Intimacies(21)

I thought it odd that Adriaan had not mentioned that Kees was likely or even qualified to appear at the Court, and it occurred to me that Adriaan knew very little of the work that I did, and that he had not fully imagined the parts of my life in which he did not share. In fact Kees would have a far greater understanding of my daily life; if at that party I had happened to say that I worked at the Court, it was possible that we would have had an entirely different conversation, that he would have then seemed to me an intelligent and informed man, who knew a great deal about a world I was only just entering. I might then have been more open to his advances, I might have taken his number or even gone home with him that night, rather than Adriaan.

The thought was disquieting—that our identities should be so mutable, and therefore the course of our lives. As I stared down at him through the glass, that alternative version of events seemed to manifest, filling the air between us. Suddenly, Kees straightened up and turned toward the side door of the courtroom, his face broadening into the same wolfish grin I remembered so well from the party. He spread his arms in greeting, I craned my neck and I saw that the former president had entered. He appeared well rested and groomed, he was dressed in a navy suit, of the kind he would have worn while he was still president, of the kind he wore in the photograph. I briefly wondered how he had obtained it, if it was something his legal team organized, if it was off the rack or if they had arranged for a tailor to visit the Detention Center in the middle of the night, as I had several nights ago. His manner was calm and even subdued, and yet I was certain he was aware of how the energy of the Court bent in his direction, toward the black hole of his personality.

Kees was still standing before him with his arms spread wide, although the pose was beginning to wilt, the former president had left him hanging. Uncertainty crossed his face, and I felt suddenly sympathetic. The former president nodded, his manner formal and distant. At this, Kees seemed to recover some of his bluster and he embraced the man enthusiastically, as if they were old friends. The former president withstood this assault of affection. Encouraged, Kees guided him to his seat, keeping one hand on his shoulder. I saw that he was making a point of maintaining physical contact with the former president, and I thought that beyond his own egotism, the gesture was calculated to declare that the accused was a man like any other, a man who could exist within a civil society, who had both friends and a family, and from whom we did not need protection.

As if to demonstrate that he was not afraid. I wondered if that was, if that could possibly be, the case. Kees had seemed to me an outlandish but fundamentally ordinary person, with an ordinary person’s prejudices and presuppositions. But if it was true that Kees was not at least a little afraid of the former president, especially given his presumed familiarity with the crimes of which he stood accused, then he would have been an unusual man, either a man of considerable courage or a man subject to cognitive dissonance. As I watched, the former president nodded and Kees continued to speak, producing what must have been a logorrheic stream of language. I tried to imagine what he might have been saying, some technical explanation perhaps. But then I thought probably it did not matter what he was saying, the entire point was the pantomime, the theater, through this little performance Kees was normalizing the accused, before the eyes of the Court and the cameras, before the eyes of the world.

That’s the new counsel, Amina said, her voice low. Below, the former president suddenly raised his hands, as if to say enough. Kees immediately stepped back. It was clear that he had been dismissed. He was in the employ of the former president, as a vast number of people once had been. Now that circle had dwindled to the individuals gathered around the accused in the courtroom, Kees was among the last. I thought he would be wise to maintain his caution, in the brief exchange between the two men I had seen the powerful volatility at the core of the former president, no doubt the source of his ability to dominate and intimidate. The former president adjusted his tie, his expression at once pompous and disgruntled. Kees returned to his place behind the table, a moment later the door at the front of the courtroom opened and the judges entered.

Will the Court please rise. Chamber I is now in session. Kees rose alongside the others, he lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, once again his chest seemed to puff outward beneath his robes. Beside me, Amina had begun to interpret, her hands placed on the desk in front of her, a pen woven between her fingers. She seemed very calm, almost placid in manner. You may be seated. Carefully, Amina removed a piece of lint from the sleeve of her blouse and spoke the words of the presiding judge. I immediately give the floor to the witness.

A portly, middle-aged man entered the courtroom and went to the witness stand. He lowered himself into the chair with caution, a furtive and hangdog expression on his face. If you could stand. Please. Yes—if you could please stand and give your date of birth and your current occupation. The man clambered to his feet. The former president adjusted his tie again, I wondered then if this was a nervous tic, rather than a gesture of intimidation, I thought I detected a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. Or perhaps it was anticipation. Thank you. Please be seated. Yes, thank you. Go ahead. Amina paused. The witness leaned toward the microphone and looked at the judge.

Good afternoon, Madame. Amina spoke slowly, enunciating each syllable. I could see that she was listening to the witness, adjusting to the patterns of his speech. Thank you for giving me the floor. I will try to answer your questions to the best of my ability, I would like to be of help. Amina had quickened her pace, and now she spoke rapidly, occasionally stopping to exhale. Before we return to the questioning by the prosecution, may I add a few words of my own? Amina’s forehead wrinkled. At the front, the presiding judge nodded wearily. There is no need for all this theater. It has been nearly five years since my colleague and friend was removed from our country and brought here under entirely false pretenses. Such games of hide-and-seek are not good for the reputation of the Court. Back home, this case has been seen as nothing less than a political kidnapping. He shook his head. Back home, they are saying why do they not arrest the current president, this illegitimate president?