Poisonous Kiss (39 page)

     He was absorbed in himself. He seemed to be talking to me, looking at me, but he didn't see me. He didn't notice me gasping, gripping the arm of the chair so that my knuckles went white. Saliva started to trickle down the corner of my mouth but I didn't wipe it. I was sitting motionless and trembling and I knew that he was mistaken. Celia took in the whole picture.

     "No," she whispered. "It's impossible! You can't do that!"

     But Baruch was still propelled by the power of his dreams. He thinks the woman is talking to him.

     "But I can, my dear. And you'll be there with me all the time and see everything. You deserve it. You've worked so much for this I can't possibly leave you out of it."

     "Please, don't!" Celia screamed. Her beseeching, beautiful brown eyes were boring into mine. All in vain, I had to do it and she was aware of that. She started to sob, she leaned forward, dropped her forehead onto the table. I didn't move yet.

     "Please, leave the room," I told her softly.

     "No, I can't!" she whimpered. She was torn between the two men who love her, but neither of them thought of holding her tight and wiping her tears now.

     "Leave the room," I repeated my command. My voice was low but urgent. Celia looked at me through her tears.

     "Please!"

     Celia stood up and started towards the door, sobbing. Martin lifted his hand as if he wanted to reach for her, then the hand drooped. I would have found it odd if he hadn't figured it out by now. He was right that I wouldn't have been able to kill him in cold-blood just because of his threats against me. But I would and I could kill to prevent him from putting his plans into action. Professor Baruch was not going to inoculate anyone with his viral serum. The serum succeeded in transforming me into a killer to the extent of being able to prevent that. Maybe I'm wasn't killing really, but helping Baruch to do what he had wanted to before the virus warped his personality. Maybe this is what he wanted. Maybe this thought will help Celia deal with what is going to happen now. We owed it to Martin, the real Martin.

     My mind went blank, my self-justifying thoughts floated away. I had to kill this man but I didn't want him to fear the moment, to be tortured by the thought of it.

     "Get out!" I snapped at Celia, who dragged herself toward the door, head bowed. She understood me at last. Without looking back she rushed out and slammed the door behind her. And before Baruch could say a word I whipped out the gun and, without taking aim, shot him at close range.

The members of the jury are filing in for the verdict. They sit down, one of them is taking his time to rearrange his tie. A woman casts a long and pointed glance at Arany. Is it dictated by compassion?

     The hall is silent. Everyone looks at the jury, and the foreman, who is going to answer the judge's questions. Only two people there don't look towards the bench. The two protagonists are looking at each other.

     "Your verdict?" the judge asks.

     "Guilty", says the foreman of the jury.

     I had to do it, Arany's eyes send their silent message to Celia. I know you loved him but I had to do it.

     Celia knows this look. She saw it first when Arany staggered out of the room right after the shot. He reached for her, wanted to embrace her.

     "I had to do it. I know you loved him but I had to do it." And Celia pushed him away screaming.

     Arany called Ericsson. By the time the captain got there he already had written down his statement. He killed out of jealousy. He hadn't planned it in advance. He went there to discuss their relationship. They were drinking cognac, then Celia went out to the kitchen to make some coffee. Then he shot. The woman didn't know anything about it.

     They look at each other while listening to the sentence. Eight years. The audience almost winces with astonishment. The attorney for the defense sighs with relief and wipes his forehead with his handkerchief. He wouldn't have believed they'd be let off so easily.

     "Shitheads," someone murmurs behind him. "They're more lenient with real criminals."

     The lawyer doesn't look back. He knows Arany would have got less if only they had been willing to accept his advice. It wouldn't have been such a big thing to say that the woman's husband had tortured her with his jealousy, he even had beaten her up, and even though they had hated each other he wouldn't ever have given her a divorce. He turns to Arany dutifully.

     "You don't want me to lodge an appeal, do you?"

     Arany doesn't even look at him, he shakes his head wordlessly. He hears the voices, he gets the message. He understands he is sentenced to eight years in prison. He knows he won't lodge an appeal. He listens to the foreman's reasons for the verdict, the pros and cons of different considerations…as if there was any excuse, any explanation to what he had done, apart from the only one, the real one, which he keeps mum about. He hears and understands everything but all he can see is Celia's eyes. He expects the other verdict from these eyes.

     I'll be waiting for you, the woman's eyes tell him. I love you, I'll be waiting for you however long it takes.

     And Arany smiles at last. This relieved face appears in the next edition of newspapers, this happy, boyish smile. He must have expected a tougher sentence, the caption says.