioner like other commissioners” (and that fellow used this consent right away, too); one would say that the commissioner understood how greatly the delinquent needed to utter these words if he was to remain among the living.

They were now close, one in front of the other, and even the commissioner might have had the impression that their gazes were locked so firmly it was as if the two of them were faithfully holding hands. It was, however, but a brief moment before the fast and unspoken agreement by which the commissioner’s look came loose again, floating along a graceful arc to the empty space on the plank bed, marking it meaningfully. The commissioner sat down there.

“And you were innocent?”

“Innocent insofar as I hadn’t stolen from Mr. Steel.”

“And insofar as something else?”

“I have never pilfered anything.”

“So? — Then why say you’re innocent insofar as that’s concerned? It’s a mental restraint. You know what a mental restraint is?”

“I know what it is. Quite. Restraint. — It’s like tonight. I’m talking about Zinaida. . how she fell into the water. All I know is her Christian name — Zinaida — nothing more. She chanced to run into me — why me exactly?. . Why exactly was I the ‘I’ who had to perform this gesture?. . Just as I was the ‘I’ who. .”

“Who what?”

“Who was suspected of that robbery.”

“Strange notions.”

“But I pleaded my case so poorly, Commissioner, sir,” he started mumbling, speaking very slowly, “I was afraid, I shuddered, to all of them I was a laughing stock. Can someone be a laughing stock if he’s innocent down to the marrow?”

“Strange notions. And what does it mean to be innocent down to the marrow?”

But the commissioner had shifted away so as to be able to see better. He leaned slightly away.

“What does it mean to be innocent down to the marrow?” he repeated. “I, who should know. .”

“I don’t know, Commissioner, sir. You said yourself a moment ago that an innocent accusation is already a misdeed as well. But then perhaps when we like ourselves. .”

“What are you saying?”

“You mustn’t take this the wrong way, I don’t mean conceit or pride. . But the living can’t not plead their case, can’t not apologize. Only the dead endure a wrong, only the dead revel in it. They have a right to. . The dead are blameworthy.”

“But you’re here, you’re speaking, you’re answering. .”

The commissioner’s voice was more or less like a searcher who, for some unknown reason, obscures the fact that he’s already hot on the trail of the one he’s searching for.

“And yet, and yet the living are like that anyway, and are incapable of either detesting what’s forbidden, or else of liking it — so how is that living?”

This is where an odd thing occurred: the commissioner placed his right hand atop the man’s head, while with his left arm he gave him a brief hug, as though he’d wanted to really convince him of something.

“And now don’t take your eyes off me,” he said with curt speed, having quickly let him go, for they had both guessed that someone or something was approaching, before whom this harmony of law and conscience would come crashing down, in defiance of him who wanted it.

Mr. Steel entered, and it was as though they’d brought in a bundle of self-evident and inalienable civil rights and responsibilities, which then lost a little heart once they’d seen our fellow sitting over there. But Mr. Steel’s dignity, as ready-at-hand as reserves on alert, formed a defensive ring around him. His unbuttoned raglan coat wouldn’t hear a word against it.

The commissioner offered him a seat, whereupon he sat willy-nilly with his back to the suspect.

“Naturally,” Mr. Steel opened his raglan still more decoratively, and that “naturally” itself now testified that he was responding to the imploring inquiry of the commissioner’s eyes, selflessly overcoming his outrage, “naturally, if I had only suspected. . Of course: this man’s face is familiar; or, rather, I do remember it.”

“The suspect,” the commissioner tactfully explained, “who doesn’t look good in light of certain circumstances, but who it seems is innocent, albeit without identification, has indicated that you will vouch for him, you and nobody else. Thus it was our responsibility. .”

“ Pardon ,” Mr. Steel said, having made a curt turn toward the plank bed and just as curt a turn back again, “the matter is simple: this man came under suspicion for having pilfered my wife’s bracelet, but there was no direct proof.”

“For that I’m sorry,” was heard from behind.

“Commissioner, sir, we’ll have none of that. .”

“For that I am truly sorry” (and upon turning around, Mr. Steel, not believing his eyes, noticed that the two of them, without having arranged it somehow, were looking into each other’s eyes), “most truly,” our fellow assured him mildly.

Mr. Steel’s smile started trying to sever that offensive rapport, of which he was somehow doubly ashamed, for both the impersonal authority and its personal representative, in whom it had been forgotten. And because this wasn’t helping, he felt meaningfully for his brow.

“Back then it already seemed to us. . To all of us, Commissioner, all of us. . Why in fact is this person here?”

“Because of a woman who jumped into the water.”

“I’m here because of Zinaida, Mr. Steel. I apologize to you for Zinaida as well.”

Mr. Steel buttoned himself up, and Mr. Steel, having stood up, unbuttoned himself again. And that fellow had stood as well. They were facing one another. The suspect was holding his cap under his arm, which was swinging unnaturally.

“I called for you because I wanted to ask your forgiveness. I know that you won’t understand, but it’s not really for you that I’m asking your forgiveness, it’s for me. So then, Commissioner, sir. .”

“But what is it you’re asking my forgiveness for? Did you steal it?”

“I’m asking your forgiveness for the iniquity of my not managing to give you a slap. It’s a wonder that Zinaida didn’t pay for this iniquity tonight — yes — wonder at it — but that’s how it is.”