After asking the jury and my lawyer if they had any
questions, the judge called the caretaker. The same
ritual was repeated for him as for all the others. As he
took the stand the caretaker glanced at me and then
looked away. He answered the questions put to him. He
said I hadn’t wanted to see Maman, that I had smoked
and slept some, and that I had had some coffee. It was
then I felt a stirring go through the room and for the
first time I realized that I was guilty. The caretaker was
asked to repeat the part about the coffee and the cigarette.
The prosecutor looked at me with an ironic gleam in his
eye. At that point my lawyer asked the caretaker if it
wasn’t true that he had smoked a cigarette with me. But
the prosecutor objected vehemently to this question.
“Who is on trial here and what kind of tactics are these,
trying to taint the witnesses for the prosecution in an
effort to detract from testimony that remains nonetheless overwhelming!” In spite of all that, the judge directed
the caretaker to answer the question. The old man
looked embarrassed and said, “I know I was wrong to do
it. But I couldn’t refuse the cigarette when monsieur
offered it to me.” Lastly, I was asked if I had anything to
add. “Nothing,” I said, “except that the witness is right.
It’s true, I did offer him a cigarette.” The caretaker gave
me a surprised and somehow grateful look. He hesitated
and then he said that he was the one who offered me
the coffee. My lawyer was exultant and stated loudly that the jury would take note of the fact. But the prosecutor
shouted over our heads and said, “Indeed, the gentlemen
of the jury will take note of the fact. And they will
conclude that a stranger may offer a cup of coffee, but
that beside the body of the one who brought him into the
world, a son should have refused it.” The caretaker went
back to his bench.
When Thomas Perez’s turn came, a bailiff had to
hold him up and help him get to the witness stand.
Perez said it was really my mother he had known and
that he had seen me only once, on the day of the funeral.
He was asked how I had acted that day and he replied,
“You understand, I was too sad. So I didn’t see anything.
My sadness made it impossible to see anything. Because for me it was a very great sadness. And I even
fainted. So I wasn’t able to see monsieur.” The prosecutor asked him if he had at least seen me cry. Perez
answered no. The prosecutor in turn said, “The gentlemen of the jury will take note.” But my lawyer got
angry. He asked Perez in what seemed to be an exaggerated tone of voice if he had seen me not cry. Perez
said, “No.” The spectators laughed. And my lawyer,
rolling up one of his sleeves, said with finality, “Here
we have a perfect reflection of this entire trial : everything
is true and nothing is true!” The prosecutor had a blank
expression on his face, and with a pencil he was poking
holes in the title page of his case file.
After a five-minute recess, during which my lawyer
told me that everything was working out for the best, we heard the testimony of Celeste, who was called by the
defense. “The defense” meant me. Every now and then
Celeste would glance over in my direction and rotate
his panama hat in his hands. He was wearing the new
suit he used to put on to go with me to the races sometimes on Sundays. But I think he must not have been
able to get his collar on, because he only had a brass
stud keeping his shirt fastened. He was asked if I was
a customer of his and he said, “Yes, but he was also a
friend”; what he thought of me, and he answered that I
was a man; what he meant by that, and he stated that
everybody knew what that meant; if he had noticed that
I was ever withdrawn, and all he would admit was that
I didn’t speak unless I had something to say. The prosecutor asked him if I kept up with my bill. Celeste laughed
and said, “Between us those were just details.” He was
again asked what he thought about my crime. He put his
hands on the edge of the box, and you could tell he had
something prepared. He said, “The way I see it, it’s bad
luck. Everybody knows what bad luck is. It leaves you
defenseless. And there it is! The way I see it, it’s bad
luck.” He was about to go on, but the judge told him
that that would be all and thanked him. Celeste was a
little taken aback. But he stated that he had more to say.
He was asked to be brief. He again repeated that it was
bad luck. And the judge said, “Yes, fine. But we are here
to judge just this sort of bad luck. Thank you.” And
as if he had reached the end of both his knowledge and
his goodwill, Celeste then turned toward me. It looked to me as if his eyes were glistening and his lips were
trembling. He seemed to be asking me what else he
could do. I said nothing; I made no gesture of any kind,
but it was the first time in my life I ever wanted to kiss
a man. The judge again instructed him to step down.
Celeste went and sat among the spectators. He sat there
throughout the entire trial, leaning forward, his elbows on
his knees, the panama hat in his hands, listening to
everything that was said.
Marie entered. She had put on a hat and she was still
beautiful. But I liked her better with her hair loose.
From where I was sitting, I could just make out the
slight fullness of her breasts, and I recognized the little
pout of her lower lip. She seemed very nervous. Right
away she was asked how long she had known me. She
said since the time she worked in our office. The judge
wanted to know what her relation to me was. She said
she was my friend. To another question she answered
yes, it was true that she was supposed to marry me. Flipping through a file, the prosecutor asked her bluntly
when our “liaison” had begun. She indicated the date.
The prosecutor remarked indifferently that if he was
not mistaken, that was the day after Maman died. Then
in a slightly ironic tone he said that he didn’t mean to
dwell on such a delicate matter, and that he fully appreciated Marie’s misgivings, but (and here his tone
grew firmer) that he was duty bound to go beyond
propriety. So he asked Marie to describe briefly that day
when I had first known her. Marie didn’t want to, but at the prosecutor’s insistence, she went over our swim,
the movies, and going back to my place. The prosecutor
said that after Marie had given her statements to the
examining magistrate, he had consulted the movie listings for that day. He added that Marie herself would tell
the court what film was showing. In an almost expressionless voice she did in fact tell the court that it was a
Fernandel film. By the time she had finished there was
complete silence in the courtroom. The prosecutor then
rose and, very gravely and with what struck me as real
emotion in his voice, his finger pointing at me, said
slowly and distinctly, “Gentlemen of the jury, the day
after his mother’s death, this man was out swimming,
starting up a dubious liaison, and going to the movies, a
comedy, for laughs. I have nothing further to say.” He
sat down in the still-silent courtroom. But all of a
sudden Marie began to sob, saying it wasn’t like that,
there was more to it, and that she was being made to say
the opposite of what she was thinking, that she knew me
and I hadn’t done anything wrong. But at a signal from
the judge, the bailiff ushered her out and the trial proceeded.