Judge Savage

by Tim Parks

What would you have done, though, the judge asked Hilary as they lay on the quilt she’d brought in lingering light the following Sunday evening. Would you have taken the boy away? His wife did not immediately reply. These hours snatched between Tom’s afternoon football tournament and the organ recital later on in the evening were proving more of a success than Daniel had expected. As a rule, he distrusted moments of organised intimacy, but a series of obstacles had unexpectedly come to their aid. Not only had the builders got on the doors to the house, but, in far less time than seemed possible, all the windows, too. The Savages had no key. We’ll have to break in, Hilary decided.

  They had parked beside the fence. STRICTLY AUTHORISED PERSONNEL ONLY, it said. Daniel was for leaving be. What do we want to damage our own property for? I want you, she whispered. I do. She leaned her forehead on his chin standing by the car. There were threads of grey in the once gold hair. When he put his arms round her, she shivered. She wants what she imagines I stole from her with my affair, he thought. They must break into their own house.

  She led him through long grass to a place where the perimeter fence was easily passed. He hadn’t known this. But she came here more often than he. She was thinking of this home in a quite different way from in the past. A new building needs air, she was saying. They can’t lay the parquet till everything’s dry. This is mad, he protested. But sure enough, at the back, an upstairs window had been left open. Mad, he shook his head. It was quite a climb.

  The day was still bright at that point, still very bright and breezy. The town sprawled beneath them, a sharply focused muddle of which this development, the builder had insisted, would be the last outpost. The final frontier, the man had laughed. They had laughed at that too. We’ll call it Laramie, Hilary had chuckled. No, the Enterprise, Daniel said. Then he had asked could she remember the name of the token black member of Kirk’s original crew. Hilary’s primness was shattered by a sudden giggle. She put her hand in her mouth. Seeing them happy, the builder knew he had a sale. Behind the house fields rose quite steeply. A rabbit! Hilary pointed. Now, two months later, she was laughing again as her husband propped various planks against the wall.

  You’re getting fat, Judge Savage, she called. He was exaggerating the trickiness of the climb, but honestly a little nervous too. I’m proud of you, she said more softly. Knees shaky, he balanced on an upended plank. There won’t be any water! he called now, looking down. What’ll we do for a pee? We can’t flush. He was balanced on the top of a protruding sill over the kitchen window. You look so funny! He clutched at the guttering. Pee out of the window, she laughed. My reputation, he protested, a crown court judge pissing out of the window! Oh don’t be so boring, she pleaded.

  It was strange dropping down onto boards in the bare room. There was a dry clatter. Once we’ve moved in, he knew, Hilary will become terribly fussy, protecting all her clean new surfaces. This was a moment of grace. He went downstairs, but they had put on security locks. The front door wouldn’t open even from the inside. He had to let her in through a downstairs window. Before climbing up, she passed him the bin-bag with quilt and champagne and glasses. He shook his head. We’ll be arrested. But it’s our own home! We haven’t paid yet. Oh come on! The bank manager had seemed surprisingly easy about their money problem. Christine had insisted it was the merest logistical glitch. Just a question of bridging a month or two. We consider a judge about the safest security a bank could ever have, the Lloyds man laughed.

  The pop of the cork ricocheted round the bare walls. They drank the first glass with elbows awkwardly entwined. How awkward it is to make those celebrated gestures! But when they wrapped themselves in the quilt, more or less where the Steinway would be, it was suddenly as if they had never been so naked together before. Certain situations can generate this tenderness, Daniel thought, this shedding of the most tenacious clothes. They kissed more slowly and deeply than was usual. It was not that the light was particularly forgiving of their no longer youthful bodies. But somehow the generous emptiness of the house lent itself to the idea that this moment was special, or even symbolic. He whispered obscenities in her ear. Horny Savage, she praised. In the past he had vaguely thought of his wife as a sort of providential policeman who kept him from excess, while she perhaps yearned for an excess he couldn’t give. And now – how strange! – in the aftermath of a crisis that had been entirely unplanned, destructive at first, they finally seemed to be the right two people for each other. I can hear Chopin, she whispered. She pressed an elaborate seventh into his back. Two fingers trilled. Oh, I can just hear how perfect it will be. They hugged, laughing with relief. I can’t believe you bought that piano, Dan. You lavish, lavish, reckless man! I love you for buying that piano.

  When they broke apart, she told him: Light a fire! What? Let’s light a fire! The cast iron core of the fireplace had been installed, though not the fancy stone surround. There was a grate, a chimney. We can do it, she said. But what if people see the smoke? Oh don’t be boring! she cried. Do anything, please, but don’t be boring. Come on, there are plenty of scraps of wood around. Light a fire.

  You skip your organ recital then, Daniel said. Incongruously he was on his feet, padding naked round the boards, picking up odds and ends of wood. But I can’t. I set the whole thing up, the whole series. You’re not actually involved tonight, he objected. You don’t have to do anything. But Dan . . . Skip it! he told her. I’m supposed to be picking up Max, she said. What will people think if I don’t turn up? They’ll think you’re off making love to your husband. Of twenty years! Her peel of giggles was so unrestrained that Daniel himself burst out laughing. We are happy, he noticed with some amazement.

  Hiccuping, Hilary stayed wrapped in the quilt while he forayed to other rooms for wood. There were off-cuts of skirting board, a chunk from a beam. You know we’re social deviants, she called. To be married for twenty years. You do realise that at Gordon’s party we were the only couple still on first marriage. The only ones. Suddenly it seemed she couldn’t get over this. Fucking after twenty years! She had to raise her voice when he went upstairs. It’s obscene! She hiccuped. People don’t do that! We’ll be ostracised. It’s far worse than inter-marrying you know. There’s Mart and Christine, he reminded her. Twelve years, Hilary said scornfully, and no children! Wasn’t Tom a darling, she added. Poor boy! In the closing minutes of his tournament, their son had missed a penalty. He had wept.

  Daniel came back with a bundle of rough cuttings, scratching an arm. There were nails and splinters. Don’t know how we’re going to light it. She held out her arms. Come here and kiss me. We should do this more often, she sighed, as he stooped over her. It’s not every day, he pointed out, that you have a new house to break into. For a moment they looked into each other’s eyes. We’ll grow old here, she whispered. Hard to avoid, he agreed. Probably it’ll be here one day we’ll realise we’re never going to make love again. At least there’ll be a big garden, he said. But you hate gardening! She raised herself on an elbow. You never know, the global warming thing might stir a dormant gene or two. He felt happily facetious. We’ll plant a coconut tree. Speaking of which, I’m freezing. She shivered theatrically. Her breasts were still attractive. Are you going to light that fire, or aren’t you? Are you going to skip that recital? he asked.

  Then she said yes. Yes, I’ll skip it. Daniel was astonished. I don’t believe it. You’ll skip it? Yes, why not? A vague anxiety stole across his nerves. I was beginning to think you were in love with Max. Oh shut up! she threw a sock at him. I only want Max around in the hope the great clod’ll take a fancy to Sarah. He threw the sock back. She threw her bra. He made to put it in the fireplace. She leapt to her feet, grabbed it, embraced him, naked, only slightly overweight, and whispered in his ear: The girl’s seventeen and still hasn’t had a boyfriend. She’s a Jesus freak. What can a mother do but assemble a few gallants?

  Daniel eventually found a lighter in one of the workers’ overalls hanging in the kitchen. What would you have done, he asked
, if we’d had that problem? They were lying on their stomachs, wrapped in the quilt. Hilary watched the first flames catch at the little pyramid he’d built. Isn’t this wonderful, she said. I do love it when you talk about your work. You always used to complain, he reminded her. Especially in company. Well, now I love it. See the spurts of green flame! I love looking at fires.

  Dimly, Daniel was aware that life really could be made to change. This moment proved that. Even the past can always be changed, he thought, or just understood differently. He leaned over and placed his cheek against her neck. See the creamier smoke, she whispered. The wood spat. It draws pretty well, doesn’t it? What would you have done though, he asked again, in the Mishras’ shoes?

  The house had darkened round them as the flames shone out. The still unplastered brickwork was all rough potential, trembling with shadows. Three or four moths milled where the mantelpiece would be. It’s such an awful story, she said. She leaned into him. What would I do if it had been Tom, you mean? Or Sarah, he said.

  The crackle of the wood seemed extravagantly loud. For some reason they were whispering. I don’t know, she said at length. I really don’t know how you can decide such things. If they honestly believed the doctors were wrong – you say they got advice elsewhere – I suppose I’d do what they did. They thought they could save him and his leg. They believed in their traditional medicine. So that he could play and run and miss penalties. Then the boy wanted to go with them, she asked, didn’t he? What’s his name?

  Lackbir. Actually, the prosecution claim that the parents lied to him about the treatment in India. Naturally, he was terrified by the idea of having his leg cut off. Hilary was silent. One of the things she liked to do was massage his hands. Daniel has long elegant hands. My playmates, she called them. There’s some evidence, he began, that after they . . .

  Let’s not talk about it. She gripped his hand tight. It’s too much. Other people’s lives are really too much. I don’t want to be mixed up in them. She shook her head, as if to chase dust or moths from her hair. I want it to be just you and me.

  He watched her. She knew he was watching. Her face was sombre but youthful too; he could see the flames burning in her eyes, her contact lenses. In firelight, the hair lost its grey. And then he remembered what Martin had said, that he and Christine told each other everything. Could that really be true? Suddenly, he found himself yearning for that complete communion with his own wife, a complete knowing between themselves that would seal their closeness forever. He hesitated.

  I loved – he reached out to pour the last champagne – how you slagged off that Russian the other day. The Froberger? She smiled. Why’s that? I thought you hated me being critical. Aren’t I always too critical? Isn’t that what everybody says. Mum you’re so critical! He stroked her shoulder. It’s just that when we used to go to concerts, ages back, you’d always fall in love with the pianist and I’d feel like shit. I could never compete. Not actually in love, she said. Anyhow, the thing with Froberger is it’s not sentimental, is it, it’s pointless making him sigh and swoon like a young Romeo. It’s false. You lose all the – she was looking for her words quite carefully – all the austerity, and somehow the fun of it too. He listened to her. A certain coolness and gaiety, she explained, go together in music like that. You know?

  Daniel didn’t reply. He hadn’t understood. But eventually, after they had finished the champagne and were still lying there staring somewhat dazed into the fire, he began: Oh by the way, there’s something I thought I should tell you, only then I thought it would just be an extra worry. Can’t be worse than borrowing fifty thousand pounds, she laughed. She said: Anyway, you’ll have to tell me now, won’t you? I’ve been getting these strangely threatening notes, he announced. Oh yes? She pulled herself up on both elbows. Anonymously. The dying fire was only a red glow on the curve of her shoulders. It had turned chill. I can’t understand them, or why anybody would send them. I mean now, rather than, well, a year ago, if you get me. But what do they say? Where have you been getting them? At court. From memory he quoted the two notes. Shall surely be put to death. Hilary seemed puzzled rather than hurt. Strange! Suddenly she laughed. Oh, silly, it must be Sarah, don’t you think?

  What?

  It’s Sarah!

  Daniel Savage was astonished, both at the idea, and the lightheartedness with which Hilary jumped at it. His daughter was sending the letters. But why . . . Committeth adultery with his neighbour’s wife! Hilary laughed. It’s nutty religious stuff, isn’t it? They’re quotes from the Bible. Don’t they read a chapter a day, at the Chapel, every afternoon, Obadiah, Hezekiah? But why? Daniel floundered. Anyway, I didn’t think she knew. I mean about me and, and . . . They stared at each other. Of course she bloody-well knew, Hilary said quietly. The girl’s not stupid, is she? After a moment she said vaguely: Quite probably I told her.

  Daniel was appalled. But didn’t we agree we wouldn’t, that the children . . . I don’t remember, she said. I was out of my mind. We definitely said we wouldn’t tell them, he repeated. She was impatient: What did you expect me to do, for Christ’s sake? While you were away all that time doing God knows what. I thought I was going to die, to lie down and die! Daniel backed off. How stupid to have brought this up, to have disclosed something that there was no need to disclose. Carefully, he asked, But why now? Why a year on? Why start sending me such rubbish now. Hilary had turned back to the embers. A moth was dying in circles on the grate. God knows, she muttered. It’s so pretty isn’t it, when the last sparks come and go? She shook her head. God knows what’s got into her.

  Then they both sensed it was time to gather their things and get out before any more damage was done. Forty minutes later, on arrival back at the flat they found Max and Tom on the sofa watching football and Sarah again locked in the bathroom. She was furious, Tom said, when you were late. The boy, on the contrary, seemed extremely pleased with himself.

  SIX

  PROFESSOR MUKERJEE, WOULD it be true to say that relationships in traditional Sikh families are no different from relationships in the average English family? Counsel for the prosecution was examining Peter Mukerjee, Professor of Oriental Studies at Birmingham University. On three occasions Daniel had over-ruled objections as to the relevance of the questions. With Mrs Connolly watching carefully and the press gallery packed, he did not want to seem biased against the prosecution. One is vaguely intimidated, he was aware, even when someone has no official power over you. Even a pair of eyes, he thought, exerts a certain pressure. Having eyes full of adultery they cannot cease from sin, the latest note said. Should he confront his daughter, or wait to see whether the notes stopped when she went to Italy?

  No, it would not be true, the Professor said solemnly. On the contrary, I think it would be hard to exaggerate how profound those differences are in many many areas.

  Is the area of parental authority one such area, Professor Mukerjee?

  It is indeed.

  Could you explain the nature of that difference.

  The professor coughed into his fist. Like so many expert witnesses, he had a vested interest in indicating that special knowledge was required in his field. In the English family, he said, obedience is rarely unconditional. A child is not expected to obey any and every command. He, as it were, chooses to obey, and by doing that shows his love and respect. But in many of the cultures of India, and other hierarchical communities too of course, there is a longstanding tradition of total, unquestioning and immediate obedience of children towards their parents, in particular their fathers. If I might be permitted a metaphor: the children stand in relation to their father as the fingers to the hand. They are not, as in the English family, independent agents.

  Professor, would you consider the Sikh culture, which you have spent much of your life studying, a culture where such unconditional obedience is the rule. Stacey loves to prosecute, Daniel observed. He was not unlike Martin in that way.

  I would, Mukerjee said.

  In the case in
question, Professor, it has been said that Lackbir Mishra, a thirteen-year-old boy, acquiesced when his parents told him they were arranging for him to leave the hospital. As an expert in these matters Professor Mukerjee, do you think we can infer from that that the boy wished to leave the hospital?

  Not at all. Professor Mukerjee was giving Stacey what he wanted on every count. On the contrary, it is unthinkable that he would disobey.

  Can we infer that he agreed with his parents’ assessment of how he should be treated?

  Not at all.

  Can we infer that he had decided that the so-called alternative treatments were a viable alternative to the treatment offered by the National Health Service and the doctor who had become his guardian?

  Again, no. You see, really this is a conceptual problem. It probably would not occur to a boy to decide for himself. He hasn’t developed that habit. Of course, much depends on his education, but in the strictest families, a child simply would not think of weighing up the pros and cons. He would just obey. This is his destiny.

  Professor Mukerjee you have seen a video in which the young Lackbir declares that he would rather die in India with his parents than have stayed in an English hospital. From your knowledge of Sikh family culture, what weight would you give to this statement.

  This is a very difficult question, said the professor. He shook his head, bit a lip. Watching the video, it’s clear the boy is sincere. But in this culture this is the kind of thing you do think. It does not indicate a personal choice in the way it might with someone from a western cultural background.

  Stacey smiled. Stacey, Daniel noted, shares Martin’s gift, the gift of those educated according to a certain tradition, for participating in a case with measured professional passion. The jury was paying serious attention. True there was one Indian, or perhaps Pakistani, in the twelve, but he wore no turban, so even in the unlikely event that he was a Sikh, it was hard to say how much he might be in sympathy. Why then, Daniel wondered, had Martin gone to pieces and this man not? It was a conundrum.