Intimacies(43)

Her voice was ruminative, and I knew that she was speaking to herself rather than me. I wondered to what degree she believed the assault had been invented out of whole cloth, another one of Anton’s stories. If so, it was a particularly dangerous one, the police would have looked to the public housing block for suspects, there would have been interrogations and more. Consequences that extended far beyond the confines of Anton’s and Eline’s lives. Perhaps something in my gaze betrayed my thoughts because she suddenly seemed embarrassed. We didn’t know each other well enough for these disclosures to bring us closer together, we had exposed ourselves in the wrong way, at the wrong time.

I had the feeling that I would not see her again. I realized it had been some weeks since I had spoken to Jana. I really was quite alone. Perhaps because of this, as we stood to go I asked, There was really nothing, in all those hours of footage? For a moment she wavered, she seemed to understand what she was saying about her brother. Then she shook her head. Nothing. Not so much as a ghost.





16.


One week later, the trial of the former president was put on hold. The presiding judge ordered the prosecutor to provide a brief, outlining how the testimonies and evidence submitted to the Court supported the charges against the accused. The order represented a sea change within the trial; the defense was succeeding in unforeseen ways. I was called into a final meeting with the former president. Despite the potential collapse of the prosecutor’s case, I was still unprepared for the atmosphere of strange excitation in the conference room when I arrived at the Detention Center. The former president, as soon as I entered, looked at me with an expression of triumph, he nodded to the chair beside him and told me to sit down. Only two members of his team were there, the scene had a last-day-of-school feel to it. I reached for a pad and paper, there were a handful of phrases that they wanted to check in the testimony of the last witness, the lawyer explained, would I oblige them.

From the start, the former president made little pretense of following the conversation, and it wasn’t long before he exclaimed, But none of this matters, none of this matters any longer. His manner was petulant, as it always was when he was confronted with the articulation of his crimes. The lawyer looked at him from across the table and then asked if he would like to take a break. The former president shrugged, his defense team had done an extraordinary job for him, and yet, even as the possible end of the trial drew near, his contempt for them seemed to grow, he could already see ahead to the time when he would no longer need them.

If you need a break, then of course, the former president said. The lawyer wearily rose to his feet. Would you like anything? he asked me, and I shook my head. He left the room, although the junior associate remained. The former president turned to me. I apologize for my colleague, he said loftily. It has been a long trial, very tiring for all of us. He spoke as if he himself were part of the defense team, I supposed in some respects that was true. The president seemed to notice my unease. An expression of dissatisfaction settled onto his face. Is anything wrong? he asked. I shook my head. But yes, he said, there is something wrong. I turned reluctantly. He was watching me, his expression kindly, even concerned. He studied my face for a long moment, then gave a wry smile.

Ah, he said. I see. You think I am a bad person. Despite the fact that the case against me will—it now seems almost certainly—be thrown out. You know, my lawyers tell me I may be released in a matter of weeks. I will soon be a free man. He paused. And yet these false accusations and false testimonies have poisoned your mind against me. He held up a hand. Don’t apologize, he said. Although I wasn’t going to. This little theater here at the Court can warp even the clearest minds. I stared straight ahead, body immobile.

You know, he continued after a pause, the first time I saw you I thought: I like this woman, because she is not truly from the West. But in the end, you are part of the institution that you serve. Across the room, the junior associate was very still, his head bent over his papers. The former president exhaled slowly. Even so, you must see that the justice of this Court is far from impartial, you come from a country that has committed terrible crimes and atrocities. Under different circumstances your State Department would be on trial here, not me. Everyone knows this to be the case. As for your race—he paused, his eyes shifting toward me. Well, the less said about that terrible history the better.

I could not stop the sharp intake of breath, the heat that gathered in my skin. There was very little air in the room. In the corner, the light on the security camera blinked. The former president continued to watch me. He smiled, as if we were simply making conversation. But then his face stiffened, the congeniality and charm withdrew. He leaned back into his chair. You sit there, so smug. As if you are beyond reproach, he said. He turned to look at me, his face mere inches from mine. But you are no better than me. You think my morals are somehow different to those of you and your kind. And yet there is nothing that separates you from me.

He sat up again and made a curt gesture of dismissal. You may go, he said as he adjusted his tie and leaned forward to examine the papers before him. Slowly, I stood up and gathered my things. My legs seemed to drift beneath me and I almost stumbled as I pulled open the door. I was not able to look at the former president as I left the room, I did not say goodbye. As I made my way down the corridor the junior associate came hurrying after me. He called out and I stopped, leaning against the wall. He stood before me, his face bewildered.