by Ivan Klíma
Table of Contents
Cover
By the Same Author
Judge On Trial
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
A Ship Named Hope
My Merry Mornings
My First Loves
A Summer Affair
Love and Garbage
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Epub ISBN: 9781407085869
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Published in 1991 by Chatto & Windus Ltd
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ISBN 0 7011 3349 X
Czech title Soudce z milosti
Copyright © Ivan Klíma 1986
Translation copyright © Alice and Gerald Turner 1991
The Publishers would like to thank the Central and Eastern European Publishing Project for their assistance in financing this translation.
Phototypeset by Intype, London
Printed and bound in Great Britain by
Mackays of Chatham PLC, Chatham, Kent
Chapter One
* * *
* * *
1
ADAM KINDL STOOD in the chambers of the Presiding Judge holding the green file he had just been handed (Indictment of Karel Kozlík on the charge of murder) and waited for his superior to come off the phone. He could have taken a seat, but sitting in this room only made him nervous, so he remained on his feet and paced up and down instead. From time to time he absent-mindedly straightened his tie or smoothed down the flaps of his jacket.
There was generally something unkempt about his appearance – a button left undone or one cheek more cleanly shaved than the other. His wife would criticise his untidiness and maintain it was the sign of an untidy mind. In his opinion, his wife had no idea what kind of mind he had: he was sure that in matters and situations of importance he did things properly. He was faithful to his wife, he did not drink to excess, he was a non-smoker, he ate in moderation and, like his father, he regarded diligence as the supreme virtue.
From outside came the roar of traffic, though he noticed it only when particularly large lorries rumbled past. His daughter used to call them dragons. That was when they were still in America. Long-distance trucks over there were enormous, garishly painted affairs. They looked like grotesque monsters as they tore down the freeway. On second thoughts, it may have been that Manda mistook the word ‘truck’ for the Czech word drak – after all she was only four and a half at the time and scarcely spoke any English.
In his mind’s eye he could see the long white ribbon of highway stretching out across the plain, stitched with bridges and flyovers. He recalled the distant towns and the oil-rigs, the dust rising in swirling columns above the dried-up landscape. If I’d stayed there I’d probably be somewhere in a university by now. In fact I’d just be starting my summer vacation, and could take Route 87 south to Big Spring, San Antonio or Port Lavaca, or even take off along Route 385, like I did that time.
He opened the file but immediately closed it again. He was already familiar with the case and realised that for a double murder committed as atrociously as this the supreme penalty would be demanded: a life for a life. He knew he ought to refuse the case, but that was precisely the sort of thing they were waiting for in order to get rid of him.
At last the Presiding Judge put the phone down and turned his fleshy face towards him, squeezing it into a smile. Some people are incapable of smiling and talking at the same time, it’s supposed to be a sign of necrophiliac tendencies. He had read somewhere that Hitler was a case in point. The smile went from the Presiding Judge’s face and he asked, ‘Your brother not back yet?’
‘No, they’ve extended his stay till the end of the year.’ His brother Hanuš was never going to return now, of course. So long as there was no change in the way things were in this country, there would be no reason for him to come back.
‘He ought to come home.’
‘He’s there legally.’ His brother had even got married out there last winter. His wife was a Czech girl that Adam had still to meet – although he was unlikely to for some time yet. She was called Olga. It was a name that meant nothing to him. Dear Olga, or Milá Olgo, seeing that you’re Czech too: your legs look nice in your photo, even if your nose is a bit on the small side. What pretty babies you’ll have! The two of them would have children and he was never likely to set eyes on them either. The kids would speak English and be subjects of her Britannic Majesty. And even if they did meet one day, they’d have nothing to say to each other by then. They’d be strangers. A pity, really.
‘All the same,’ said the Presiding Judge, ‘you realise the way things are and the situation we’re all in.’
He meant ‘the situation you’re in’, but his kind never said things like that straight out.
Of course he realised the situation he was in. He was here, and so far he had been permitted for some unfathomable reason to go on doing his job. To whom did he owe this favour and why? And what did they want in return? And how long would it be before he fell out of favour again?
He became aware of a slight queasiness in his stomach.
‘I’d sooner not give you the Kozlík, but I’m short-staffed – you know how it is yourself. At least it’ll give you a chance to show they can trust you.’
Yes, from now on he’d have to show them all the time that he was worthy of their trust. For one thing, he was no longer in the Party, and for another, he had friends who were no longer members either. They, like him, had lost the trust of the powerful ones who decided who would work – or not – and where: those who had the final say about who could pass judgement in the name of the republic, and how.
The queasiness now spread to the rest of his body and the strength went out of his arms and legs.
‘At least it’ll mean less work for you than some niggling nonsense case.’
It had nothing to do with the amount of work involved – and the Presiding Judge knew that very well when he assigned him it. But what’s the point in explaining my position? There’s little chance of us seeing eye to eye. He worked as a judge during the worst years, and sent more people to prison than he could ever count. He even sent some to the gallows. Most of them were innocent, so he was suspended and they wanted me to review similar cases. But they didn’t manage to get the process under way before everything swung back again. Or rather, everything was swung back. This fellow has been reinstated and it’s my turn to wait for suspension and wonder where I’ll be sent. He can’t wait to give me the push. And those who went through the prisons or the concentration camps go on waiting for justice, as they have done for most of their lives.
‘I was hoping t
o take some leave,’ he said, fully aware that this wouldn’t let him off the hook.
‘And why shouldn’t you? You’ll have this business sorted out in a couple of days. It’s an open and shut case. There’s no need to waste any fucking time on it. Then you can take your leave. Anyway the gamekeepers tell me we’re in for better weather in August than July this year.’
The Presiding Judge was of the hunting fraternity. He enjoyed killing hares, pheasants and deer. And maybe people, even. No, perhaps not, perhaps he just followed orders. He was not the sort to worry himself about the life of someone he believed – maybe rightly – to be a murderer. Of course he knows why I’d sooner not take this case. He’s bound to know more about me than I do about him. That’s their main qualification after all: knowing as much as they can about other people. He is certain to know I wrote an article calling for the abolition of the death penalty, even though it never got published – which means he never read it. He knows why I don’t want the case, and that’s why he’s given it to me. ‘I’ll do what I can,’ he replied, and hurried out of the room.
Back in his office he did not open the file but just pushed it into a desk drawer. It was almost noon and there was no sense in getting down to work now.
He usually lunched with his wife, and they would meet on the corner by the National Theatre. But Alena wouldn’t be coming back until the next day. He couldn’t really say he missed her over much (on the contrary, almost: he was relieved to be freed for a while from the duty to show anyone love and devotion) but he was at a loss to think of anyone else he might have lunch with.
It was ages since he had seen Oldřich, but he had no real inclination to meet his former colleague. Oldřich had changed a lot in recent years. He still came out with the same witticisms about the state of the country, the regime, violence and the bloody bolsheviks, but he was becoming more cautious of late; he had no wish to jeopardise his tranquil existence at the institute or his home comforts. As for Matěj, he was out of touch, stuck in a workman’s caravan somewhere in the sticks measuring water flows. He could always call Petr. Petr was chucked out of the faculty too, but at least he had stayed in Prague: he had just changed his job and become an insurance clerk. The trouble was that the last time they had talked together he had promised Petr that he would find him someone abroad to bring in the books he wanted. But he had done nothing about it so far.
I’ll have to write to Allan, he’ll be only too pleased to get hold of books. But what if they read the letter? It would be better to find someone I can trust to take the list over to him.
At that moment the phone rang.
It was a woman’s voice but he did not catch the name. ‘Adam, I’m in Prague. I was last here five years ago, but they told me then that you had just gone off abroad somewhere.’
‘Magda,’ he exclaimed, as he recognised her voice, ‘it can’t be you, surely?’
2
Her slim and almost angular frame had filled out. Her features, which he had once found unusual and interesting, were beginning to sag. Her dark eyes, which for some unknown reason he used to think of as Greek – at the time when they were capable of watching him with rapt or even slavish attention for minutes on end – were now constantly on the move, furtively measuring every nook and corner of the room, as if there might be some absconding schoolkid hidden there, or possibly an enemy snooper, who might give himself away with a sudden movement. It was odd that he had once loved this woman, had yearned for her body, had caressed her and known rapture when making love to her.
‘What will you have to drink?’
She ordered white wine and asked him, ‘Where were you abroad?’
‘In America. I got as far as the Rio Grande. Remember the map that used to hang in your bedroom?’
‘Why did you come back?’
‘It’s normal to come back from one’s travels.’
‘Were you alone there?’
‘No, I went with the family. I’ve got two children.’
‘And your wife wanted to come back?’
‘It was four years ago. We had no desire to emigrate.’
‘I didn’t know you were a patriot.’
‘Nor did I.’
‘How old are your kids?’
‘Eight and five,’ he replied, realising that he had deducted a year from their ages. ‘The boy is the younger one.’
‘I’ve got two girls. Ten and eight.’
‘And what about your husband?’
‘He teaches at agricultural college – or rather he used to,’ she corrected herself quickly.
She poured herself another glass. The muzak was dreadful. She must find it repulsive, he thought, recalling her tastes. She had been thirty when he left. That meant she was forty-three now. She was older than him. She had older children too, but they were still quite young for a woman of her age. He remembered how she had not wanted to have children. She had given him a whole lot of reasons why not, but had apparently changed her mind since. Or maybe she had not wanted him to be the father.
‘What were you doing all that time?’ she asked. ‘No, forgive me, that was a silly question. What’s the Rio Grande like?’
‘A dirty little river, something like the Laborec. I hiked alongside it through a canyon till I came to open country. There was a fellow there taking two white horses for a dip. Later I crossed over to Mexico in a little punt. I didn’t have the right papers but luckily nobody asked me for any. I walked for about an hour through a village of mud huts. It felt like being at that gypsy colony behond Trebišov.’
‘I appreciate your efforts to make it familiar to me.’
‘I used to think about you in those places,’ he recalled, ‘all the time I was there, but most of all on one particular day when I climbed a peak in the Chicos Range. It was Christmas Eve, and suddenly I started to regret it all.’
‘What did you regret?’
‘That you weren’t there with me.’
‘You needn’t make anything up for my sake!’
‘Why should I?’
‘You’re right. Why should you?’ she agreed. ‘Were they beautiful, the Chicos mountains?’
‘They were desolate. I felt happy there. That’s probably why I thought of you.’
‘Do you really think you were happy with me?’
He tried to think whether he had been happy with her. He tried to remember at least something of what he had felt that time, but it would not come.
‘I’m glad you’re making the effort to work it out. It proves you really did think of me when you were sailing down the Rio Grande in that dinghy.’
‘It wasn’t a dinghy,’ he corrected her, ‘it was a punt. And I wasn’t sailing down the river, I was going across it.’
The waiter refilled her glass and stood waiting for her to order her meal. Adam could not remember her drinking so much those years ago. Except on that one occasion. ‘Do you remember the time we hiked round Wallachia?’
‘Are you scared I’ll get drunk again?’ She ordered veal medaillons and a mixed salad. He ordered just a plate of cold ham. A heavy meal in the evening never agreed with him.
‘You came down with something on the return trip,’ she recalled.
‘You brought me flowers.’
‘Did I really?’ Then she said, ‘Theo died last year.’
For the life of him he could not remember who Theo was.
‘The girls liked him, even though he stopped speaking towards the end.’
Ah, that was it. Theo had been her parrot. It used to scream at him: ‘Go away, you loony, go away!’ ‘He didn’t know what he was saying, anyway.’
‘That didn’t stop you doing as you were told though,’ she said.
‘I wrote you several letters, but I never got any reply.’
‘Probably because I didn’t send you any.’
Their meals arrived. ‘It looks delicious,’ she exclaimed, and turned her gaze to him, at last managing to keep her eyes on his face. Maybe it was the wine. The
way she looked at him reminded him of the way it used to be – sitting in a grotty country pub and being in love with her.
She ate very slowly. ‘I found it impossible to write back after you went off and left me there like that.’
‘But I wrote to you to come and join me.’
‘No you didn’t. You wrote and asked me whether I didn’t feel like joining you.’
‘There’s no difference, is there?’
‘A lot more than between a punt and a dinghy, that’s for sure. What was it you actually had in mind, anyway? I had a job and a flat out there. That was all I had, then.’
‘But I told you we could get married, after all.’
‘No, you asked me whether we shouldn’t perhaps get married,’ she corrected him. ‘Or perhaps you think that’s the same as well.’
‘But you said no!’
‘What else could I have said?’
‘It was only my daft way of putting things, you know that.’
‘When it came to certain other things, you had no trouble saying what you meant – to say the least! If you had really wanted to marry me, you would never have asked.’
‘I don’t think you’re right, you know.’ The entire argument seemed fatuous to him. After all, she could hardly have come to see him after thirteen years – during which time they had not exchanged a single sentence – just to criticise the way he had behaved then.
‘And why didn’t you go abroad?’ he asked.
‘My husband didn’t want to!’ At last she drained her glass. ‘Will you drive me home?’ she asked.
‘Yes, of course.’
When he had paid the bill, she said: ‘Do you realise that this is the first time ever we’ve been for a decent meal together? Thank you.’
‘I don’t think we had the opportunity in those days.’
‘We didn’t try and find one. It was against your principles to sit somewhere quietly and enjoy a good meal.’
He had to take her as far as Vysočany. She was staying there with some relative of her husband’s. He should maybe ask her about her husband. But what was the point? He couldn’t care less about her husband. ‘Are you staying in Prague long?’ He had no idea, of course, where she now lived. He had never thought of her living anywhere but in The Hole, though no doubt she had fled the area years before.