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Authors: John Banville

Tags: #Psychological Fiction, #General, #Literary, #Fiction, #Psychological, #Prisoners, #Humorous, #Humorous Stories, #Murderers

The Book of Evidence (25 page)

BOOK: The Book of Evidence
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v o d k a , M r s M a x said coldly w h e n I o f f e r e d tier gin. M y attention w a s on her h u s b a n d . He h a d a r a w , s c r u b b e d l o o k to M m , as if he h a d been e x p o s e d f o r a l o n g t i m e to s o m e far r o u g h e r f o r m o f light and w e a t h e r than the others i n the r o o m h a d ever k n o w n . H i s m o v e m e n t s , t o o , the w a y he held himself, the s l o w , deliberate w a y he turned Ms g l a n c e or lifted his h a n d to his b r o w , all these b o r e a u n i q u e s t a m p , a n d w e r e w e i g h t e d w i t h a k i n d of theatrical awareness. H i s v o i c e w a s s l o w and guttural, and he h a d a violent m a n n e r of s p e a k i n g that w a s impressive*

a n d even, in an o d d w a y , seductive. It w a s the v o i c e of a m a n m o v i n g i n e x o r a b l y f o r w a r d t h r o u g h a forest o f small obstacles. I i m a g i n e d Mm carelessly crunching things u n d e r f o o t , flowers, or snails, or the insteps of his enemies.

"Well, Charlie, he w a s saying, still b u y i n g cheap and selling dear? C h a r l i e blushed, a n d g l a n c e d at m e . T h a t ' s right, M r s M a x said, e m b a r r a s s e v e r y o n e . S h e s p o k e loudly, w i t h a dull emphasis, and did n o t l o o k at h i m . It w a s as if she w e r e l o b b i n g r e m a r k s past his shoulder at a sardonic ally listening there. N o r did he l o o k at her, it m i g h t h a v e been a d i s e m b o d i e d v o i c e that h a d s p o k e n . H e l a u g h e d harshly.

H a v e y o u acquired that D u t c h j o b f o r m e yet? h e said. Charlie*

g r i n n i n g in anguish, s h o o k his head, speechless. H i s left eyelid b e g a n to flutter, as if a m o t h h a d s u d d e n l y c o m e to life u n d e r it. I p r o f f e r e d the w h i s k e y bottle b u t he p u t a h a n d q u i c k l y o v e r his glass. M a x also w a v e d m e a w a y . T h e w o m a n w i t h the f o x y hair h a d c o m e u p behind m e . Y o u r h a n d , she said, y o u ' v e cut it. F o r a m o m e n t we all s t o o d in silence, M a x a n d his missus, a n d C h a r l i e a n d F o x y and m e , c o n t e m p l a t i n g the b e a d e d scratch across my knuckles. Y e s , I said, I fell o v e r a rose-bush. I l a u g h e d . T h a t half-bottle o f w i n e h a d g o n e straight t o m y head. Charlie w a s shifting stealthily f r o m f o o t to f o o t , afraids I suppose, that I w a s a b o u t to do s o m e t h i n g o u t r a g e o u s . It struck me for the first t i m e h o w frightened 177
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of mc he was. P o o r Charlie. A lighted yacht was gliding silently across the inky harbour. L o v e l y view, M a x said In the d i n i n g - r o o m the stuffed o w l looked out of its bell-jar at the c o m p a n y with an expression of surprise and s o m e dismay. By n o w Patch, I m e a n M a d g e , was in a state of panic. I carried plates for her, and serving-dishes, and plonked them d o w n on the table with extravagant waiterly flourishes. I confess, I was enjoying myself. I was light-headed, b r i m m i n g with manic glee, like a child in a dressing-up g a m e . I seemed to m o v e as if under a m a g i c spell, I do not k n o w h o w it w o r k e d , but for a while, for an hour or t w o , posing as Charlie's f a c t o t u m , I was released f r o m m y s e l f and the terrors that had been pursuing me relentlessly for days. I even invented a history for myself as I w e n t along, I m e a n I — h o w shall I express it — I fell into a certain manner that w a s not my o w n and that yet seemed, even to m e , no less authentic, or plausible, at least, than my real self. ( M y real self!) I b e c a m e Frederick the Indispens-able, Mr French's f a m o u s m a n , without w h o m that crusty, m o n e y e d old bachelor w o u l d not be able to survive. He had rescued me f r o m uncongenial circumstances w h e n I was a y o u n g m a n — tending the bar, say, in s o m e sleazy d o w n t o w n p u b — and n o w I w a s d e v o t e d to h i m , and loyal 1 t o th e poin t o f ferocity . I bullie d h i m too , o f course , an d could be a terror w h e n he had people in. (Jealousy?

Acquaintances did s o m e t i m e s speculate a m o n g themselves, but n o , they decided, Charlie was not that w a y inclined: r e m e m b e r that horsy w o m a n d o w n the country, the lost love of his life?) R e a l l y , we w e r e like father and son, except that no son w o u l d be so steadfast, and no father so f o r g i v i n g of my little w a y s . At times it w a s hard to tell which w a s master and which the m a n . T o n i g h t , for instance, w h e n the m a i n course was finished, I sat m y s e l f 178
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down a m o n g the guests and poured a glass of wine as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A silence fell, and Charlie frowned, and rolled a breadcrumb about on the tablecloth, pretending he was thinking about something else, and M a x stared baleful!y out the window at the harbour lights while his henchmen around him fidgeted and glanced at each other nervously, and at last I took up my glass, and rose and said, Well! I suppose us ladies better withdraw, and fairly flounced out of the room. In the hall, of course, 1 leaned against the wall and laughed. All the same, my hands were shaking. Stage fright, I suppose. What an actor the world has lost in me!

N o w what shall I do?

I went upstairs to the drawing-room. N o , ! went into the kitchen. Madge: wig, false teeth, white apron, I have done all that. O u t again. In the hall I found Foxy. She had wandered out of the dining-room. Under the stairs was a dark place, there we met. I could see her face in the gloom, her eyes watching me, so solemn and fearful. W h y are you sad? I said, and for a moment she did not know what to do with her hands, then she put them behind her back, and flexed one knee and briefly swayed her shoulders and her hips, like a schoolgirl playing the coquette. W h o says I'm sad? she said. I'm not sad. And I thought she was going to cry. Did she see it in me, the terror and the shame, had she seen it from the first? For she had sought me out, I knew that. I reached behind her and opened a door, and we stepped suddenly on to bare floorboards in an empty room. There was a smell, dry and oniony, that was the smell of a certain attic r o o m at Goolgrange. A parallelogram of moonlight was propped against one wall like a broken mirror. I am still holding these damned plates. I put them on the floor at our feet, and while I was still bending she touched my shoulder and said something 179
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w h i c h I did n o t catch. S h e l a u g h e d softly, in surprise, it s e e m e d , a s i f the s o u n d o f her o w n v o i c e w e r e u n e x p e c t e d .

N o t h i n g , she said, n o t h i n g . She s h o o k i n m y arms. S h e w a s all teeth, breath, clutching fingers. S h e held my head b e t w e e n her h a n d s as if she w o u l d crush it. S h e had kicked o f f her shoes, they clattered w h e r e they fell..She raised o n e f o o t b e h i n d her and pressed it against the d o o r , pressed, and pressed. H e r thighs w e r e cold. S h e w e p t , her tears fell on my hands. I bit her throat. We w e r e like — I d o n ' t k n o w . "We w e r e like t w o messengers, m e e t i n g in the dark to e x c h a n g e o u r terrible n e w s . O G o d , she said, O G o d . S h e put her f o r e h e a d against m y shoulder. O u r hands w e r e s m e a r e d w i t h each other. T h e r o o m c a m e b a c k , the m o o n l i g h t , the o n i o n y smell. N o t h o u g h t , except: her w h i t e face, her hair. F o r g i v e m e , I said. I d o n ' t k n o w w h y I l a u g h e d . A n y w a y , ' i t w a s n ' t really a laugh.

H o w peaceful the days are n o w , here at the d e a d end of the year. Sitting in the fastness of this g r e y r o o m I s o m e t i m e s i m a g i n e I am utterly alone, that there is no o n e a r o u n d me f o r miles a n d miles. It is like b e i n g in the d e e p h o l d of a great g r e y ship. T h e air is h e a v y and still, it presses in my ears, on my eyes, on the base of my skull. A

- trial d a t e has been f i x e d at last. I k n o w this should concentrate m y m i n d , g i v e m e a p u r p o s e a n d s o on, m a k e me excited, or afraid, b u t it d o e s not. S o m e t h i n g has h a p p e n e d to my sense of time, I think in aeons n o w . T h e days, the w e e k s of this banal little c o u r t r o o m d r a m a will register as no m o r e than a pinprick. I h a v e b e c o m e a lifer.

A g a i n t o d a y M a o l s e a c h l a i n n b r o u g h t u p the topic o f h o w i s h o u l d plead. I let h i m m a u n d e r on for a while, then 1 g o t f e d up and told h i m I w o u l d dispense w i t h his services if he did n o t c o m e straight o u t a n d say w h a t e v e r it
i So

was he had on his mind. This was disingenuous of me* for I had realised, of course, since his last visit, that he was hinting at the possibility of an arrangement ~~ I understand, f r o m the conversations I have had in here, that there is hardly a sentence handed d o w n that has not been pre-arranged a m o n g counsel. I was curious to k n o w what the court could want f r o m me. M o w , as 1 watched poor old M a c squirm and sweat, I thought I had it: Charlie, of course, they were trying to salvage something of Charlie's reputation. ( H o w could I have imagined they w o u l d care a fig for Charlie, or his reputation?) I w o u l d do all I could for him, that went without saying, though it seemed to me a bit late n o w . All right, M a c , I said, holding up a hand, I'll plead guilty — arid what then? He g a v e me one of his over-the-spectacles looks. T h e n it'll be an open-and-shut case, w o n ' t it? he said. This, I realised after a m o m e n t , was intended as a witticism. He grinned dolefully. 'What he meant was that the trial w o u l d open, I w o u l d deny the charges as stated, plead guilty to manslaughter or something, the j u d g e w o u l d pass sentence, with a bit lopped o f f in return for my co-operation, and then, presto, it w o u l d all be over, the hearing w o u l d end, the case w o u l d be closed. He could guarantee nothing, he said? but he had a duty to his client to try to secure the best j u d g e m e n t that was possible within the law, He is very charming when he waxes p o m p o u s like this. What's the point, I said, what's the trick? He shrugged. T h e trick is that no evidence will be heard. Simple as that. For a m o m e n t we were silent. A n d will that w o r k , I said, will that save M m ? He f r o w n e d in puzzlement, and at once I saw I had been w r o n g , that Charlie and his embarrassment were not the subject here. I laughed. I've said it before, sometimes I think I am hopelessly innocent. Maolseachlainn glanced over his shoulder — he did, he really did — and 1 8 1
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leaned across the tabic conspiratorially. No one is w o r r y i n g about Charlie French, he said, no one is w o r r y i n g about
him.

Y o u r h o n o u r , I do not like this, I do not like this at all.

I'll plead guilty, of course — haven't I d o n e so all along? —

but I do not like it that I m a y not g i v e evidence, no, that I don't like. It's not fair. Even a d o g such as I must have his day. I have always seen m y s e l f in the witness b o x , gazing straight ahead, quite calm, and w e a r i n g casual clothes, as the newspapers will have it. A n d then that authoritative voice, telling my side of things, in my o w n w o r d s . N o w I am to be denied my m o m e n t of d r a m a , the last such, surely, that I'll k n o w in this life. N o , it's not right.

L o o k , the fact is I hardly r e m e m b e r that evening at Charlie French's. I mean, I r e m e m b e r the evening, but not the people, not with any clarity. I see far m o r e vividly the lights on the water outside, and the last streak of sunset and the dark bank of cloud, than I do the faces of those hearty b o y - m e n . E v e n M a x IViolyricaux is not m u c h m o r e , in my recollection, than an expensive suit and a certain sleek brutishness. W h a t do I care for h i m and his ilk, for G o d ' s sake? Let them keep their reputations, it's nothing to m e , one w a y or the other, I have no interest in stirring up scandal. T h e occasion passed before me in a glassy blur, like so m u c h else over those ten days. W h y , even p o o r F o x y was hardly m o r e substantial to me in my frantic condition than a p r o p in a w e t d r e a m . N o , wait, I take that back. H o w e v e r m u c h they m a y hoot in ribald laughter, 1 must declare that I r e m e m b e r her clearly, with tenderness and compassion. She is, and will m o s t likely remain, the last w o m a n I m a d e love to. L o v e ? C a n I call it that? W h a t else can I call it. She trusted m e . She smelled the b l o o d and the horror and did not recoil, but opened herself like a flower and let me rest in her for a m o m e n t , my heart shaking, as we e x c h a n g e d o u r wordless secret. Yes, I
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r e m e m b e r her. I w a s falling, and she caught m e , my Gretchen.

BOOK: The Book of Evidence
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