Speak, Silence

by Kim Echlin

  What could I do? Listen to her. Play chess. I had foreign money. I was sleeping in her apartment. I put enough money on the table for her to travel to Vienna.

  She looked at me and I said, Just in case you want to go.

  She played her opening move, e4, and I played e5.

  We continued to play quickly until I got into trouble: Nf3 f6; Nxe5 fxe5; Qh5+ Ke7; Qxe5 Kf7; Bc4+ d5; Bxd5+ Kg6; h4 h5; Bxb7 Bxb7; Qf5+ Kh6; d4+.

  She looked at the board and looked at me to see if I had seen the check from the bishop. I had. I resigned.

  I have replayed that game in my mind. The ways it could have gone. I have often thought of the thousand moves we can make and how easy it is to make the wrong one.

  We put the pieces away and I said, Sometimes at home I go to get my fortune read.

  Why?

  I don’t know. To change how I feel. To hope.

  She considered this and said, I don’t hope.

  I know.

  She reached across the table, took my coffee cup, turned it over, then righted it to examine the patterns of the grounds on the white porcelain.

  She tipped the cup so I could see the streaks and she said, Tears.

  She tamped her thumb on the bottom of the cup. She showed me an imprint like a mandala. She licked her thumb and said, An evil eye.

  I said, You don’t know how to read coffee grounds.

  She set down the cup and laughed a true and open-throated laugh. She said, You’re drska.

  What does that mean?

  Like, bold.

  She had left a burning cigarette on the ashtray while she pretended to read my cup and forgotten it, and now she took another from the package and lit it.

  I said, So you smoke two cigarettes at a time now.

  She shrugged.

  * * *

  —

  Mr. Mochan Mataruga was Dragić’s new tribunal-assigned attorney. Those who could not afford counsel in these international trials were provided with lawyers who, like anywhere, ranged in integrity and ability. Mataruga wore an expensive suit, had practised in Germany, stood legs apart like a boxer. I saw a man who loved his own authority. He had no fear of controlling his client. This time when Dragić rose he pled not guilty.

  Denied the rapes. Denied everything.

  Now the trial was under way.

  * * *

  —

  Day after day behind the glass, the personalities of the people in the courtroom revealed themselves. Joop kept lozenges and tissues and some extra pens and a photograph of his girlfriend in a little wooden cigar box. Karla habitually looked up at the interpreters as if urging them to do better. Mataruga was a pen tapper.

  It takes hours to establish fact and detail and context in a trial. The interpretation was simultaneous but there were pauses as people worked between English and Bosnian, Croatian and Serbian, which the court referred to as BCS. Witnesses could be unsettled by accents. All through the region people judged others by how they spoke and their names. I gave nicknames to the judges. Judge Banda was Demeter because her neutral eyes were peering into hell. Judge Smith was Starman because the Elmo projector annoyed him and one day he said with impatience that light from distant Sirius A would illuminate the images better. Silent, precise Judge Romano was Federico, for the famous Italian director who said that the barrier between the conscious and unconscious is not very great. To pass the time, I taught myself to sketch from a little book called How to Draw Faces that I’d found in the antiques market.

  Judges train their bodies toward stillness under heavy black robes but the eyes continue to communicate intention, concern, confusion, determination. I watched the judges’ impassive faces for any movement at all. Only Smith, the least patient of the three, did not seem aware of a slight deepening in a light frown line between his eyebrows.

  My brother called to ask, How is the trial?

  Like watching paint dry, I said.

  Trials are slow, he said. I’d like to see an international court someday. Write down some good quotes for me. Is your guy there?

  Who?

  Biddy’s dad.

  No, I said. Listen, go see her for me.

  I do, said my brother. Every Sunday.

  * * *

  —

  Karla called the first witness, Esma, PW-70. The blind was down in the gallery. I imagined Edina’s mother entering the strange room and sitting at the witness table in the middle of the courtroom. I imagined her placing her feet in her polished leather shoes squarely on the floor. And I imagined her glancing over to see him. Above her. On her left.

  I wondered if he remembered her at all.

  The old woman swore to tell the truth and confirmed her number, and Karla asked her to describe where she was when the war began.

  Esma said, We hid in the woods. The soldiers found us in a hollow and they shot my husband and they cut off his ears and they threw him in the Drina and they took me and my daughter and granddaughter and some neighbours too. They took all of us to the workers’ huts at the gorge, Buk Bijela, and they lined us up against the walls and a soldier came and got me and he showed me my husband’s bloody clothes and he took my wedding ring, and then he offered me a cigarette and said, Grandmother, you come with us. I heard women screaming and I knew what was happening in the other huts and then it happened to me, he said to teach me, and we were all crying and they took us in a bus into town to the high school. The next day they moved us to the Partizan Sports Hall.

  Karla showed Esma a piece of paper with witnesses’ names and numbers. She asked her to identify, using their numbers, which women had been with her.

  Esma took the paper. To decipher the letters, she pronounced the names to hear them aloud. In the gallery I heard her familiar voice whispering, and then suddenly Mr. Mataruga was saying loudly and with great agitation, Please, Your Honour, the microphone is on. The women’s names are being broadcast.

  Judge Banda called a recess, said they had not anticipated this. They would create a time delay for the broadcast. Esma was escorted out of the courtroom, ashamed of her mistake. She was sure she had ruined the trial.

  Beatrijs was waiting for her and she said, Esma, do not worry. You are helping us to see how to do this. You are first. We must all learn to do things correctly.

  Esma said, I will not do it again. I can read quietly too. My husband has no grave but the Drina river.

  Beatrijs said, Esma, you are irreplaceable. You are why we are here.

  Edina told me that her mother awoke strangely refreshed the next morning.

  In court Esma was able to read with no sound, only moving her lips a little, and she listed the numbers of all the women she knew, her daughter, PW-71, her granddaughter, PW-81, her neighbour, PW-91, and thirteen others from her village.

  Karla asked her to repeat what the accused had done to her.

  She said, He had his way.

  Karla said, I know it is difficult to say. In the court it is all right to use the formal words.

  Esma said, He showed me the bloody ear of my husband. He took my wedding ring. He raped me.

  Thank you, said Karla.

  Esma said, They did it to fill us with terror.

  Judge Banda said, Please, Witness. Only answer the questions as they are asked to you.

  I imagined that Karla would be looking at her with warm eyes, trying to keep her confident. She proceeded through a series of simple questions.

  At Partizan Sports Hall were there toilet facilities?

  Yes.

  How would you sleep?

  Well, on the floor.

  With blankets?

  No.

  Were you fed?

  Once in three days. We gave the food to the children. The camp was filthy.

  Thank you, Witness.

  * * *

 
—

  Now Mataruga had to cross question and dismantle the woman, prove her unreliable. He had humiliated her already. Illiterate. Easy to crack her like a dry stick.

  He said, You are using the following expressions, camp and prisoners. When somebody tells me that he is a prisoner in a camp, I think of something quite different. But you said in your statement that you were taken to the Partizan Sports Hall. How is this a camp? It is a community centre.

  We were prisoners there.

  But it is certainly not a camp.

  We were imprisoned there.

  And yet it was a recreation hall with several doors and windows that opened.

  Judge Smith interrupted, Counsel, the witness is telling us what the place was like and how they were treated. Now, you don’t argue with her.

  Mataruga pressed his lips together and checked the clock. Here, in this foreign court, his usual strategies of intimidation and mocking were curtailed. Implied threats were not permitted. No money or handshakes behind doors. Rule 96 stated no corroboration was necessary for the testimony of victims of sexual assault. It was a difficult case.

  To gain a little time he said, There is distortion in my headphones. Instead of hearing the voice of the witness, I hear the interpreter.

  The registrar said, You must use the button on your desk to control the channels and the volume.

  Mataruga was obsequious, said, Your Honour, please forgive me.

  He turned back to Esma. Let us clarify matters, he said. When you gave your first statement, were you telling the truth? Did you say you were in a camp?

  I always tell the truth.

  Yes, I do believe that you did tell the truth at that time. What did you say?

  I told them what happened, how they dragged us away and put us in the camp.

  Do you know that everything that we’re saying here today is being recorded?

  I know that.

  Well, you’re unwell, let’s make a break.

  No.

  I’m suggesting only for your well-being.

  No. What I know, I will say. What I don’t know, I cannot say. You cannot make me say anything I don’t know. I’ve had enough of all this.

  I do believe that you have had enough. You lived through a war.

  What I know, I know. What I don’t know, I don’t know. A camp is a camp.

  Mataruga gestured to Dragić, You see this man here? He has been charged with terrible crimes.

  Esma said, He committed terrible crimes. They killed my husband. Now I must live in a foreign country. They took the wedding ring from my finger.

  Mataruga looked up at the judges. Waited.

  Judge Banda said, Please, Witness. Only answer the questions.

  * * *

  —

  I learned to see tiny changes in Judge Banda’s neutral face. When the lawyers were hard on witnesses her lower lids tightened and she swallowed and the corners of her lips compressed. Justice must be seen to be done. It was too early to feel annoyed by the defence’s tactics, and yet she did. This witness had brought sincerity and outrage into her court. This witness had suffered enough. But there must be process.

  I thought, She listens as a judge and a woman. Her eye sees what others might miss.

  She said, Counsel, ask her questions only to elicit the evidence. Otherwise we will be here forever.

  His skin was dry and hard, and he answered, Perhaps I’ve let myself go a little, but Your Honour, I ask your indulgence. We come from those regions, we are part of the same fabric. I know everything this woman has gone through.

  This Esma would not stomach in silence. Žarko Dragić, who sat looking down on her, had done terrible things to her granddaughter and daughter. She would not listen to his filthy lawyer with his smooth tongue.

  She interrupted, Od istog materijala! We are not the same fabric. He knows nothing of what I went through. I lost everything. He understands nothing about me.

  Judge Banda had to control her courtroom. Already this was proving difficult with traumatized witnesses. I wondered if I detected in Mataruga a masked disdain for her, a foreigner, a woman, an African. I wondered how often she had encountered prejudice throughout her impressive career. Whatever she felt, she showed no emotion. She would not allow herself to be seen as less than impartial.

  She said, Witness, we understand. Would you like a break?

  No, and I don’t want to be provoked in this way.

  Counsel, please proceed. It is understood that these places were used for detention whatever their names. Do not dispute her.

  In this way Judge Banda kept the air moving through the great bellows of the court.

  Mataruga asked Esma, Could you leave the recreation hall?

  No.

  You did not go outside?

  Yes, sometimes I hid in the bushes to avoid the soldiers. I am old. They were not looking for me.

  Why did you not run away?

  Esma said, Run where? We had nowhere to go. The town was occupied. We were starving. Where could we go without getting killed? I tried to get my granddaughter to come outside with me but she was too frightened. She thought they’d kill her.

  How did you try to hide your granddaughter?

  There was nowhere to hide. It is an empty hall. Only a bathroom at the back. I lay on top of her so if they were drunk they might not think of her. One night seven young girls were brought in with their mothers from a different village. They were too young and all of us fought the soldiers. But they hit us with their guns and their heavy boots. They knocked all of us out. When I revived, the girls were gone, my granddaughter too. Blood was everywhere. We tried to clean ourselves. But no water. The small children were crouching beside their unconscious mothers. Do not ever say ever again we are of the same fabric.

  * * *

  —

  The night before Edina testified, she telephoned me and said, From my hotel I can see the ocean.

  I stepped out on my balcony and said, I am looking at the ocean too.

  She said, A game?

  You should sleep. Get rested for tomorrow.

  Let’s play. You take white, she said.

  I set up my board quickly and said, e4.

  d5, she said.

  I took her pawn on d5. She moved her knight out, Nf6.

  d4.

  She said, Nxd5.

  We played, c4 Nb4, then Qa4+ N8c6.

  I heard her light a cigarette.

  I asked, Are you ready? Is your mother all right? d5.

  She said, b5. She is fine. Her assistant takes care of her. They try to avoid us being together so we don’t talk about the trial.

  I know, I said. Qxb5.

  Then she made a cunning move, took her knight into my territory, Nc2+.

  She said, I want it to be over. Do you listen to the news? They call us traumatized victims. What does the world know about the shattered insides of my body? I am no victim. Your turn.

  Her knight perplexed me. I said, Kd1.

  She liked that, said, Bd7.

  I said, The world knows nothing. You will tell them.

  I was already on the run. I said, dxc6.

  Bg4 double check, she said.

  I only had one move, king captures c2. I asked, What is your worst fear about tomorrow?

  Edina played, Qd1 check. She said, I am afraid of seeing him. Your move.

  Again, I could only see one move, Kc3.

  She said, Qxc1+.

  You have me, I said. I played, Kb3.

  Edina said, Bd1+.

  Damn, I said. I resign.

  She laughed.

  She seemed ready.

  * * *

  —

  The blind was down. On the other side of the glass he would be a few metres away from Edina. No filthy uniform. Ha
ir still greasy. Even here. What did she smell? His sweat? Stale tobacco? Did she imagine the stench of alcohol on his breath and the smell of oil from his gun? She told me that sometimes the smells came back to her. She talked about his eyes.

  I said, Don’t look.

  She said, I know.

  I heard Karla begin. She showed Edina photographs of her hometown, her high school, the apartment where she grew up, the Partizan Sports Hall where she sang in school choirs and its small field where she played soccer as a girl. She identified the riverbank where Ivo first kissed her. She identified the mosque before it was blown up. She identified the Ribarski restaurant where Žarko sometimes rented her out. She identified the road to Miljevina, and to her grandmother’s farm. She verified court charts with dates, and timelines of when they were taken to the Foča High School, to Partizan Sports Hall and to Karaman’s house. She identified the Lepa Brena apartments, her childhood home and where she had been locked up waiting for men.

  Karla showed Edina the list of witness names and numbers and asked her to verify where and when she had been with her mother, then her daughter. Dark stink. Crowded cars. Punching and forcing her through strange doorways. Memories must have pulled like quicksand but she kept answering in a clear and sure way. Then suddenly, not able to stop herself, she spoke of an incident she had forgotten until that moment in this powerful place of listening.

  Edina said, In the spring Dragić moved me to a cottage. Soldiers came in and out and I had to cook for them and Dragić had his way with me and then gave me to other men.

  This detail was not in her witness statement and Karla had never before heard it. Edina had not told it eight years ago. She had been ashamed. Never would she have wanted Ivo to know such a thing. She had forgotten it.

  Karla revealed no surprise. Always new information is the danger with witnesses. She asked Edina to verify several easier facts. She would now have to map the new location and details of Dragić’s movements. Joop was already writing notes.