Babi Yar Symphony

Chapter 18

89 18 The court on this day was a monastery; a cemetery, even. Figures, all of them unfamiliar, moved up and down in silent rumination, their black cloaks and cream wigs adding more piquancy to the weirdness. The big tree behind the registry carried hundreds of black sparrows, but none of them chirped, or even fluttered, not even with the slight wind about. Weighed down in this way by its silent visitors, the big tree cast its mute shadow over the registry, enriching the attendant weirdness further. Even Justice Mowena’s chambers was lifeless, and this at a time when, normally, it would be engrossed in a rich buzz and hum. Mowena would long have been seated behind his file-stacked desk, reordering the case files in descending order of monetary importance, then ringing his secretary in for practical instructions on how to position the day’s clients. But in the heart of what should have been a busy day, his office was still locked, with blinds pulled. A clerk showed the lorry to a corner not far away from the main court hall, and ordered the detainees to remain onboard until they were identified and asked to climb down; an exercise he did not stay on for, but turned away stiffly and disappeared into a little office also caught in the brooding shadow of the big tree. As instructed, none of the passengers left the lorry. They all remained onboard and watched the court scene from openings in the sides of the vehicle, eyes directed as if by agreement at Mowena’s office, scrutinizing the fastly-held door for clues to his whereabouts, and the door staring back at them with even deeper surprise. The same clerk emerged again from his little office with a piece of paper flapping desultorily in his left hand. “Nu’mvi! Shechem Nu’mvi!” he ordered in a shrill voice. Shechem shot out his hand with a start. “Down! Get down!” the clerk ordered, whipping the air with his right hand. Shechem foraged his way through to the edge of the lorry, but not without first of all pressing Teacher Efuet’s hand in his. As soon as his feet touched the court grounds, the clerk ordered the driver with a whisk of the hand to take the rest of his passengers back to Sanko, at which the lorry immediately roared to a start, scattering the silence into thick pieces that one could see flying here and there. 90 “Follow me,” the clerk ordered, then took the lead in gestapo steps. Some way off his little office he stopped, turned round, and seeing that Shechem was following dutifully, turned again and marched on. “Go in,” the clerk ordered, as he stepped aside to show Shechem into the little office. He stepped inside and into the presence of a man in a black gown and grey wig, sitting behind a table as tiny as the room itself was small. “Shechem Nu’mvi, I imagine,” the man said. “Yes,” Shechem answered curtly, still wondering where exactly he was and what he was doing there. “Pull that chair and sit down,” the man said, pointing to a chair in a corner. Shechem did as he was told. “Do you know Motine Swaibu?” the man asked with urgent directness. “Yes, yes,” Shechem replied, and was about to add some more things when he was stopped by the man’s raised left hand. His right hand was busy taking notes. “How long have you been in detention?” “Eight months, thereabouts.” “Hmm. And Dan Mowena, do you know him as well?” “The Magistrate?” “Well.” “Why not? Yes. Very well.” “That will be all, Mr Shechem. You are a free man… and please accept the apologies of the Ministry for all the abuse. Arrangements are being made for reparation.” Shechem did not rise or respond. He just sat where he was, as if the man’s words had been meant for somebody else, somebody whose presence his stunned eyes could not see. “Mr Nu’mvi you are a free man,” the man repeated, pressing on each word. “And the trial?” “It has just taken place.” “Just taken place?” Shechem spurted, incredulous. “And Motine Swaibu? No confrontation?” The man in the black gown did not answer. Instead, he leaned backwards on his chair and opened his mouth to a voluminous laughter before returning to position again. “Confrontation. You are right. There should be one.” “I’ve been burning for one,” Shechem said...