Involuntary Witness (29 page)

Article 530 of the code of criminal procedure is entitled “Verdict of acquittal”.

“... finds Abdou Thiam not guilty on the grounds that the accused has not committed the offences with which he is charged. In accordance with Article 300 of the code of criminal procedure it decrees the cessation of the precautionary measure of detention in prison at present in force against the defendant and orders the immediate discharge of the aforesaid unless detained on other counts. The court is dismissed.”

It is hard to explain what one feels at such a moment. Because it’s really hard to understand it.

I stayed where I was, gazing towards the empty bench where the court had sat. All around were excited voices, while people patted me on the back and others grasped my hand and wrung it. I wondered
what so many people were doing in a courtroom of the Bari Assizes on 3 July at ten o’clock at night.

I don’t know how long it was until I moved.

Until among the babble of voices I distinguished that of Abdou. I took off my robe and went to the cage. In theory, he should have been released at once. In practice, though, they had to take him back to the prison to go through the formalities. In any case, he was still inside there.

We found ourselves face to face, very close, the bars between us. His eyes were moist, his jaw set, the corners of his mouth trembling.

My own face was not very different, I think.

It was a long handshake, through the bars. Not in the usual way, like businessmen or when you are introduced, but gripping thumbs with elbows crooked.

He said only a few words, in his own language. I didn’t need an interpreter to tell me what they meant.

I left Margherita a message on her mobile the very evening of the verdict, but we didn’t manage to meet until the next afternoon.

She called by my office, and we went and sat in a bar. We talked very little about the trial. I had no wish to, and she realized that and soon stopped asking questions. We were both of us in a strange state of mild embarrassment.

When we got back to the street door of my office I made an effort to say what I had in mind.

“I really rather wanted to ask you out to dinner. Please don’t say no, even if it’s not much of an invitation. I’m out of practice.”

She looked at me as if she wanted to laugh, but she didn’t say a thing.

“What about it?” I asked after a moment.

“As a matter of fact it was a pretty rottenly put invitation, but I’d like to reward your good intentions.”

“You mean you accept?”

“I mean I accept. This evening?”

“Not this evening. Tomorrow if you don’t mind.”

She narrowed her eyes and gave me a rather puzzled look, so I felt bound to say more.

“There’s something I have to do this evening. Something important. I can’t put it off. I can’t go out with you unless I’ve done it first.”

Still the same puzzled look for a moment. Then she nodded and said that was fine.

Till tomorrow then.

Till tomorrow.

 

 

I got home from the office, had a shower, put on some shorts and made a smoothie. I wandered for a while from room to room. Every so often I stopped to look at the telephone. I scrutinized it from a distance.

After a little of this I sat down in an armchair. The telephone was in front of me and I had only to reach out and pick up the receiver. Instead I simply sat staring at the instrument.

No need to rush, I thought.

In any case, before you phone you have to run through the number in your head. The number is 080 ... 5219 ... that is 080 ... 52198 ... No, it’s 52196 ... No it isn’t.

I couldn’t remember it! Ridiculous. It wasn’t even two years and I couldn’t remember the number. Yet a few months before I’d known it by heart. So really it was only a few months, and I’d forgotten it.

All right, no use fretting. Such things happen.

I looked up Sara’s name in the phone book but it wasn’t there.

For a moment I didn’t know what to do. Then inspiration struck and I looked up
my
name. There it was. At the old address, I mean. Where I lived now the phone was in the landlord’s name.

I went on staring at the phone for a bit longer, but I knew that time was running out.

I hope she’ll be the one to answer. If it’s the same man as last time, what shall I say? Good evening, I’m the ex-husband or, rather, still the husband though separated. Yes, you’ve understood rightly,
that
little shit. I would like to speak to Sara, please. My dear sir, don’t be
so crude. You’ll bust my face in if I ring again? Be careful how you talk, I am a boxer. Ah, you are a master of full-contact karate? Well, I only said it for a lark.

I punched the number hard, quickly, without thinking. Only way to do it.

After three rings she answered.

She didn’t seem surprised to hear my voice. In fact, she seemed pleased. Yes, she was well. I was well too. Yes, I was sure, I was as fit as a fiddle. No, it was just that I seemed to her a trifle strange. Meet this evening? That is, in a couple of hours, after a couple of years? She complimented me for still being able to surprise her, which she said wasn’t easy. I was glad about this – no, really glad – so, apart from that, could we meet? For dinner, or for a drink afterwards. Very well. Would she like me to come and fetch her or might that create some embarrassment? Laughter. OK, I’d come for her at ten. Should I call her on the intercom or would she meet me downstairs? No, better on the intercom ... Another laugh. All right, I’ll buzz from downstairs. See you then. Ciao. Ciao.

I dressed quickly and quickly left the house. The shops shut at eight.

I made good time, and was back home by half-past. It remained to fill up the time until ten. I read a little.
Zen in the Art of Archery
. But it wasn’t the right book for the occasion. So I thought I’d listen to a little music. I was about to put on
Rimmel
, but then thought that even though quite alone I ought to avoid pathos. Better to go out at once.

I changed, just to while away a few more minutes, then went downstairs, little shopping bag in hand.

I wandered about the streets until dead on ten, when I pressed the bell at Sara’s place. She answered, in the way I knew so well.

I’ll be right down.

Down she came and gave me a kiss on the cheek and I gave her a kiss on hers. If she saw my little shopping bag she gave no sign of it. We walked as far as the car and I drove to a restaurant by the sea, near Polignano.

We didn’t exchange many words while we were in the car, nor did we exchange many during dinner.

She was waiting for me to say why I’d wanted to see her. I was waiting until we’d finished eating, because one has to be patient and do everything at the right time. It seemed to me I’d understood this fact, among other things.

So we shared a big lobster dressed with olive oil and lemon, and drank chilled white wine. Every so often we caught each other’s eye, said something of no consequence and went on eating. And every so often she gave me a mildly questioning look.

When we had finished I paid and asked her if she’d like to go for a stroll. She would.

As we walked I began to speak.

“I’ve been through a very ... a very singular experience. A number of things have happened to me ...”

I paused. It wasn’t a great start. In fact it was a lousy one. She said nothing. She was waiting.

We walked, both staring straight ahead, among the boats of a little harbour.

“Do you remember saying that sooner or later one has to pay up?”

“I remember. And you said that before that you’d get out from under. If they wanted, they could sue you.”

Smiles, both of us. That’s exactly what I’d said. If they wanted, they could sue me. I expected Sara to say I had always been a dab hand at wriggling out of paying. She would have been absolutely right, but she didn’t say it. And I went on.

“One of the things that has happened to me is that I haven’t managed to wriggle out of it this time, not as quickly as before. So they caught me and made me pay up all the arrears. It hasn’t been a lot of fun.”

I sat on the side of a boat, very near the water. She sat on another, facing me. I had reached the most difficult part and I couldn’t find the words.

“So in all this at a certain point I realized that ... well, if I was settling all my debts, there was one that I absolutely couldn’t leave unpaid.”

She watched me with her head tilted slightly to one side, her eyes fixed on mine. I felt the urge for a cigarette, lit one, and waited for the smoke to hit my lungs before I spoke again.

Then, in the first words that came into my head, I said everything I had to say. She listened without a single interruption, and even when I had finished she didn’t speak at once. To be certain I had really and truly finished. I wasn’t sure, because of the darkness, but it looked to me as if her eyes were moist. Mine were, and I needed no light to tell me so. When she did speak, I knew that I had done the right thing, that evening.

“Today you have given me back every day, every single minute we were together. So many times, before we separated and since, I’ve thought that with you I’d thrown away nearly ten years of my life. Then I rebelled against this idea and banished it from my mind. Then it came back. It seemed as if it would never end, this anguish. But this evening you have set me free. You’ve given me back my memories.”

There was a kind of smile on her face now.

I tried to smile too, but instead I felt tears coming. I made some effort to hold them back, but then felt it didn’t matter a damn. So my eyes filled with tears and then overflowed, all the tears I had, in silence.

She let me get over it, then passed two fingers gently beneath my eyes.

And then I gave her my present. It was a watch, a man’s watch with a leather strap and a big face. Just like one I had had years before. She used to steal it from me because she liked it so much. Then, away on some trip, I lost it and she was upset. Much more than I was. I often thought of giving her another the same but never did. Just as I had never done lots of other things.

She put it on without a word. And then it was time to go home.

I stopped the car some way from her door, where there happened to be a free space. I switched off the engine, turned towards her, and didn’t know what to do. Sara, on the contrary, did know. She hugged me tightly, almost violently, her chin on my shoulder and her head against mine. This for several seconds before breaking away. Thank you, she murmured before opening the car door and walking away.

Thank
you
, thank
you
, I said to the empty car as she disappeared into the doorway.

I didn’t sleep that night. I didn’t even try to go to bed. I sat on the balcony and listened to the sounds from down in the street. I lit four or five cigarettes, but I didn’t smoke much of them. I let them burn down slowly between my fingers while I gazed at the windows and balconies opposite, the antennae on the roofs, the sky.

A little before dawn the mistral got up and the very first gusts made me shiver.

They say the mistral lasts for three days or for seven, so I knew that for three days or for seven it wouldn’t be hot. Not too hot anyway.

I had always loved the summer mistral because it cleansed the air, swept away the mugginess and made one feel freer. It seemed to me appropriate that it should arrive that very morning.

I thought of the old accounts that were closed and the new things beginning. I thought I was afraid, but that for the first time I didn’t want to run away from my fear or hide it. And it seemed to me a tremendous and a wonderful thing.

I watched the light creeping into the sky and the grey clouds that were so strangely out of place in the month of July.

In a short while I would get up and go walking in the still-deserted streets. I would sit at a table in the open, at a bar on the seafront and have a cappuccino. I would watch the streets gradually changing as the
day advanced. I would have another cappuccino and smoke a cigarette and then, when it was broad daylight, I would go home. And I would sleep, or read, or go to the sea, and spend the day doing only what I wanted to do.

I would wait until evening came and only then would I ring Margherita. I didn’t know what I would tell her, but I was sure I would find the words.

I thought of all these things and more as I sat on the balcony.

I thought I would not have exchanged that moment for anything.

Not for anything in the world.

 

When Martina accuses her ex-boyfriend – the son of a powerful local judge – of assault and battery, no witnesses can be persuaded to testify on her behalf, and one lawyer after another refuses to represent her. Guido Guerrieri knows the case could bring his legal career to a premature and messy end, but he cannot resist the appeal of a hopeless cause. Nor deny an attraction to Sister Claudia, the young woman in charge of the shelter where Martina is living, who shares his love of martial arts and his virulent hatred of injustice.

 

A Walk in the Dark
, Carofiglio’s second novel featuring defence counsel Guerrieri, follows on from the critical and commercial success of
Involuntary Witness
.