Daughter of Silence

by Morris West

  The President nodded. ‘The accused may sit during the evidence. Bring her a drink.’

  One of the guards went out and brought in a chair. The Clerk of the Court offered a glass of water from his own table. The girl drank it, gratefully, and then sat down. All the while, the Prosecutor stood by Maria Belloni, comforting her with practised gentleness. It was, perhaps, three minutes before the President was able to resume his questioning.

  ‘Signora Belloni, had you ever seen the prisoner before she came to your house?’

  ‘Not since she was a little girl during the war.’

  ‘Did you recognize her?’

  ‘Not then. Only later.’

  ‘Do you know why she killed your husband?’

  ‘Because he did his duty.’

  ‘Will you explain that, please?’

  ‘During the war, my husband was the leader of the Partisans in this area. There were lives in his hands, many lives. There were also traitors who sold information to the Germans and to the Fascisti. This girl’s mother was one of them. Because of her, some of our boys were taken, tortured and then killed. So she was arrested. There was a trial and she was condemned to death. My husband presided at the court and later at the execution. But this was war. He had to protect his men – and their women, too.’ Quite suddenly, she seemed to become vague and dissociated, as if she were lapsing out of the reality of the court into a privacy of grief and terror. ‘But that was long ago, it was finished, done, like all the other things that happened in the war. Then…this happens…. It is all crazy like a nightmare. I keep thinking that I must wake up and find my man beside me. But he doesn’t come…he doesn’t come!’

  Her voice trailed off and she lapsed into low, broken sobbing. A whisper of pity went round the court like a breeze in a wheatfield, but the President silenced it instantly. He said: ‘Does the defence have any questions for this witness?’

  ‘We have three questions, Mr President. The first is this: how did Signora Belloni know of the charges against Anna Albertini’s mother, of the trial and execution?’

  ‘Will you answer that, please?’

  Maria Belloni raised her head and stared vaguely at the rostrum. ‘My husband told me, of course, and the others who were there. How else would I know? I had children to care for, a house to keep.’

  ‘Thank you. The next questions, Mr Rienzi?’

  ‘With the permission of the court, I should like to put them directly to the witness.’

  ‘Permission granted.’

  Rienzi got up and walked slowly across to the witness box. His manner matched that of the Prosecutor for mildness and compassion. ‘Signora Belloni, was your husband a good husband?’

  Her answer came back, swift and bitter: ‘A good husband! A good father! He loved us – took care of us. Even in the worst days, we were always fed and warm. He never did anyone any harm. The President of the Republic sent him a gold medal and called him a hero. That’s the sort of man he was. Then she came along and killed him like a dog!’

  Rienzi waited a moment until she relaxed, and then asked her with deceptive mildness: ‘Was your husband always faithful to you?’

  The Prosecutor jumped to his feet. ‘Mr President, I object!’

  The President shook his head. ‘We find the question relevant to the summary before us. The witness is required to answer it.’

  ‘I repeat the question, signora,’ said Rienzi, patiently. ‘Was your husband always faithful to you?’

  ‘Of course he was! A woman always knows, doesn’t she? He was a good husband and a good father. There was nobody else.’

  ‘Thank you, signora. That is all.’

  For the life of him, Landon could see small relevance in the question. The spectators in the court saw no drama in it either. Landon felt, with vague disappointment, that Carlo was fumbling badly against unchallengeable witnesses.

  As Maria Belloni was led from the witness box, there was a whispered consultation between the President and the other judges. Then the President addressed himself to the Prosecutor: ‘My colleagues point out, quite rightly, that, given the evidence of the witnesses so far called, given also the signed statement of the accused which the defence accepts as true and voluntary, there is no doubt in their minds as to the fact and material circumstances of the murder of Gianbattista Belloni. They point out, however, that the second part of the charge must be sustained by the Public Minister: namely, that the murder was wilful and premeditated.’

  The hawk-faced Prosecutor smiled. He could afford to be indulgent with a water-tight brief that was already half proven. He said genially: ‘We have established fact and motive, Mr President. We submit that premeditation will be proven by the testimony of our next witnesses. The first of these is Giorgio Belloni, son of the dead man.’

  Giorgio Belloni proved to be a thin, narrow-faced youth with restless hands and a strident country accent. His testimony was simple and damning. He had been confronted twice with Anna Albertini – first on the day of the murder, later at the preliminary examination. They had been school-children together and he had recognized her instantly. Both times he had challenged her to tell him why she had killed his father and on each occasion she had given, before witnesses, the same answer: ‘I have no quarrel with you, Giorgio, only with him. I had to wait a long time, but it’s finished now.’

  When Rienzi declined either to challenge the testimony or to examine the witness, the President frowned and the judges on the rostrum leant towards each other whispering. Ninette turned to Peter and asked anxiously: ‘What’s he doing, Peter? How can he possibly fight now?’

  ‘Give him time, sweetheart. This is only the first round.’

  ‘Look at Doctor Ascolini.’

  He glanced across the room and saw the old man leaning forward with his head in his hands, while Valeria sat erect beside him, a small, ironic smile on her lips. The Prosecutor announced his next witness with unctuous satisfaction: ‘Luigi Albertini, husband of the accused.’

  All heads were turned at a stifled cry from Anna.

  ‘No, Luigi…no!’

  It was the first sign of emotion she had shown since the trial began. Her eyes stared, one hand holding a crumpled handkerchief went to her mouth and it seemed for a moment as if she wanted to rush from the dock to the pale, handsome youth who was taking the stand. Then one of the guards placed a restraining hand on her shoulder and she sat rigid again, closing her eyes as if to blot out an impending horror. The young man was sworn and the President questioned him in a level voice: ‘Your name is Luigi Albertini and you are the husband of the accused?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The reply was barely audible and the President admonished him sharply: ‘This is a painful occasion, young man, but you are here to be heard by the court. Please speak up! How long have you been married?’

  ‘Four years.’

  ‘You have lived with your wife all that time?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What work do you do?’

  ‘I’m a night-watchman in the Elena textile factory in Florence.’

  ‘What are your hours of work?’

  ‘From nine in the evening until six in the morning.’

  ‘In the course of your work, do you carry a gun?’

  ‘I do.’

  At a sign from the President, the Clerk of the Court walked across to the witness box and held out the weapon.

  The President asked again: ‘Do you recognize the weapon?’

  ‘Yes, it’s mine.’

  ‘When did you last see it?’

  ‘After I came off duty on the morning of the fourteenth of August. I put it on the bedside table. I usually put it in bureau drawer, but this time I was tired and I forgot.’

  ‘The gun was loaded?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you usually do when you come off duty?’

  ‘I have a meal and go to bed.’

  ‘You did that on the morning of the fourteenth of August?’

  ‘
Yes.’

  ‘What time did you wake up?’

  ‘Three in the afternoon.’

  ‘Was your wife at home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where was she?’

  ‘I didn’t know. She left a note saying not to worry about her and that she would be back in a couple of days.’

  ‘When did you discover your gun was missing?’

  ‘As soon as I found the note.’

  ‘When did you see it again?’

  ‘When the police brought me to Siena to see my wife.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  The President looked up questioningly at Rienzi.

  He stood up slowly and said: ‘Once again, Mr President, we must ask the indulgence of the court. I should like this witness recalled for defence examination at a later time.’

  The President frowned and said, tartly: ‘I would advise Counsel for the Defence that the judgment of the court will be given on the facts contained in our brief and interpreted in evidence. He would be strongly advised not to rely upon tactical manoeuvres.’

  ‘With respect, Mr President,’ said Rienzi, firmly, ‘this court exists to dispense justice and it would be a sorry day if too rigid a procedure were to inhibit such dispensation.’

  Even to untutored observation, it was a risky move. The assisting judges looked up, displeased, and then turned to the President for a direction. The old man sat silent for a moment, toying with a pen. Finally, he frowned and said: ‘In view of the dubious situation of the defence, we are inclined to grant his request. The witness is excused but he will be recalled later.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr President.’

  Rienzi sat down and the Public Minister took the floor with placid triumph.

  ‘May it please the President and members of the court, it is the submission of the Republic that without further testimony murder is proved and premeditation as well. However, in order to anticipate any submission that may be made by the defence on the grounds of insanity or mental incapacity, I should like to call as my last witness Professor Emilio Galuzzi.’

  Professor Galuzzi made an impressive progress to the stand. He spoke slowly and pedantically, but there was no doubting either his authority or his competence. With the consent of the President, the Prosecutor led him personally through the examination.

  ‘Professor Galuzzi, what are your official appointments?’

  ‘I hold the Chair of Psychiatric Medicine at the University of Siena. I’m the Director of Psychiatric Treatment at the Santa Caterina Hospital in this city. I act as adviser to the Department of Justice on Mental Health and Criminal Psychology.’

  ‘Have you examined the prisoner Anna Albertini?’

  ‘Yes. Acting under instructions from the Chancellor of this court, I made a series of psychiatric and medical examinations of the accused.’

  ‘Will you tell the court your findings, please?’

  ‘I found no evidence of any physical disorder or of any hysteric symptoms. There was evidence of residual shock, but this was consonant with a normal reaction after a crime of this nature and with the processes of arrest, imprisonment and interrogation to which the accused had been subjected. I did note, however, strong evidence of psychic trauma directly related to the circumstances of her mother’s death. This was revealed by the classic symptoms of obsession, emotional incapacity and an apparent perversion of moral sense in respect of the crime.’

  ‘Would you say, Professor, that the accused was, in the legal sense, a sane person?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘For this reason you agreed that she was fit to stand trial in this court?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Again in the legal sense, Professor, she is to your view a responsible person?’

  ‘You’re asking me to repeat myself,’ said Galuzzi, mildly. ‘Legal sanity implies legal responsibility.’

  The Prosecutor acknowledged the reproof with a thin smile. ‘I have one more question. In your view, and in the same legal sense, was Anna Albertini a responsible person at the moment of the crime?’

  ‘I would say so, yes.’

  ‘That is all. Thank you.’

  Carlo Rienzi stood up. ‘With the permission of the President, I should like to ask the witness some questions.’

  The President looked up at the clock, which showed five minutes to midday. He said, with tart humour: ‘The court welcomes any display of activity on the part of the defence, but we are coming close to the midday recess. Will Counsel’s questioning take long?’

  ‘It may take some time, Mr President.’

  ‘In that case it would be better to take the recess now. Counsel may begin his examination when we resume sitting. The court is adjourned until three o’clock this afternoon.’

  He gathered up his papers and walked out, followed by his colleagues. The guard led Anna Albertini from the dock and the court broke into a hubbub of talk. Landon and Ninette pushed forward to speak to Carlo, but before they reached him Valeria was already there and they were close enough to catch the first terse exchanges. Valeria asked irritably: ‘Are you coming to lunch, Carlo? I don’t want to hang around here too long.’

  Carlo stared at her vaguely. ‘No, don’t wait for me. I want to talk to Anna. I’ve ordered lunch in her cell.’

  ‘Charming!’ said Valeria with contempt. ‘Charming, if a trifle bizarre! Then you won’t mind if Basilio takes me to lunch?’

  Rienzi shrugged wearily and turned away. ‘You must do whatever you want, Valeria. I can’t fight two battles at once.’

  ‘You’re not doing very well in this one, are you, darling?’

  ‘I’m doing my best,’ said Carlo moodily, ‘and there’s a long way to go yet.’

  ‘A lifetime for your little white virgin!’

  She turned away to follow the crowd from the court, but Landon bitterly angry, blocked her retreat. ‘Drop it, Valeria! Stop acting like a bitch! No man deserves what you’re trying to do to Carlo.’

  ‘You should be more polite, darling. I can do worse things if I want to.’

  She gave him a little indulgent pat on the cheek and left him, flushed and impotent, counting once more the cost of a night’s indiscretion. He turned back to the defence table, where Ninette, mercifully, was talking with Carlo: ‘You’re looking tired, Carlo. You must take care of yourself.’

  Rienzi smiled ruefully. ‘It’s been a rough time. Except for Peter here I’ve been much alone. And Valeria is playing games to make it harder.’ He turned to Landon. ‘How does it sound from the front, Peter?’

  ‘As we planned it – a preliminary skirmish.’

  A brief, boyish grin lit up Rienzi’s drawn face. ‘I think we may do a little better this afternoon. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I want to see my client. She needs a great deal of support just now.’

  ‘Why not dine with us this evening?’

  He hesitated, but Ninette gave him her most winning smile. ‘Please, Carlo! You owe us a little of your company. We’ll wait for you after the next session and then we’ll dine at my apartment. You can relax there and perhaps play us a little music.’

  ‘I’d like that. Thank you.’

  He gathered his papers and walked, a stooping, tired figure, towards the door that led to the remand cells. Landon and Ninette watched him go and were touched by a common pity for so much lonely talent and so much genuine good will. Ninette exploded angrily: ‘Valeria’s a monster! If she can’t break him one way she’ll try another. What did you say to her, Peter?’

  ‘I told her she was a bitch – and to leave Carlo alone.’

  ‘You’re not afraid of her, are you, Peter?’ The question took him unawares and for a moment he had no answer. To his surprise, Ninette laughed quietly. ‘Never let a woman blackmail you, Peter. Not even me. I love you, chéri, and I too can fight for what I want. Come on! You can buy me a drink and something to eat.’

  The ante-room of the court was almost empty, but Dr Ascolini was waiting for them near the outer door. Without so
much as a by-your-leave, he linked arms with Ninette and said, positively: ‘I refuse to eat alone. You will both have lunch with me at Luca’s. I want to talk with you.’

  There was little time to talk as they threaded their way along the narrow, crowded pavements. But when they were settled in the baroque comfort of Luca’s, Ascolini challenged Landon: ‘Well, my friend, what do you think of Carlo’s chances?’

  ‘It’s too early to say.’

  ‘And you, Ninette?’

  ‘Frankly, dottore, I don’t know what to think. I cannot believe that he is so inept as he has seemed to this point. But he has made no impression on me, and I think very little on the members of the court.’

  The old man chuckled with satisfaction. ‘So now perhaps you are prepared to agree that I might have been wise to dissuade him from this case?’

  Ninette Lachaise shook her head. ‘Not wholly. Even if he fails, and Peter thinks the odds are that he will, he will have tried his strength. He cannot fail to make some profit.’

  ‘Even if he wrecks his career?’

  ‘A career is less important than self-respect, dottore. You know that.’

  ‘Touché!’ said Ascolini with a grin. ‘You have a formidable prize in this woman of yours, Landon. Now I should tell you both something which may surprise you: I think Carlo is doing remarkably well.’ He waited a moment, savouring their surprise. ‘You, my dear Landon, are bred to the forensic fireworks of a British court. You think in terms of a duel between opposing Counsel. You want one fact balanced against another, one argument qualified by an opposite one. You demand the sway of sympathy and the clash of personality. So you miss the strategy which our system demands.’ He sipped his drink and wiped his lips fastidiously with a silk handkerchief. ‘Consider what Carlo has done so far. He has reduced himself in the eyes of the judges so that they are concerned whether adequate justice is being done to the accused. Therefore they are inclined to allow him more latitude than they would otherwise do. He has permitted the prosecution to expend its whole argument in one morning’s session. His timing allows him to examine a key prosecution witness at the beginning of a fresh session and to re-examine others in the light of defence evidence. This is sound campaigning – most sound with an unpromising brief.’