“I don’t understand.”
“Americans!” He shook his head with disapproval. “You’re lucky it was old Zarko who recommended you. Look, kid, whatever your aim is, you have two options, the second less promising than the first. If you manage to persuade them to declare him innocent, you’ll be hated by the entire OGPU. They might leave you be for a while, but as soon as the case is forgotten, they’ll come after you. Those people don’t forgive a defeat, I can promise you that.”
“And if they convict him?”
“If they convict him, they’ll execute him by firing squad, and shoot you.”
“What do you mean?” Jack wobbled.
“That unless you leave the country, sooner or later you’ll meet the same fate. Defending a guilty man before Stalin is not, shall we say, well regarded.”
“Look, I’m not sure why I’m wasting my time listening to you, but—”
“Silence!” the old man bellowed. “I haven’t finished. Old Zarko asked me to help you, and that’s what I’m going to do, so listen closely because there are things you must know if you’re to have any chance against those cretins. I know what you’re thinking . . . that there’s no way a dirty old drunk like me is going to help you, but in my day, I was one of the most successful lawyers in Saint Petersburg. A sad business, but that’s another story. Do you have any reports? Any documents that might help us?”
Jack considered telling him about McMillan’s papers, but prudence decided him against it. However, he promised that he would provide anything that the old man needed.
“Good. Well, until then, what you have to do is delay the verdict for as long as possible. The secret police will want to close the case while Stalin’s here and notch a victory, but Stalin won’t stay in Gorky for long. That man’s a demon, I can tell you. He appears in the middle of the night, goes for his enemy’s throat, and then returns to his lair in Moscow to continue his plotting. If you want to find him, all you have to do is follow the trail of corpses he leaves behind.” He coughed. “To slow the proceedings down, ask for witnesses that are difficult to find, cross-examine witnesses that have already been questioned, ask for written evidence, complain, protest, shield yourself behind legal language, whatever you can think of. Just make sure that Stalin has to leave the city before the verdict, or you’ll watch your friend Wilbur be shot to pieces, and the same thing will happen to you.”
Suddenly, as if by magic, Jack’s opinion of the drunk had completely changed. “All right. Anything else?”
“Yes. The Communists are masters of propaganda. Pravda, Izvestia, Radio Moscow, pamphlets, posters, rallies, union meetings . . . If they used their skills to sell by mail order, they’d be the best businesspeople on earth. And if you want the slightest chance of winning, you should do the same.”
“Me? How? Stick posters up on the walls of the kremlin?”
“Drop the sarcasm,” the old man spat out. “A Soviet trial’s unlike any you’ve ever seen. Forget laws and evidence, because they won’t help you. They’ll do whatever they want, however they want. Try contacting your fellow countrymen in Moscow. Maybe that will help.”
“It was the first thing I did. I sent a message to the American embassy, to—”
“By Lenin’s whiskers! Who said anything about an embassy? They’ve only just opened it; the diplomats won’t move a finger because they won’t want to upset Stalin. Call the journalists. Those people are made of sterner stuff. Get the American journalists posted to Moscow interested in the case. Only if they report it in the United States will the embassy even consider stepping in.”
Jack was left openmouthed. He couldn’t understand how a man with so much common sense could be living like a beggar. He guessed the vodka had been responsible for his decline, and the fact that he’d run out, the reason for his temporary lucidity. He remembered his father’s last days, and what alcohol had done to him.
He didn’t know how to put into practice the old man’s advice. He was trying to explain the difficulties, when he suddenly remembered the little man with the bow tie. “Hang on! Maybe there is one possibility. I met a Louis Thomson on the ship that took us to Helsinki, and again later, in Russia. I know he works for the New York Times in Moscow, but I wouldn’t know how to locate him. Perhaps you could help me.”
“Sorry, kid. If the OGPU found out I was back to my old ways”—he pointed at the scars on his face—“what they did to me then would be child’s play compared to what they’d do now.”
Jack took out another five hundred rubles and showed them to the man. The lawyer licked his lips when he saw them. When he finally agreed to help, Jack knew they would be the best five hundred rubles he’d spent since he arrived at the Avtozavod.
Back home, while they ate dinner, Jack agreed to a new strategy with Elizabeth. When she went to bed, he remained awake, thinking of Natasha, longing for her touch, cursing himself for falling in love with the daughter of his enemy.
36
The second session began with the same protocol as the day before. Jack waited impassively for the parade of officials, the salutes, and the applause for the Supreme Leader, followed by the ominous silence that spread through the room when Stalin ordered the resumption of the trial. Beside him, Elizabeth’s chair remained empty. When Sergei asked for her whereabouts, Jack took the opportunity to ask for an adjournment.
“Honorable representatives of the Soviet people, I regret to have to inform you that Miss Elizabeth Hewitt has suddenly fallen ill, seized by an attack of hysteria caused by the unexpected arrest of her uncle and the ordeal of the trial. She is prostrated in bed today and unable to speak, so she has requested the adjournment of these proceedings until she has fully recovered.”
Sergei seemed unmoved. He smoothed his graying, perfectly trimmed beard, and looked at Stalin, who shook his head.
“Mr. Beilis, I understand your reasons for making such a request, but the events are of such gravity that any delay to their resolution would not be tolerated by the Soviet people.”
“Mr. Loban, I’ll remind you that your country’s Penal Code lays down the principle of the right to a fair trial.”
“And I will remind you that the principle of a defendant’s right to a fair trial is subject to, and subordinate to, the principle of national security.”
“You mean then that the session should continue even though Wilbur Hewitt has no defense?” Jack hoped his presumption would make Sergei reflect. However, it was Joseph Stalin who stood up from his chair, his face red with rage.
“Mr. Beilis!” he bellowed. “Perhaps you are accustomed to the American legal system, in which individuals’ rights are respected above all else, but now you are in the great nation of the Soviet Union. Here, the collective prevails over the individual, social interests over private ones, national law over the abominable ambitions of the counterrevolutionaries. Yesterday, Miss Hewitt stated that she had agreed to defend her uncle alongside you, and that you would be the one to make her arguments without needing to consult her directly. I find no reason why this should not continue to be the case now. Moreover, I warn you that I will interpret any time-wasting tactics as an affront to the interests of the state, and if you persist with them, I will have you arrested.”
Jack looked at Wilbur Hewitt sitting in his chair, oblivious to the threats that Stalin had just made. Everything was becoming increasingly complicated. He supposed that his only chance was to discredit Sergei. He organized his papers and turned to the Russian. “Mr. Loban, Wilbur Hewitt is an American citizen. The principle of extraterritoriality guarantees that certain citizens are tried in their own country, even if the crime they are accused of has been committed on Soviet soil. Wilbur Hewitt—”
“Mr. Beilis! Wilbur Hewitt is no diplomat, so the principle you mention is inapplicable. Article Four of our Penal Code is crystal clear about the scope of our jurisdiction.”
“It’s true, he’s not a diplomat, but since the commercial relationship between the Ford Motor Company
and the Soviet Union predates any diplomatic relations between our countries, and given his position and the type of professional and commercial relationship that he has been engaged in, Wilbur Hewitt’s status is comparable, under the principle of analogy, to that of a bona fide diplomat, with all the considerations due to it.”
Sergei smiled. “Forgive me if I laugh at your ignorance. The principle of analogy is not applicable here because it refers to the crime and not the jurisdiction. Perhaps you should stop making incoherent requests and start defending your client, or we will be obliged to end your involvement.”
Jack sighed. He took out a cigarette and lit it. He looked at his notes, filled with stupid ideas. He didn’t even know what he was doing, trying to defend the same man who had lied to him when he’d hired him. He remembered the advice of the drunken lawyer, and addressed the jury. “Very well. I call Stanislav Prior to the witness stand.”
Hearing the name, Wilbur Hewitt could not prevent a look of astonishment. Stanislav Prior was the mutilated witness who had begun the round of testimony the day before. Jack gestured to him to relax.
Once he was in the witness box, Jack made Stanislav Prior recount in minute detail every event that led up to his accident. It took fifteen minutes. When the testimony was over, Sergei stepped in.
“Don’t make us waste time with statements we’ve already heard. If you want to review them, request the court records,” he warned him.
“Mr. Loban, I need the jury to keep fresh in their minds all of the details of your relationship with the accused.” Without giving him a second to respond, he turned to Prior again. “You say that the press that mutilated you, an American model acquired by the Avtozavod from the Ford Motor Company, unexpectedly discharged a stroke, cutting off your right arm. Is that right?”
“I just said it,” the man answered.
“According to Mr. Loban, the machine was part of a batch that initially should have been supplied from Dearborn, but that was ultimately replaced by a batch from the dismantled Ford factory in Berlin. He attributes the fault that caused your terrible accident to the deterioration of the machine. Tell me, were you aware that this replacement was carried out to save costs with the agreement of the Avtozavod’s Soviet directors?”
“No. I just operate the machinery. Well, not anymore . . .” He showed Jack the end of his stump.
“I see. And tell me, the press that cut off your arm, does it not have a safety mechanism that obliges the user to simultaneously activate two buttons, set at a distance from each other, so that when the stroke is discharged, both hands are clear of the impact zone?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“So, how is it possible that it trapped you?”
“Like I said, the machine failed.”
“Yes. But what was it that failed? I know that press, and if the safety procedure is followed, it’s impossible for such an accident to happen. Both buttons must be pressed—”
“No, sir.”
“What do you mean? I can assure you, that press—”
“That machine had two buttons, at first. Later, it just had one.”
“A single button? I don’t understand. Allow me to consult my notes . . . According to the report provided to me by the prosecution, it was a Cleveland Z25.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about the model.”
“But did you write this damage report?” He took it to the man so that he could read it. Jack had found it among the documents that he’d compiled during his inspections as a supervisor.
“I can’t remember.”
“Here it says Stanislav Prior. My knowledge of Cyrillic script is limited, but Prior can be read very clearly. In this report, you informed your superiors that the safety mechanism had broken, on a date prior to your accident. A week before, if I’m not mistaken.”
The one-armed operative looked to Sergei for help, but Jack instructed him to respond.
“Yes. But the machine was repaired,” the operative said.
“Ah! Excellent. And what did the repair consist of?”
The man looked at Sergei again.
“Please, answer the question,” Jack insisted.
The operative cleared his throat. “The broken button was bridged to remove its function, so the press worked with a single button.”
“And why was the old one not replaced with a new one?”
“Because there were no spare parts.”
“Oh! And do you know who was responsible for supplying the spare parts?”
“No. I don’t know.” His face turned pale.
“Mr. Loban.” Jack turned to the Avtozavod’s head of security. “Do you know who was responsible for supplying spares? Do you know whether it was Mr. Wilbur Hewitt?”
Sergei reddened. He eyed Jack with contempt.
“It fell to a Soviet employee who has already been purged. But if that’s the entirety of your argument, I advise you to explore other avenues. This is just one of many witnesses who have testified to the poor condition of the machinery supplied by Wilbur Hewitt.”
“I understand, but if the button had been replaced, none of this would have happened.”
Sergei considered his response carefully before replying. He looked at Jack challengingly and pointed at the accused. “And if instead of enriching himself, Wilbur Hewitt had supplied equipment fit for use, that button would never have broken, and today Stanislav Prior would be able to hold his child in both arms,” roared Sergei to thunderous applause.
Knowing the risk to his own safety that he was taking, over the course of the morning Jack tried to draw out his strategy for as long as possible, but when he called the fourth witness, Sergei exploded.
“That’s enough! I ask our great Supreme Leader to put a stop to any further statement that, rather than provide new information, merely slows the progress of the trial.”
“Esteemed representatives of the Soviet people,” Jack countered, “yesterday, nothing stopped Mr. Loban from boring us with testimonies that only demonstrated the occurrence of a series of unfortunate accidents, without at any time proving any connection between those accidents and the accused. This is what I intend to illustrate, and therefore I request—”
“Mr. Beilis!” The courtroom fell silent when Stalin himself stubbed out his cigar and stood. “I do not have all day to listen to testimonies that are already transcribed in the records, so end your turn or I will order your silence by other means.”
Jack could see that if he pushed it too far, Stalin would end the proceedings. However, he had no choice but to continue. The suspicions of the drunken lawyer had been right. If they were allowing him to defend Wilbur Hewitt, it was only because Stalin wanted to legitimize this farce of a trial. But, as soon as it was over, they would do away with him. He set aside his witness list and tried to apologize. “Mr. General Secretary, I can assure you that my only interest is to defend the truth, unlike Mr. Loban, who seems intent on laying the blame on Wilbur Hewitt, without providing even a shred of evidence to support his serious accusations. Broken machines cause accidents, interruptions, or failures in production. But these machines are broken”—he brandished his reports—“not because of some nefarious actions on the part of the accused; rather, the cause was an inexcusable lack of maintenance, negligent handling, or total ignorance of the safety warnings, the responsibility for which, under the agreement, falls to the Avtozavod itself.”
He took a volume from his case and turned to Sergei. “You accuse Mr. Wilbur Hewitt of counterrevolutionary actions, of fraudulent enrichment, and even of deliberately injuring workers he has never seen. Well, are you familiar with this manual?” He showed him the volume with a brown cover, the title in English reading Maintenance and Safety Procedure for Employees of the Ford Company Factories.
“Of course.”
“Of course. And you know it, because Wilbur Hewitt handed it to the factory’s Soviet directors in person, am I right?”
“Yes, that’s right.�
�
“Good. Where is its translation?”
“Pardon?”
“Where is its translation into Russian? This is an original copy, in English, and I don’t think the Avtozavod’s operatives are capable of reading it.”
“There were problems understanding certain terms. But the translation is under way.” He cleared his throat. “At any rate, its contents do not alter the crimes Mr. Hewitt is charged with.”
“They don’t? All right. Do you know what this is?” He took another similar volume from his case, this time with a green cover. “It is the Verordnung über Wartung und Sicherheitsmassnahmen für die Arbeiter in den Ford-Fabriken, the translation of the same manual into German, which the German government made available to all of its workers in May 1928, three months before production of the Ford A began in Berlin.”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant? Do you consider it irrelevant that the Germans’ adherence to the maintenance schedule and the rest of the safety measures outlined in this manual meant that, in the four years during which production was maintained in Berlin, there were only three serious accidents, almost the same number of incidents that take place here each week? Do you consider it irrelevant that those accidents could have been avoided?”
Sergei frowned, but more out of surprise than concern. “Are you accusing us of something, Mr. Beilis?”
“I merely asked a question. If there is anything that might accuse you, it will be your answer.”
“Comrade Loban.” The commissar responsible for administrating the sessions stepped in. “Do you wish to take a break from the proceedings? Perhaps you should consult—”
“Sergei does not need to consult anything!” Stalin broke in. “Arrogant Americans!” he growled. “Very well, Mr. Beilis, since you insist, I will answer your question.” He raised his voice, and the courtroom fell silent. “The Soviet Union has built an immense factory from scratch. We have invested vast sums of money to transform a frozen wasteland into a technological center that will power the proletarian awakening. We have taken thousands of peasant farmers from their barren fields, their poverty, and their dismal future, and brought them here, to a place where they can shape their own future. Where before there was despair, exploitation, and death, now there are cities, factories, wages, hospitals, schools . . . All of this requires sacrifice. And now you, an immigrant who left his country because it was dying of hunger; you, an immigrant whom our government welcomed with open arms; you, who were given work and a home for the simple reason that you needed it, dare to question our methods?”
The Last Paradise Page 37