Involuntary Witness - Страница 31

The next evening after supper I went to a kind of piano bar and stayed there listening to music until late. I made friends with the waiter, who was studying physics and worked weekends to make a little money. He told me that there were two girls at a nearby table, in a dark corner, and they had asked who I was. The student told me they were pretty and, if I wanted, he would take them a message. He said it pleasantly enough, not vulgarly. I said thanks, but no, perhaps some other time, and he looked rather surprised. I tipped him when I left. Maybe he thought I fancied men, but I didn’t care.

That night too I slept like a log and woke up relaxed and happy. I spent the Sunday on the beach reading, jumping into the water, and smearing myself with the lotion the origami lady had given me.

At seven, with the sun still warm, I had a last dip, went by the pensione to pick up my bag and headed back to Bari.

I was a few miles from home when the mobile buried in my bag gave the sound it makes on receiving a message. I was curious, because it was a long time since I’d received any. So I pulled in to a service station, got out the phone and tried hard to remember how to read them. After a while I succeeded. The message read: It would take too long to explain now. So don’t try to understand. But I needed to tell you, now, that meeting you has been one of the most wonderful things that has ever happened to me. M.

I was stupefied for a moment or two, staring at those words, then I set off again for home. A few minutes later I felt like switching off the air-conditioning and lowering the windows. The mistral was getting up, sweeping the damp air before it.

I don’t know if it was the wind that gave me the shivers on my skin, still warm from the sun, as I drove homewards with the windows down. From the loudspeakers came the voice of Rod Stewart singing “I Don’t Want to Talk about It” and I was thinking about the words of that message, and many another thing besides.

I don’t know if it was the wind that gave me those shivers on my skin.

32

The hearing began nearly an hour late, for reasons unspecified. I had a suspicion that before the court entered there had been some animated discussion in camera, because when they filed in and took their places their expressions were tense. The only exception was the buxom woman on the judge’s left. She still wore the same look of superiority and simulated concentration that she had, with admirable consistency, maintained throughout every hearing. The attitude she evidently considered comme il faut for a member of the jury in a Court of Assizes.

If I was not mistaken and there had been an argument, it must chiefly have been between the judge and the associate judge. This I inferred from the way they were sitting. The judge had ostentatiously turned away from his associate, even to the point of shifting his chair. As for the latter, he was staring straight ahead of him and polishing his spectacles nervously and almost obsessively. They exchanged not a single word during the entire hearing.

It struck me that these were not the ideal conditions for a hearing of such moment. I also thought, quite irrationally, that the judge had already made up his mind to convict Abdou. This feeling weighed on my mind the whole morning.

Margherita had not come, but nor had I expected her to.

I can’t say exactly why I was convinced that I wouldn’t be seeing her that morning. In fact, I don’t know if there was any reasoning behind it. But certain it is that I didn’t expect to see her, only a few hours after that message.

Abdou was allowed out of the cage, unhandcuffed, and accompanied to the seat reserved for witnesses. Behind him, half a pace away, two warders.

The judge began by asking him if he confirmed the fact that he had no need for an interpreter. Abdou nodded, and Zavoianni told him that he could not confine himself to gestures but must say yes or no, speaking close to the microphone. Abdou said no, he didn’t need an interpreter, he could understand.

The judge then asked whether he intended to answer questions, and Abdou said yes in a firm voice and speaking right into the microphone. Then the public prosecutor took the floor.

“First of all, Thiam, did you know little Francesco Rubino.”

“Yes.”

“But when you were interrogated you said you didn’t know him, you remember?”

We were off to a flying start. I leapt to my feet for the first objection.

“Objection, Your Honour. This question is inadmissible. If the public prosecutor intends to impugn the defendant on the grounds of his previous statements, he must do so by declaring which document he is referring to and giving a full reading of the statements he intends to question.”

The judge was about to say something but Cervellati got in first.

“I am referring to the record of his interrogation before the public prosecutor dated 11 August 1999. I will read it with a view to the impugnment, so that the defence will have nothing to complain about. So then… in the course of that interrogation you said word for word that-”

“Objection, Your Honour. The prosecution cannot affirm that my client said something word for word when he is referring to a report in summary form, such as is the one in question. In the interrogation cited by the public prosecutor – which is the first and the only one to which Signor Thiam has been subjected – use was not made of shorthand typing or any other form of recording.”

This was not a genuine objection, but it enabled me to get across to the court from the start an important item of information: that the first – and indeed the only – time that Abdou had been questioned, there was no recording equipment, no video camera, no shorthand typist.

The judge overruled the objection and told me that he didn’t like the way in which we had begun. I would have liked to say I didn’t either, but I refrained. I simply thanked the judge and Cervellati resumed.

“I will read this statement: ‘I am not acquainted with any Francesco Rubino. This name means nothing to me.’ ”

“May I explain? I knew the little boy by the name of Ciccio. That’s what I called him. Everyone on the beach called him that. When I heard the name Francesco Rubino I didn’t realize that it was Ciccio. For me the boy’s name was Ciccio.”

“In the course of that interrogation, however, at a certain point you admitted you knew the boy, did you not?”

“Yes, when I saw the photograph.”

“You mean to say, when you were challenged with the fact that a photograph of the boy had been found in your room?”

“When they showed me the photograph… yes, the one I had at home.”

“Then it is correct to say that you admitted knowing the boy only when you realized that we had found the photograph-”

He was going too far.

“Objection. That is not a question. The public prosecutor is trying to draw conclusions and he cannot do that at this point.”

Unwillingly, the judge sustained my objection.

“Signor Cervellati, please confine yourself to questions. Leave conclusions for when it comes to your final speech.”

Cervellati resumed his questioning but he was plainly getting nettled, and not only at me.

“Well, Thiam, are you able to say where you were on the afternoon of 5 August 1999?”

“Yes.”

“Tell the court.”

“I was returning from Naples by car.”

“What had you gone to Naples to do?”

“To buy goods to sell on the beaches.”

“I have a question to raise, concerning the same document as before. I read from the text: ‘On the afternoon of 5 August, I believe I went to Naples… I went to visit some fellow countrymen of mine, whose names I am, however, unable to indicate. We met, as on other occasions, in the neighbourhood of the Central Station. I am unable to provide useful indications for the identification of these fellow countrymen of mine and I am unable to indicate anyone in a position to confirm that I was in Naples that day.’ You understand, Thiam? When you were interrogated, in August of last year, you said you had been to Naples but you did not mention the purchase of goods etc. You only said you had gone to visit your fellow countrymen, whose particulars you were, however, unable to supply. What can you tell us on this point?”

“I went to buy goods. And I also went to buy hashish. I didn’t mention these things because I didn’t want to involve the people who sold me the goods and the hashish. And I didn’t want to involve my friend who kept my goods and the hashish at his place.”

“Who is this friend of yours?”

“I don’t wish to say.”

“Very well. This will serve in the assessment of the reliability of your story. What were you going to do with the hashish?”

“We bought it in a group with other African friends, to smoke it together.”

“What quantity of hashish had you bought?”

“Half a kilo.”

“And you expect us to believe this story? To believe that in order not to reveal the possession of hashish and counterfeit goods, you did not defend yourself on a charge of murder?”

“I don’t know whether you believe my story. However, when I was interrogated I was very confused. I didn’t understand exactly what was happening and I didn’t want to involve people who had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know what to do. If I’d had a lawyer I might have-”

“During that interrogation you had a lawyer!” Cervellati almost shouted. He was really losing his cool. I had no need to intervene.

“I had a lawyer appointed by the court. We didn’t exchange a word before the interrogation and afterwards I never saw him again. If you asked me what he looked like I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”