Judge Savage

by Tim Parks

  So this was the scene Daniel had always feared. My whole life, he was intensely aware, has been based on avoiding this scene. Yet now it was happening he was merely astonished by the details, the how of it all. Christine’s. You’ve been there? I thought you were with . . . He couldn’t take it in. But, listen, I went to Christine’s when Martin died. We were upstairs when you came by, his daughter said. She was smiling, like a child who has managed to hide when Daddy sent her to bed. Her dark eyes were warm. Your daughter is perverse, he decided. My own flesh and blood. She was cruel.

  Hilary said carefully: Christine told me about you two. It was the last straw. I get a letter from you saying all that was ages ago, I am on the brink of saying, okay, let’s try again, and then I hear that no, it was only a couple of days ago. And after that . . . After that I couldn’t . . .

  Now Sarah also went over to stand by his wife. So Hilary had the two children one on each side, Sarah a half-inch taller than her now, willowy, beautiful, quite self-confident, Tom chubby and bewildered, unable to look up. Daniel asked: And what exactly did she tell you? That you always kiss and fondle her when you stop by. She’s mad, Daniel said. It was mad that they were saying this. He stared at his family. His daughter had his hands round her mother’s neck. Crying, Tom was saying, Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. The only discretion you can hope for, Judge Savage decided, is from a whore.

  And I suppose she told you, he suddenly found himself saying, that she has asked me to give the main speech at her husband’s funeral tomorrow? Did she tell you that? That I’m good for a speech as well as a fondle. Yes, Hilary said. Yes, and I think you should do it, Dan. You and Martin were good friends.

  The thought of Martin Shields’ death allowed her to dry her tears, to look up and sound reasonable. But where’s the sense in it, he asked. Where’s the sense in her telling you that, then asking me to make a funeral speech? She likes and admires you, Hilary said. She likes me and slags me off to my wife, where’s the sense in that? Where’s the sense, Hilary retorted, in your making love to me then kissing her every time you went round? She said you’d made it clear you were planning to have an affair with her the moment she left Martin to move into Carlton Street. She said she thought you were in a hurry to get Sarah out of the flat so you could start something.

  Daniel closed his eyes. His voice was tense. I kissed her twice, he said. No, sorry, I kissed her three times. Let’s be perfectly accurate. I kissed her once ten years ago. When I was drunk and we were fighting. I kissed her twice in the last couple of months when she absolutely begged me. She was so depressed with what was happening with Martin. Oh she absolutely begged you, Hilary mocked. She used the same voice her husband did when he mocked. Sometimes it seemed he was arguing with himself. Poor, poor Daniel, she mocked, so used to kissing anything that comes his way, he doesn’t know how to resist. Sarah’s eyes were gleaming. Anyway, how can it matter how many times, Dan? It matters a great deal, Daniel shouted. Can’t you see that I’ve been keeping away from her precisely because she’s being so bloody predatory and I’m so useless at resisting. Stop it, Tom screamed. Stop arguing! He had his hands over his ears. No, sorry Tom, we must sort this out, Daniel went on. But another voice told him he was exhausted. His one eye had blurred a little. La-l-la! Tom started singing loudly, hands over his ears. La-l-la-l-la-l-la! Shut up, Sarah said. La-l-la-l-la-l-la! Tom shrieked. Let them have it out, the girl yelled.

  There was a pause. No, Tom’s right, it’s all beyond me, Daniel Savage announced. All at once he was decided. Shush, Tom. I’m not going to argue any more. I love you all, Daniel Savage found himself saying – he sensed as he spoke that it was final – I’ve missed you these last weeks, really, I was constantly wondering where you were and what you were up to, but this is hopeless. You’ve lost faith in me. So let’s kill it. Let’s kill it. Then he repeated the words again. Let’s kill it, kids. Tom ran to him. The boy buried his face in his lap. Daniel moved him aside. I’m off, he said. I have to go.

  Ten minutes later, breathless, trapped in the drama of it, he came down with a few things in a case. His family were waiting listlessly. Where are you going to go? Hilary asked. The locks have been changed, at Carlton Street, she said. Daniel stopped at the door. He shook his head: I gather Minnie went back to her family, he said. I did everything to stop her, Sarah announced. Daniel looked at Tom. He shook his head at the boy and left.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  WHY DID JUDGE Savage go to deliver the funeral address for his old friend Martin Shields as asked? Was it defiance, or inertia? Well, there’s no point in hiding, Frank told him. Then they’ll know you’re running scared. On the other hand, what had been the most intense male friendship of his life could no longer be thought of positively. Martin had been cold and contemptuous at the end. They were strangers. The man’s wife, herself an old friend, had sought to seduce him, then betrayed his trust. We are all becoming strangers, Daniel thought. The more we reveal ourselves. Even the decision to buy their flat on Carlton Street now seemed ominous. As if they had deliberately wanted to worm their way into our lives, Judge Savage told his brother. He had driven straight over after abandoning the struggle at home. Frank had agreed to put him up on the sofa. He found a ragged undersheet. Some people just can’t keep their gobs shut, squire. The lady was jealous of your nice kids, your new job. Jealous of you shagging around. She didn’t have any and she wasn’t getting any. And to top it all you’re not even white.

  Daniel was sure this explanation was inadequate. Frank unfolded a pillow-slip with a can of lager in one hand and a cigarette waggling in the corner of his mouth between squinting eyes. He was unshaven. You don’t want to get into conspiracy theories, bruv, he warned. Sitting at the table, oiling the workings of an ancient clock, Arthur chuckled. Frank’s a master of the conspiracy theory, he said in his polite American voice. No one is more conspired against than Frank. He’s sure the council are trying to get us out of our pitch.

  Frank laughed: We all feel more important with a few enemies. Still, Dan, really, you brought this lot on yourself, didn’t you, squire? You shag the chinky ticket, then you want to be moral about her welfare, you’re playing husband and family man and major public figure and getting your leg over left and right as well. You’re even confessing it all as you go along to Mr Moral Repression himself, Martin-never-used-a-Shield, rubbing it in that he’s not getting any and suggesting if he doesn’t wake up you might just tidy his wife as well. Fantastic! Dad would have been impressed. Frank laughed. You remember how furious he always was about not having another war to fight, preferably on at least six fronts? So there you are battling along, all guns blazing, until one day the supposedly watertight bulkhead gives and HMS Savage begins to list. Hardly the wreck of the Mary bloody Deare, is it? Across the room, Arthur burst out laughing. Not exactly – Frank was enjoying himself – that we have to revise our position on sea serpents and ghost ships, do we?

  Looking at his watch Daniel saw it was only ten-thirty. Life had reached a point where the most momentous shifts seemed to take place in the space of a couple of television programmes, causing no more than merriment on the part of his newly reconciled brother. Drinking from a can, he himself felt removed from it, beyond anxiety.

  Still, Frank went on, there should be plenty of time to take to the lifeboats and no harm done, you know. You can go into politics if they chuck you out, the voters love a candidate who shags. Don’t they, Art? Gets you in the papers. Better still a transvestite. Daniel found that he was smiling. He liked being with Frank. He liked being called squire and bruv. The funny thing is I can only shag around when I’ve got Hilary there to stop me. The other two men shared a long smile. Shaking heads at each other they said in perfect unison: He-te-ro-fackin-sex-u-als, p-lease! Arthur clapped. He seemed a charming man. Daniel went to sleep wondering if anything that had happened to him was remotely serious. Tom, he thought. Tom.

  I will say nothing to Christine, Judge Savage decided. She was standing in impecc
able lacy black outside the porch of a neo-Gothic façade. She was even wearing a hat with a lacy black veil. Performing the widow, Daniel thought. He had chosen not to look at the papers. I will not read what they are saying about me. Was it fear or courage? I’m so sorry, Christine was saying, she reached her arms up to him, about all your troubles, Dan. It’s so good of you to come. She embraced him as if nothing had happened. His cheek brushed the lace of her veil. I will not look at the papers, he had thought, and I won’t ask her anything. This was her husband’s funeral after all. She must perform the widow. Probably she does like me, he decided. He needed to save his energy. But the woman was shaking with sobs. She held him tightly. He killed himself, Dan, she was crying softly. If you knew. If only you knew. Her body trembled against his. He killed himself. He made himself die. He made me watch him doing it. She held Daniel tightly and he softly detached her.

  He sat in the front row. The coffin was brought and the packed church sang, Abide with me. How could they, Daniel wondered? How can you sing, Fast falls the eventide? Martin himself had become contemptuous, Daniel told himself, of what he used to believe in. Help of the helpless, they sang. It was irritating. Helpless is helpless. Get on with it, he muttered. Martin himself had come to believe that all these social functions were the merest theatre. Daniel was sure of this. Tom will get over it, he thought. We’ll meet often. He’ll begin to understand me, to see how it could have happened. All married men know how it can happen. O thou who changest not, all these people were singing, abide with me. Nobody changest not, Daniel smiled. Perhaps Martin believed in Christianity, Daniel thought, the same way as he believed in the rituals of the crown court: a tradition that allowed you to get on with things. The witnesses’ oath allows you to get on with things. The ritual gestures set the wheels in motion. Ills have no weight, the congregation sang, and tears no bitterness. This hymn is purest kitsch, Daniel thought. Once somebody has sworn an oath you can get on as if they were obliged to tell the truth. When really they’re not. You know they’re not. We wrap ourselves in purest kitsch, he thought, when there’s nothing we can do. Presumably everyone saw that.

  He sat in the front pew where he had often sat at concerts, where he liked to let his mind wander with the music high up in the fake Gothic vault. My mind always wanders in church. Churches were designed for that, perhaps: a space for the mind to wander. He had read somewhere that fake Gothic had only become so popular for churches because the nineteenth-century ecclesiastical authorities had discovered that the style cost less than neo-classical designs. Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes, people were singing. There was a swooning self-indulgence to the voices. How completely detached I feel. How ready for the worst! He almost burst out laughing. This is the worst possible farce, he thought. The public lynching will be a trifle. Yet when the coffin was awkwardly lowered onto its trestles, it did seem important that his one-time friend was in there, inside that polished box. The difficulty the men had setting it down suggested a certain weight. It was serious. It is terribly serious, he thought, that Mrs Whitaker is still in coma, even if her husband is a non-entity and David Sayle a charming performer. Mattheson would never, Judge Savage suddenly realised, try to bring Craig Michaels to court, because he knows, he must know, that under oath I would tell the truth. I would. And he knows that. That in court, under oath, I would tell the truth. He felt immensely relieved by this reflection.

  There were other hymns, but Daniel didn’t join in the singing. The words were stupid and at the same time there was the problem that his voice would break with emotion if he once began to sing. If I joined in the singing, I would be overcome with emotion, Daniel Savage realised, even though I know that the words are stupid. Behind him he heard voices overcome with emotion. To his left were Martin’s parents. The mother was singing through tears. She is happy to be overcome, he thought. Perhaps she knows the words are stupid. Then after the vicar had asked, Oh Death where is thy sting, Daniel himself was invited to go up to the chancel steps: to say a few words, the clergyman said, about our deceased brother in Christ. Judge Savage stood up, and as he turned, at the very place where they put the organ console at the concerts his wife worked so hard to arrange, it was to find himself one of only half a dozen non-whites in a substantial congregation. The legal profession is still predominantly white. There was a faint shiver. The police force likewise. They will listen the more carefully because of what the papers are saying, he knew. He had prepared nothing.

  I have prepared nothing, he began. Which I know is unusual for a lawyer. There were faint smiles. So I’ll be brief. He saw Hilary at the back. I am not a believer, he said, nor at the end, I don’t think, was Martin. Sarah was on her left, Tom on her right. They weren’t wearing black. Yet, oddly – he looked around their faces – church does still seem the only suitable place to speak of a friend who has just died. I came for Hilary of course, he understood.

  The congregation, many from the courts, people he knew, solicitors and ushers and court clerks, sat more intently than usually they might. Daniel was a good speaker and their colleague Martin Shields had died young. You speak effortlessly, people said. You are so convincing. There were people from the rowing team they had once got together. There were people from the tennis club. You have a natural authority, they would tell him. They marvel all the more because I’m not white, Daniel often thought. They were wearing black. Jane was there and, yes, one or two other women he had slept with. All showing respect, wearing black. He never had any problem convincing women. Everybody will have read the papers, he thought. They love that mix of power and vulnerability. I love you. How many people had told him that? The powerful man caught with his leg over. He said: Our friend and colleague, Martin Shields, has died young. Then he was disturbed to see his daughter was crying. You must perform, he decided. You’re in public.

  Martin Shields was my friend from boyhood until a year ago. My closest friend. I needn’t speak to those present of his brilliance as a lawyer. For myself, I know of no one who took his vocation so seriously. Despite many offers to go into more lucrative fields, Martin remained in criminal law because he believed in it absolutely. He absolutely believed that every defendant deserved the fairest of trials and that there was nothing more serious than taking a man’s liberty from him.

  This remark was greeted by a rather fruity Hear-hear! Daniel paused. I must not use this speech to make any remark that could be construed as having to do with my own predicament, he thought. At last he was alert. And he sensed that not making any such a remark would be precisely what might most improve that predicament. The press were here. Mattheson was here, he saw, and Kathleen Connolly, and the very senior Judge Carter, head of the disciplinary committee. Forever ill.

  In court Martin preferred to defend, Daniel went on, as I think we all do, but he was also happy to prosecute. He believed in prosecution, as few still do. He believed that the sense of lost security that overcomes the victim of any crime is the next most important thing to the loss of liberty. He understood that there can be no liberty if we don’t feel secure, if we don’t feel we can go about our own business at ease. Again somebody called, Hear, hear! Counsel for the defence, Daniel said, defends one man, counsel for the prosecution defends us all. He casts the first stone, even if he himself is a sinner. That is his unpleasant duty. Martin was brilliant at both.

  Again Judge Savage paused, he breathed. He put a hand behind his neck. Then as well as a fine lawyer, the Martin I knew was also a husband, and I must say for my own part a friend of great loyalty. He was always ready to listen. He gave me more advice than anyone else I have known. And some of it was good. This raised a faint laugh. There are few of us who don’t need good advice. Again there was a faint titter. Whether I used it well or not is another question. Again people smiled. People eat out of your hand, Hilary once said. Even when you don’t stretch it out.

  About a year ago, I lost touch with Martin, Judge Savage went on. Perhaps many of you did. We all know that he was
not well this last year, since his car accident. He stopped his work in court. He fell into a depression, a negative state of mind that coincided, perhaps, with the beginning of this nameless illness which eventually killed him. We do not know what it was. It seems pointless to speculate. In any event, we stopped seeing each other. I confess I didn’t realise he was dangerously ill. I thought him merely changed and miserable. I criticised him. When we did see each other the things he said were disturbing and out of character. He repeatedly told me that life was a farce. He said he preferred watching soap opera to coming to court. In the space of our last two or three conversations he wrote off as the crudest parody everything that seems precious to me and that had once been precious to him. I felt angry with him. I felt our friendship was over.

  The public were surprised, and hence attentive. Christine, Daniel saw, had turned white.

  I know such reflections are not usually the stuff of funeral orations. I would like to remember Martin as he was before he lost faith in what he did. Yet it seems important to be honest at a moment like this. So I must tell you that I found it difficult to fault his reasoning even when he spoke from his illness. Daniel paused. Perhaps his illness was even more eloquent than his health. In any event, I have no choice but to remember that Martin too as well as the friend I played chess with, and snooker, and loved to watch in court. I can’t tell you how many times I would slip into a courtroom for a few minutes on the off-chance of watching Martin perform. He was brother and mentor to me. Remembering this, Daniel felt moved. It was true. It was a big part of his life. But once a phase is over, what does it matter? He paused, As I said, at the end Martin had ceased to believe in any form of religion. Yet church and in particular this church where both he and I were married, many years ago – he looked about him – well, it still seems the only appropriate place where one can say a few public words about a friend who has died. He hesitated. Or to put it another way: whatever Martin himself said, life and death do still seem sufficiently serious for us to come along to the funeral of a man we loved. That’s really the only way I can think to put it. Let’s not forget him.