CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I DID GO to the presiding judge after all. I couldn’t make myself visit Hanna. But neither
could I endure doing nothing.
Why didn’t I manage to speak to Hanna? She had left me, deceived me, was not the person I
had taken her for or imagined her to be. And who had I been for her? The little reader she
used, the little bed-mate with whom she’d had her fun? Would she have sent me to the gas
chamber if she hadn’t been able to leave me, but wanted to get rid of me?
Why did I find it unendurable to do nothing? I told myself I had to prevent a miscarriage of
justice. I had to make sure justice was done, despite Hanna’s lifelong lie, justice both for and
against Hanna, so to speak. But I wasn’t really concerned with justice. I couldn’t leave Hanna
the way she was, or wanted to be. I had to meddle with her, have some kind of influence and
effect on her, if not directly then indirectly.
The judge knew about our seminar group and was happy to invite me to come and talk after a
session in court. I knocked, was invited in, greeted, and offered the chair in front of his desk.
He was sitting in his shirtsleeves behind it. His robe hung over the back and arms of his chair;
he had sat down in the robe and then slipped out of it. He seemed relaxed, a man who had
finished his day’s work and was content. Without the irritated expression he hid behind
during the trial, he had a nice, intelligent, harmless civil servant’s face.
He made general easy chitchat, asking me about this and that: what our seminar group
thought of the trial, what our professor intended to do with the trial record, which semester we
were in, which semester I was in, why I was studying law and when I planned to take my
exams. He told me I must be sure to register for the exams on time.
I answered all his questions. Then I listened while he talked about his studies and his exams.
He had done everything the right way. He had taken the right classes and seminars at the right
time and had passed his final exams with the right degree of success. He liked being a lawyer
and a judge, and if he had to do it all again he would do it the same way.
The window was open. In the parking lot, doors were being slammed and engines turned on. I
listened to the cars until their noise was swallowed up in the roar of the traffic. Then children
came to play and yell in the emptied parking lot. Sometimes a word came through quite
clearly: a name, an insult, a call.
The judge stood up and said goodbye. He told me I could come again if I had any other
questions, or if I wanted advice on my studies. And he would like to know our seminar
group’s evaluation and analysis of the trial.
I walked through the empty parking lot. One of the bigger boys told me how I could walk to
the railroad station. Our car pool had driven back right after the session, and I had to take the
train. It was a slow rush-hour train that stopped at every station; people got on and off. I sat at
the window, surrounded by ever-changing passengers, conversations, smells. Outside, houses
passed by, and roads, cars, trees, distant mountains, castles, and quarries. I took it all in and
felt nothing. I was no longer upset at having been left, deceived, and used by Hanna. I no
longer had to meddle with her. I felt the numbness with which I had followed the horrors of
the trial settling over the emotions and thoughts of the past few weeks. It would be too much
to say I was happy about this. But I felt it was right. It allowed me to return to and continue to
live my everyday life.