Judge On Trial

by Ivan Klíma

  ‘I judge people according to the law.’

  ‘How can you judge people when you don’t know how we ought to live?’

  ‘I don’t like people who think they know the right way to live.’

  ‘Why don’t you like them?’

  ‘Most of them force others to live their way.’

  ‘But they don’t know anything: the ones that force others to do things. They’re just as grotesque as the ones who judge according to the law.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘You, my darling, are an odd fish. You know more than you feel like telling. David, the one I told you about, once told me that people should radiate light.’

  ‘What did he mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never asked him. Maybe he only meant it in an artistic sense. He used to love bright enamels. Did nothing of the kind ever strike you?’

  ‘Maybe. But I’ve never found the time to think about it.’

  ‘I know; you had to judge people and travel. They all travel and judge people. And want to make love. And none of them knows anything.’

  She pushed him away and jumped out of the bed. She went to the window and opened it. ‘At least the moon’s shining out there. Otherwise I’d die of boredom.’ She sat down on the edge of the chest, her naked body bathed in pallid light.

  He’d known many people in his lifetime who had seemed to him interesting and educated. Lots of teachers at the different levels of education, lots of judges and lawyers, not to mention quite a number who had considered themselves prophets or at least the successors to prophets. Had any of them radiated light? He was unable to recall even one. On the other hand, his memory was full of people who had spread darkness.

  There was one dear figure, however, swaying towards him out of the dim and distant past. Time had blurred his features, but he recognised him none the less as he came closer; even in those far-off days, the murk of the corridors had retreated and the walls opened out; either Arie had radiated light or he had still been capable of perceiving radiance everywhere in those days. Where had that light come from? What did we know about the world at that time? Such light probably had little to do with knowledge but emanated from nobility of spirit.

  And one night, on the only holiday we took together, when we were lodging in a small village inn, Magdalena got a bit tipsy and sang with the locals in the tap-room. Actually it got on my nerves and I led her off to our bedroom. She undressed and then sat naked, just like this one now – how long ago it is – on the bed, the coverlet turned back ready. She was holding a small black flute and playing it. I was going to tick her off again for getting drunk and acting in an unseemly way, but my irritation dissipated, and all of a sudden I realised that she was endowed with something I had been denied. However unhappy or even despairing she might feel, she had the capacity to see something that was hidden from me, to sense mysteries I could not penetrate.

  And her body glowed gently that night in the darkness of the inn room, although it might well have been the moon shining on her, as on Alexandra now.

  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.

  She ordered a whipped-cream dessert. Without looking at her, the young man said: ‘Will you allow me to pick up the tab, madam?’

  ‘No, thank you.’

  But he was already tendering the money to the counter assistant. He ordered a coffee for himself.

  She drew a ten-crown note from her purse. ‘I’ll pay for myself. I am not used to letting strangers pay for me.’

  ‘You’ll soon get used to it, kiddo,’ he declared. He picked up the ten-crown note, leaned over to her and tucked it into her blouse pocket. She felt his hand touch her breast and she reddened.

  He sat down next to her at the small table and observed her.

  She swallowed a spoonful of whipped cream, but was totally unaware of its taste.

  ‘You from Prague, darling?’ he asked.

  She made no reply. How could he be so familiar? He was bound to be at least ten years her junior. Like Honza. But Honza had a boyish look, whereas this fellow looked like manhood personified.

  ‘’Cos I’d show you around,’ he offered. ‘I know every joint in town.’

  She quickly finished her dessert, without looking at him. Then she pushed aside the empty dish and left the shop.

  He caught up with her. ‘There’s a great little bar right next door.’

  The thought struck her: what was there to stop her going anywhere with anyone, seeing that she had nowhere to go anyway? ‘I have to make a telephone call,’ she said.

  ‘Who to?’

  She didn’t reply and entered a phone box. ‘Just watch it. I can hear you!’

  She tried to close the door, but he held it firmly. She once more dialled the number of her own flat and waited.

  ‘Wasn’t he in?’ he asked. ‘Or wasn’t it a real number?’

  ‘Where are you taking me? I don’t have much time.’

  It was a small wine bar; just a few tables in a single basement room which they entered down a dirty staircase. The noise of passing trams could be heard from outside.

  ‘What’s your drink?’

  ‘I don’t drink.’

  ‘Well, you will today!’

  ‘As you like.’ At last, after so many years, here was someone ready to decide for her.

  ‘Do you drink wine or something stronger?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m not a drinker.’

  He ordered a cognac. It tasted vile to her. Like drinking soapy water. She knew nothing about drinking but she decided that she would drink and drink quickly, so as to get drunk as soon as possible.

  ‘What’s your name?’ he asked, and told her his name was Karel. But she expected he was lying. Everyone lied – even Adam lied. He’d gone off somewhere with her. She picked up her glass and took as big a mouthful as she could stand. She shivered with disgust.

  He started to chat her up; he told her how he went in for small-bore rifle-shooting, drove cars and motor-boats and flew light planes. He rode horses too. Maybe he was lying again. It seemed to her laughable that people were capable of boasting about so many things. It mattered less and less what the fellow was talking about and whether he was lying or telling the truth. Then she even started to enjoy herself.

  Adam was sitting somewhere with her – sitting, or lying or driving. He was telling her about all the things he could do, all the things he knew, boasting to her about riding on horseback, driving cars and even driving down to Texas, but she couldn’t care less at this moment.

  Honza was sitting somewhere too. Or walking. Or writing. She imagined him sitting at a table writing to her yet another of his repetitive grandiloquent outpourings of loyal devotion. And all at once she could see the funny side of it: Adam lying somewhere with her, and most likely declaring his love to her; the other one sitting at home writing a letter saying how much he loved her. Meanwhile she herself was sitting here with a third man whom she didn’t love at all, listening to him explain to her how to hit the centre of a target at fifty metres. As if there as any sense in hitting targets.

  He leaned towards her and tried to kiss her. She might even have put up with it – what was wrong with her kissing some fellow when Adam was somewhere kissing that woman? – but the man’s breath stank so offensively of sardines or rancid oil that she felt sick and sweat broke out on her forehead.

  She staggered out into the passage. Fortunately, the toilet was vacant. She bent over the bowl and vomited. Then she splashed herself with water and stood for a few moments staring at her ashen face in the mirror. The feeling of disgust stayed with her. There was no way she could go back in there. But where would she go?

  Outside, the street lamps were already on. It was cooler and a wind redolent with rain was blowing from Petřín.

  She lurched over to a telephone box, stood in it for a moment, leaning on the glass of the side panel. Then she lifted the receiver. It was dead. Maybe he was already home, but it made no difference anyway, nothing would alter what had already happened.

  She felt sick again. She dashed out of the box, bent over a drain and vomited once more.

  She eventually reached the main street, though she had no idea how long it had taken her. Fortunately
a tram was just coming. She got on board without knowing where it was coming from or going to. The car was almost empty and she could sit wherever she liked. She sat down in the back seat and covered her mouth with the back of her hand, as if she could hold in her drunken breath somehow. Her sleeve seemed to stink of bad fish. She felt sick again. She got off and stood a long time at the tram stop. The wind was now keen and contained fine drops of rain; she turned her face to them.

  One needed to be washed, it struck her. One needed baptism. And confession. One needed God. But she had nothing.

  She got on another tram and got off at the stop where she had alighted from time to time in recent weeks. She was not entirely sure how she had come to be there, but now she was there, she set off in the familiar direction.

  ‘Is it really you, Alena?’ He almost hurled himself at her. ‘I’ve been expecting you. I’ve been expecting you for three whole days. I knew you’d come. I even prayed for you to come.’

  She sat down on a chair in his small sitting room, the only chair there. ‘Oh, Honza!’

  ‘I knew you’d come back,’ he repeated. ‘I was convinced you’d have to come, since I couldn’t live without you.’

  ‘I haven’t come back!’ Her head ached and her throat was dry. ‘Would you bring me something to drink?’

  He went off to make her some tea.

  It was a very small room with windows on to what was almost a village street. The windows of the house opposite always had their blinds down; perhaps no one lived there. In a box on the window ledge some perlargoniums were in flower and under the window there was a gas-fired radiator that they had never had to switch on, as their relationship had started and ended while the weather was still warm. Just beyond the radiator was a battered old metal bed like the ones which these days could be found only in hospitals. Its springs creaked and she had always thought that passers-by in the street were bound to hear it as distinctly as she heard their footsteps.

  The tea was hot and burnt her throat, but she drank it none the less. She welcomed the pain which each mouthful caused her.

  ‘I wrote you a letter. Mother went away on Friday and I’ve been writing it ever since.’ He picked up a sheaf of papers from the table. ‘Will you take it?’