The judge replied by saying that at least that was an
assertion, that until then he hadn’t quite grasped the
nature of my defense, and that before hearing from my
lawyer he would be happy to have me state precisely the
motives for my act. Fumbling a little with my words and
realizing how ridiculous I sounded, I blurted out that
it was because of the sun. People laughed. My lawyer
threw up his hands, and immediately after that he was
given the floor. But he stated that it was late and that he
would need several hours. He requested that the trial be
reconvened in the afternoon. The court granted his
motion.
That afternoon the big fans were still churning
the thick air in the courtroom and the jurors’ brightly
colored fans were all moving in unison . It seemed to me
as if my lawyer’s summation would never end. At one
point, though, I listened, because he was saying, “It is
true I killed a man.” He went on like that, saying “I”
whenever he was speaking about me. I was completely
taken aback. I leaned over to one of the guards and
asked him why he was doing that. He told me to keep
quiet, and a few seconds later he added, “All lawyers
do it.” I thought it was a way to exclude me even further
from the case, reduce me to nothing, and, in a sense, substitute himself for me. But I think I was already very
far removed from that courtroom. Besides, my lawyer
seemed ridiculous to me. He rushed through a plea of
provocation, and then he too talked about my soul. But
to me he seemed to be a lot less talented than the prosecutor. “1, too,” he said, “have peered into this man’s
soul, but unlike the esteemed representative of the
government prosecutor’s office, I did see something there,
and I can assure you that I read it like an open book.”
What he read was that I was an honest man, a steadily
employed, tireless worker, loyal to the firm that employed
him, well liked, and sympathetic to the misfortunes of
others. To him, I was a model son who had supported
his mother as long as he could. In the end I had hoped
that a horne for the aged would give the old woman the
comfort that with my limited means I could not provide
for her. “Gentlemen,” he added, “I am amazed that so
much has been made of this horne. For after all, if it
were necessary to prove the usefulness and importance
of such institutions, all one would have to say is that
it is the state itself which subsidizes them.” The only
thing is, he didn’t say anything about the funeral, and I
thought that that was a glaring omission in his summation. But all the long speeches, all the interminable
days and hours that people had spent talking about my
soul, had left me with the impression of a colorless swirling river that was making me dizzy.
In the end, all I remember is that while my lawyer
went on talking, I could hear through the expanse of
chambers and courtrooms an ice cream vendor blowing
his tin trumpet out in the street. I was assailed by
memories of a life that wasn’t mine anymore, but one
in which I’d found the simplest and most lasting joys :
the smells of summer, the part of town I loved, a certain
evening sky, Marie’s dresses and the way she laughed. The utter pointlessness of whatever I was doing there
seized me by the throat, and all I wanted was to get it
over with and get back to my cell and sleep. I barely
even heard when my lawyer, wrapping up, exclaimed
that the jury surely would not send an honest, hardworking man to his death because he had lost control of
himself for one moment, and then he asked them to find
extenuating circumstances for a crime for which I was
already suffering the most agonizing of punishmentseternal remorse. Court was adjourned and my lawyer
sat back down. He looked exhausted. But his colleagues
came over to shake his hand. I heard : “That was
brilliant!” One of them even appealed to me as a witness. “Wasn’t it?” he said. I agreed, but my congratulations weren’t sincere, because I was too tired.
Meanwhile, the sun was getting low outside and it
wasn’t as hot anymore. From what street noises I could
hear, I sensed the sweetness of evening coming on.
There we all were, waiting. And what we were all waiting for really concerned only me. I looked around the
room again. Everything was the same as it had been the
first day. My eyes met those of the little robot woman
and the reporter in the gray jacket. That reminded me
that I hadn’t tried to catch Marie’s eye once during the
whole trial. I hadn’t forgotten about her; I’d just had too
much to do. I saw her sitting between Celeste and Raymond. She made a little gesture as if to say “At last.”
There was a worried little smile on her face. But my
heart felt nothing, and I couldn’t even return her smile.
The judges came back in. Very quickly a series of questions was read to the jury. I heard “guilty of
murder” . . . “premeditated” . . . “extenuating circumstances.” The jurors filed out, and I was taken to
the little room where I had waited before. My lawyer
joined me. He was very talkative and spoke to me more
confidently and cordially than he ever had before. He
thought that everything would go well and that I would
get off with a few years in prison or at hard labor. I
asked him whether he thought there was any chance of
overturning the verdict if it was unfavorable. He said
no. His tactic had been not to file any motions so as not
to antagonize the jury. He explained to me that verdicts
weren’t set aside just like that, for nothing. That seemed
obvious and I accepted his logic. Looking at it objectively,
it made perfect sense. Otherwise there would be too
much pointless paperwork. “Anyway,” he said, “we can
always appeal. But I’m convinced that the outcome will
be favorable.”
We waited a long time-almost three-quarters of an
hour, I think. Then a bell rang. My lawyer left me, saying, “The foreman of the jury is going to announce the
verdict. You’ll only be brought in for the passing of
sentence.” Doors slammed. People were running on stairs
somewhere, but I couldn’t tell if they were nearby or far
away. Then I heard a muffied voice reading something in
the courtroom. When the bell rang again, when the
door to the dock opened, what rose to meet me was the
silence in the courtroom, silence and the strange feeling
I had when I noticed that the young reporter had turned his eyes away. I didn’t look in Marie’s direction. I didn’t
have time to, because the presiding judge told me in
bizarre language that I was to have my head cut off in a
public square in the name of the French people. Then
it seemed to me that I suddenly knew what was on
everybody’s face. It was a look of consideration, I’m sure.
The policemen were very gentle with me. The lawyer
put his hand on my wrist. I wasn’t thinking about anything anymore. But the presiding judge asked me if I
had anything to say. I thought about it. I said, “No.”
That’s when they took me away.