The presiding judge was exceedingly solicitous, asking the witness how she was feeling, thanking her for appearing before the Court, and assuring her of the value of her testimony. The young woman nodded, but even as the judge extended to her the sympathies of the Court I could see that she had little use for it, she understood all too clearly its limitations, she had not come all this way for the Court’s sympathy but for its promise of justice. The Court already had the witness’s statement in the record, the judge said, detailing how her brothers and her father had been killed. She would now be made available for examination by both parties. The judge paused and then said that she was very sorry to be asking her to revisit the events of that terrible day, events that she knew were profoundly upsetting. The trial by its nature demands more from the victims than it does from the accused, the judge said, which is in and of itself another injustice, and for which I can only express my profound regret. The young woman nodded. The judge then said that she would give the floor to the prosecution.
The prosecutor rose to his feet. He said he would be asking the witness questions about one particular day, during the unrest following the election. He would be obliged to ask her to go into considerable detail, for which he apologized. And he also apologized for speaking to her in French, unfortunately he did not speak her language. After a brief pause, during which his words were interpreted, I looked to the booth across the way. The young woman gave a curt nod and the prosecutor cleared his throat and examined his notes before commencing.
You were at home on the day in question, were you not?
The young woman leaned forward and responded.
Yes, I was at home with my family.
But you went out in the morning.
Yes. I went out in the morning with my brothers. It seemed that things had quieted down, and we wanted to go to the school. There had been gunshots the previous night, coming from that direction.
Her voice remained low and firm. She spoke with great deliberation, so that each word was like a link in a chain and the entire thing held fast, even as it moved across languages. From her to the visiting interpreters to us. The prosecutor nodded.
How far is the school from your home?
Perhaps ten minutes.
And what did you find when you arrived at the school?
The young woman paused and took a sip of water from her glass.
Please take your time.
Her gaze snapped up to the prosecutor. She shook her head, as if to say that she required no special dispensation, and continued.
There were bodies everywhere.
How many?
Thirty-two.
How do you know?
Because I counted.
Why?
What else should I have done?
Her manner was very simple as she said this, and there was not a drop of self-pity in it. Robert was interpreting and I heard his voice run dry. He continued.
And they were of the targeted ethnicity?
Yes.
How do you know this?
Because they were my neighbors. I grew up with these boys. I knew them very well. I knew their mothers and their sisters. I knew what they liked to eat for their dinner, what they wanted to be when they grew up.
Robert motioned to me and I nodded and took over.
And what happened next?
There were more gunshots. We heard more gunshots, and so we went home as quickly as we could. We ran home.
What happened when you arrived?
Our father pulled us inside and he and my brothers barred the door. We could hear the shouts coming from down the road. I ran outside and hid in the shed.
Where were your father and brothers?
They stayed in the house. I ran out alone.
And what happened next?
As I worked, I was obliged to focus on the voice of the interpreter in the opposite booth, which was measured and precise and occluded much of the sound of the young woman’s speech. And yet her voice came through with remarkable clarity in the gaps between interpretation, the syllables distinct, the timbre unmistakable, so that I still had the sense that I was speaking for her, despite the layers of language between us.
I said: There was the sound of shouting coming louder and louder and then the men started banging on the door. I could hear them from the shed outside, I could hear everything. They broke the door down and then they ordered my father and my brothers to lie on the ground. I heard the sound of gunshots and I ran out of the shed and into the house—
Why did you do this?
I paused. Because I wanted to protect my family.
How did you hope to protect your family?
With my body. It is small and it does not look like much but it can stop a bullet.
But you were not able to protect your family?
No. I paused. When I arrived, my brothers were dead. They lay in a line on the floor, facedown. My father was lying on the floor beside my brothers and I begged them not to kill my father, I ran forward so that I could stop them. But one of the men hit me in the head with the butt of his gun and I fell back to the floor and I could not move. I watched as they shot my father in the head. The blood from his wound flowed into the blood of my brothers and I screamed and screamed. They ignored me as they went through the house taking our money and our radio and whatever else they could find, they even ate our food, the food that had been prepared for lunch. They had no respect for the living or the dead, they were laughing as I screamed. As I shook my brothers and I shook my father and I tried to bring them back to life.
I stared across at the booth, and the interpreter looked up as he spoke and as I continued to interpret, and for a long moment we simply stared at each other.
The other interpreter looked down again as the witness paused. Sorry, I did not stop to allow for the interpretation, he said. I apologize. The witness looked up to the booths. I apologize, I said. May I continue?
Someone must have indicated that sufficient time had lapsed because she began once more. As I looked down at the witness, it prickled through me, the strangeness of speaking her words for her, the wrongness of using this I that was hers and not mine, this word that was not sufficiently capacious.
I said: And then they left. They did not think me worth killing. I was nothing to them. My grief was nothing to them. They thought of me as entirely insignificant, a little girl, not even worth the bullet it would take to kill me.
The prosecutor nodded. His voice, when he spoke, was very gentle.
And was it your understanding that these men belonged to groups mobilized by the former president in the wake of the election?
Kees rose at once, Your Honor, the witness cannot be expected to make a judgment—
The witness interrupted and he fell silent. My breath caught as I watched her lean forward and speak into the microphone, her arms folded on the desk, her voice steady.
There was a slight delay and then the interpreter in the other booth said, and then I said, the tremble audible in my voice, unlike the voice of the other interpreter, unlike the voice of the witness herself, which remained steady and solid and strong: Yes. There is no doubt in my mind. I know exactly who these men were, and why they were there to kill us. I know exactly who ordered them to exterminate us all.
And as I spoke, I could not help it, my gaze went from the young woman to the former president. Who had no need for these layers of interpretation. Who sat bolt upright and did not move, and whose gaze was trained with utmost attention and care upon the witness.
14.
One week later, I saw Anton in a restaurant close to the Court. I had been taken out for lunch by Bettina. She did not usually socialize with her staff and I knew there had to be something she wished to discuss—likely my contract, and the question of whether I would or would not remain at the Court.
It was something that had begun to weigh upon me, more heavily by the day. Ever since the witness testimony, my time in the booth had become more difficult, and I had started to look at my colleagues differently. They no longer seemed like the well-adjusted individuals I had met upon my arrival, instead they were marked by alarming fissures, levels of dissociation that I did not think could be sustainable. And then there was the question of Adriaan, to which I had no real response. I did not know whether I wished to stay or not. But where would I go, if I were to leave? I was not yet able to envision an alternative. For this reason alone it was not a matter of small interest to me, whether or not the Court would extend my contract.
However, Bettina did not bring up the topic until the end of the meal, and because of this I spent the lunch in a state of some tension, enjoying my food less than I might have. The restaurant was Italian, an old apothecary that had been recently renovated. We were seated at a table close to the kitchen, from which I could observe the whole of the dining room. The restaurant was a popular venue for dates and special occasions, but as it was the middle of the day the tables were filled with business lunches. The Court was not in session that day, nonetheless I was surprised by Bettina’s leisurely manner, she ordered a starter and then a main. I thought once we had ordered she would explain to me the purpose of our excursion but she continued to make small talk, as the food arrived and then as we ate. The restaurant had been busy when we arrived but quickly emptied once the hour pushed past two, no one else was lingering over their meal in this way. Still Bettina did not broach the subject. It was only once the waiter asked if we wished to see the dessert menu and Bettina replied for both of us, only once we had ordered our desserts and coffees that she at last turned to me and said, There’s something I would like to discuss.
It was at that precise moment that Anton walked into the restaurant. He entered the dining room with the host, saying something that made the host laugh loudly, perhaps he was narrating one of his lengthy stories. The place had fallen quiet but now was vibrating with energy as the two men made their way across the empty dining room. They talked and gestured with enthusiasm, the host’s affection seemed genuine and I thought Anton must have been a regular. His limp was barely perceptible, he was far more energetic than he had been the previous week at Eline’s house and was clearly in better spirits. The host led him to a corner table. He sat down and set his cane to one side, then smoothed the cloth with his hands, the table was a prime one and he seemed pleased with the arrangement. The two men continued to exchange their raucous pleasantries before the host at last handed him the menu and departed. Anton lowered the menu and took out a pair of reading glasses, which he settled on the end of his—I now realized—extraordinarily large nose. How was it I hadn’t noticed it before? He picked up his phone and began tapping energetically at the screen before he set it down again. The reason I asked you to lunch, Bettina said, and I turned. She was looking at me peculiarly, she had come to a rather substantial pause. No doubt she was wondering why I was so distracted. The reason I asked you to lunch is because we would like to extend your contract and invite you to assume a permanent position here.
Even from across the room I could hear the phone vibrate. My gaze lurched back, at his corner table Anton picked up the phone and stared at the screen impatiently, he was waiting for someone. As I watched, he sighed and pulled his glasses off, he had placed his cane to one side and now looked around the room, his eyes narrowed and imperious. He looked directly at me and I quickly looked away, back to Bettina. She continued, We’ve been very impressed with the work you have done with us this year. It’s a period that has not been without complications, a moment of many transitions for the Court.
I would need to reply, Bettina was already perplexed by my behavior. I nodded and then said, Thank you. That wasn’t sufficient, but I didn’t know what else to say. I thought distractedly of Adriaan, it was delusional to think that the relationship was extant, that he might yet return to me. I knew this. And yet in the moments I was able to see around my emotion and my ego, I was forced to acknowledge this undignified truth: that it would only take a call or other missive for my hope to resurrect itself. If Adriaan sent me a message now, if he said that he was coming back in a few days and nothing more, I knew that I would look up and tell Bettina that I would be delighted to accept, my discomfort with the work notwithstanding.
But as it was, in the absence of such a message, I did not know what to say to her. I had very little more than the persistence of my feeling for Adriaan, my unreasonable attachment. Across the room, Anton was no longer looking in my direction, I was fairly certain he had not noticed me. He was frowning as he stared at his phone, he was at the point where his anticipation was threatening to curdle into irritation and resentment, perhaps he was meeting an important client, or someone who was offering to sell a rare volume, I thought there was something covetous in his expectancy. Bettina was silent, and I forced myself to continue. The trial has been an interesting challenge, I said, and she nodded sympathetically. What has happened to that witness, where is she now? I asked.
Bettina looked away. That kind of information isn’t widely shared. Of course, I murmured. It’s a complicated case, she continued. It may well collapse. But regardless of the outcome of the trial and its consequences for the Court, you should be pleased, you have done well. She paused. I wondered what she meant by its consequences for the Court, what precisely those consequences might be. At that moment, a blond woman pushed through my line of sight, passing directly behind Bettina. She was dressed in a bright purple double-breasted skirt suit and her legs were muscular and bare, the shins shiny with depilation. She walked with both eagerness and apprehension, as if she were scaling a slippery incline. I peered down and saw that she was wearing a pair of red-soled high heels, a brand of shoe that was notoriously expensive and near impossible to walk in.
The shoes were sexy, or at least they denoted sex in an explicit way, it might have been that they were primarily shoes to fuck in, the kind of shoes that were given by men to women. To my horror, I saw that the woman was making her way toward Anton’s table. She wore an expression of giddy determination, as if she would let nothing stand in her way, not the high-heeled shoes nor the slick surface of the floor. As for Anton, he had risen to his feet in a posture of scrupulous and ecstatic attention, he looked exactly like a large dog being presented with a piece of raw meat. She gave a breathless squeal of excitement and hastened her pace, her heels releasing a sudden clatter of noise.
Bettina was still talking. In any case, we would like it very much if you were to stay. There will be a salary increase, and the Court has resources to help you transition more fully into your life here, at least from an administrative perspective. I turned to look at Bettina. What life here? I thought blankly, and then a moment later, painfully. In the face of my silence, Bettina continued, This is not a case of covering Amina’s maternity leave, there is a real position for you, a permanent one. She paused. That is, if you want to take it.
I nodded. May I think about it? She sat back, a little disappointed. Of course, take a week to think about it. Two weeks, even, she said. I thanked her, even as I spoke my gaze slid back in the direction of the corner table. Anton and the blond woman were nestled into their seats. She sat very still, her cleavage on the verge of spilling out onto the table, while around her Anton was a flurry of movement, he seemed incapable of keeping his hands off her, he touched her cheeks, her hands, her hair, his mouth moving constantly as he doused her in the current of his speech. She nodded occasionally, smiling shyly, the poor woman seemed overcome by his attention.
As she sat there, blinking in confusion, I saw that despite the powerful charisma of her body, her face was very plain, the individual features unremarkable. But Anton was right to be delighted by his good luck, she was a carnal prospect of no small worth. He was in a state of extreme excitation, so that it seemed as if he might soon burst, he squeeze
d her hand with such force that she let out a little squawk. She looked at him with an expression of real adoration, staring into his face as he gripped her hand and, with a wicked grin, lowered it to his lap. As I watched them, I understood that Anton was attractive, a man with no small powers of fascination.
Do you have any questions for me? Anything that might help you reach your decision? I swiveled my head back to Bettina. She looked uncertain, my behavior had unnerved her. She leaned back in her chair and said, Where is your family? I don’t think I ever asked. It was true, Bettina had never asked me a single personal question. My mother moved to Singapore a few years ago. My father is dead. I’m sorry, Bettina said, and I shook my head. It was some years ago, and it wasn’t a surprise. It was even a relief, he was sick for a long time. She cleared her throat. And is Singapore home? she asked, and I shook my head again. I don’t think I’ve spent more than a couple of weeks there. I moved here from New York.
Yes, Bettina said, many at the Court have similar family histories, a certain rootlessness seems almost to be a precondition for the work. I nodded. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Anton rise and tug the blond woman unsteadily to her feet. She wobbled and I wondered if she was already drunk, Anton had ordered champagne and they had both rapidly emptied their glasses. They made their way across the dining room, he was using his cane and she was trailing a little way after him, her heels clattering on the floor. Probably they were going outside to smoke a cigarette. I turned back to Bettina, I said that I would let her know as soon as I was able, I wouldn’t keep her waiting. She nodded, and then I asked her how long she had lived in the Netherlands.
A decade.
It was a long time and yet it was shorter than I thought. She sat in the chair across from me, and she seemed so thoroughly of this city, she understood the language and the customs, the unspoken ideologies of its culture. In the end, it took only a decade to become of a place, and that was not so very long.
There were adjustments, she added as the waiter set down our dessert plates. She waited until he left, and then picked up her fork. It’s not a very affordable city, and there is something small scale in the landscape, at least compared to where I am from. I go home when I can. I need to be in the place where I grew up, and Germany is only a short drive away. But I like the Dutch, they are quite neutral as a people, although even that is in and of itself something to adjust to.
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