Involuntary Witness - Страница 30

I read the article twice. Spectacular cross-examination. I could not suppress a feeling of childish pleasure at reading those words and seeing my photograph in the paper. Occasionally during other trials I had got a mention and even had my photograph printed.

But in this case it was different. I was the protagonist of the whole article.

When had they taken that photo? It wasn’t very recent, perhaps a couple of years old, but I couldn’t remember the occasion. I looked fairly good in it, even though, all told, I thought I looked better in real life.

After a second or two of such reflections I felt a complete idiot, put down the paper and turned to Abdou.

He was watching me. From his expression it was clear that now he was convinced that we would pull it off. He had read the paper and was now thinking that perhaps he had been lucky, that he was in the hands of the right lawyer. I asked myself whether I had better tell him that despite the fact that things had gone well in the hearing, the odds were still heavily against us. I concluded that there was no reason to do so. I therefore only nodded and gave a slight shrug. It could mean anything or nothing.

“Right, Abdou. We must now put our minds to the next hearing. Your interrogation.”

He nodded and said nothing. He was attentive but it was not up to him to talk. It was up to me.

“I am now going to tell you how the thing works, and how you must behave. If something I say is not clear to you, please interrupt me and tell me so at once.”

Another nod. “Of course.”

“You will first be examined by the public prosecutor. While he is asking you questions, look him in the face. Attentively, not with an air of challenge. Do not answer until he has finished the question. When he has finished, turn towards the bench and speak to the court. Never get into an argument with the public prosecutor. Is that clear?”

“When the prosecutor is speaking I look at him, when I am speaking I look at the judges.”

“OK. Obviously the same thing holds true when you are questioned by the counsel for the civil party, or when I question you myself. You must make it clear to the court that you are listening to the questions before answering them. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

“Wait for the questions to end before answering. Especially when I am doing the questioning. We must not seem to be putting on an act, with every question and answer memorized. You see what I’m trying to say?”

“It must not seem like an act between us two.”

“OK. Don’t sit on the edge of your chair. Sit well back. Like this.” I showed him how. “But don’t sit like this.” And I showed him again, slouching back, sprawling, knees crossed and so on.

“The idea’s clear enough, isn’t it? You mustn’t give the impression of wanting to run away, by sitting on the edge of your chair, but nor must you give the impression of being too relaxed. We’ll be talking about your life, the fact that you might go to prison for a great many years, and so you can’t be relaxed. If you seem relaxed, it means you’re putting it on and they will realize that. Maybe unconsciously, but realize it they will. You follow me?”

“Yes.”

“When you don’t understand a question, or even if you are unsure of having understood it, don’t try to answer. Whoever has put the question, ask him to repeat it.”

“Very good.”

“Then, before going on would you like to repeat to me what I’ve said so far?”

“I must look in the face whoever is asking me questions. When the question is finished, I turn, look at the court and answer. If I don’t understand a question, I must ask for it to be repeated, please. I must sit like this.”

He sat as I had told him to. I smiled and nodded. He didn’t need things said twice.

At that point I delved into my briefcase and took out the copy of his interrogation by the public prosecutor and various other papers. Having made clear how he must conduct himself, we now had to talk about what he would have to say, of how he was to explain what he had already said, and of the applications for additional evidence that I would have to put forward after his interrogation.

I was in the prison until three o’clock, with the heat becoming more and more insufferable. When we shook hands at the moment of parting, I felt we had really done everything we could.

I went home, had a shower, put on light trousers and a sweater. I made a salad, ate it, and smoked a couple of cigarettes, seated in an armchair and drinking a whizzed-up American coffee. At about half-past four I started for the office. I tried to buzz Margherita from the front door but she wasn’t at home. I was disappointed, but thought I would ring her later, when I’d finished work.

At the office I saw a few clients, had a visit from my accountant, got through the correspondence, and having done that told Maria Teresa that she could pack up early for the day. I looked down at a sheet of paper on the desk before me. When I looked up again she was still there. I regarded her with a slightly questioning smile. She was not a beautiful girl, but she had lovely blue eyes, intelligent and humorous. She had been working for me for four years and in the meantime was studying for a law degree. She wanted to be a magistrate.

“Is there something?” I asked, still with that smile.

For her part, she seemed to be searching for words.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m glad… I’m glad that you’re better. I’ve been very… very worried.”

I was dumbstruck. Never since we had known one another had we so much as hinted at personal matters. After four years I didn’t know who she really was, that girl, whether she had a boyfriend, what she thought and so on. I was simply not expecting her to say anything of that sort, even though I well knew that she realized what had happened to me. It was she who spoke again.

“I would have liked to do something to help you, when you were so ill, but you were so withdrawn. I was worried, I thought it might come to a bad end.”

“Bad end?”

“Yes, don’t laugh. I thought of people who commit suicide and then their friends and acquaintances say they were depressed, for some time they had been so changed, and things of that sort…”

“You thought I might kill myself?”

“Yes. Then these last months things have begun going better and I’ve been glad. Now they’re going much better and I wanted to tell you. That I’m glad.”

I didn’t know what to say. The things that came to my lips were all banalities, and I didn’t want to utter banalities. Whole worlds pass close by us and we don’t notice. I was moved.

“Thank you,” was all I said. Then I quickly got up, circled the desk and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She blushed, just a little.

“So… see you Monday.”

“Yes, Monday. Thank you, Maria Teresa.”

I had to finish preparing for Abdou’s interrogation and also sort out a few technical questions regarding my applications for additional evidence. I therefore went on working until past eight, then shut up everything and went out. There was still some daylight left and a slight breeze had sprung up. The temperature was comfortable and I felt euphoric. I had done my duty, it was summer and it was Friday. For the first time for ever so long I had the weekend feeling, and a wonderful feeling it was. I wanted to do something to celebrate.

I tried calling Margherita on her mobile but it was off or didn’t make the connection. I tried calling her on the intercom but she wasn’t at home. I was disappointed, but only slightly.

I wondered what to do and came up with an answer at once. I went upstairs, packed a small bag, took a few books, got into the car and headed south. I was off to the sea.

I reached Santa Maria di Leuca around eleven and took a room in a small pensione right on the seafront. I had dinner and then went for a long walk up and down the front, sitting on a bench every so often to smoke a cigarette, watching the people and enjoying the cool night air. About half-past one I went to bed. I fell asleep at once, waking at nine o’clock on the Saturday. I couldn’t remember when I had last slept so soundly. Perhaps when I was twenty or a little more.

Those two days were nothing but bathing, sun, eating, reading, sleeping and watching people. Scarcely a single thought. I watched the people on the beach, in the restaurants, and in the evening in the streets. I spent hours just watching people, without worrying that they were watching me too and might be speculating about me in one way or another. On Saturday morning on the beach I made friends with a woman from Lecce, about sixty-five and somewhat fat, in a blue flowered bathing costume, fortunately one-piece. She was nice, she told me about her husband, who had died three years before, and how she had been in a really bad way for five or six months and thought that her life was over because they had been married when she was twenty-two and she had never been with another man. Then she had begun to think that perhaps her life was not over, and that there were a few things she had always wanted to do but for one reason or another had always put off doing. So she started going to origami classes, which was one of those things she had always wanted to do, because when she was little her grandmother used to make her the loveliest toys by folding, cutting and colouring paper. Her grandmother had promised to teach her when she was bigger. But her grandmother had died when she was seven and hadn’t been able to teach her. So she had learned origami and become very good at it – she showed me so by making a penguin, a seal and even a reindeer before my very eyes – and she’d taken a fancy to doing other things too, and had done them. For example, coming to the seaside on her own, or travelling, since luckily she didn’t have money troubles and so forth. And you know, young man, when you have a lot of things to do, you haven’t got time to think that your life is over, or how long you’ve got left, or that you’re going to die and all that. You’ll die anyway, so… While she was saying all this she started worrying in case I got sunburnt and handed me a bottle of lotion, advising me to put some on. I did so, and just as well, because the sun was scorching and I’d certainly have got burnt, spending all day on the beach. She wanted to know about me, and I surprised myself by telling her about my troubles, something I’d never done with anyone. Apart from the bearded psychiatrist, and even that with scant success. She listened without comment, and this pleased me too.