Almost immediately, the room crawled with movement. The attention, which until that moment had been focused on the witness and the prosecutor, now atomized, scattering across the courtroom. Even before the three judges had exited, people were bending to gather their papers and leaning their heads together to converse. The former president remained at the edge of the room with a security guard at his side, he stood as if he were waiting for something, for someone to come and speak to him perhaps. I looked for Kees, to my surprise he and his colleagues were rapidly making their way toward the exit.
I turned back to the former president. His face, as he watched his counsel disappear through the doors, was thoroughly perplexed. His gaze moved to the public gallery, which was also emptying. His expression tightened. The guard leaned toward him and he nodded. His shoulders slumped and he suddenly appeared much older, I realized it must have taken him great effort to appear before the Court with his posture so erect, his bearing still presidential, to marshal what charisma remained, because contrary to popular belief, charisma was not inherent but had to be constantly reinforced. The former president’s performance—for that was what it had been—had left him depleted and now he shuffled toward the exit, head bowed.
Amina looked at me. Well done, she said. She smiled warmly at me. I’m going to the cafeteria to get a cup of tea. As she rose to her feet she placed her hands at the small of her back and grimaced. I asked if she was okay, then said that I would accompany her, I was also in need of a coffee. That was relatively easy, she continued as we made our way downstairs, even with that display in the gallery. There’s always something. The lobby was full of school groups and visitors and as we made our way across, I said to Amina that I had once met the new defense counsel. She turned to look at me, puzzled. Where? Here? As we joined the line at the cafeteria, I said, No. At a party, by chance. Ah, she said. So it’s not as if you are in the same social circle. Would that be a problem? I asked. She paused. No, I don’t think so. But be careful. They say he is very good at his job. We had reached the front of the line, and she said, Let me get this. What would you like?
9.
Several days later, I was called into a meeting with the defense. It was a Friday, one of the days when the Court was not in session. I was in the office with Amina when Bettina’s assistant rushed over, she wore an expression of consternation, and I asked if something had happened. Nothing serious, she said, don’t worry. It’s only that the defense requires an interpreter, and you have been specifically requested. I was startled. Why? I asked. Why me? She shook her head, she didn’t know, but Bettina had told her to accommodate the request. When? I asked. Now, she said, you need to go immediately.
I gathered my things and pulled on my coat. It had been a week since Adriaan had gone, a week of staying in the apartment alone. Each night I returned to the house, climbing the stairs to the second floor, slipping the key into the lock, opening the door. And each time I entered and hung up my coat, I felt a throb of happiness so pronounced it frightened me. I had returned to my own apartment only once, to pack a bag of clothes that I ferried back to Adriaan’s. Dimly, I understood that I could be happy there, notwithstanding its complications, for example the photograph of Gaby that still rested on the shelf.
As for Adriaan himself, he sent me a message one day after his departure, asking if I was in the apartment and if everything was okay. I texted back to say that I was there and very happy. He wrote back to say that he was pleased, and that it was hot in Lisbon. Immediately I imagined Adriaan, with the children and with Gaby, his phone vibrating as he received my text, I saw him checking the screen surreptitiously as they sat in an outdoor café. Gaby turning idly to ask, Who’s that? The idea made me somehow feel ashamed. But that feeling did not keep me from waiting for his messages, for the texts and emails that followed, detailing some event or another, or expressing the warmth of his feelings toward me. Those small missives anchored me to the apartment, although it is also true that I wondered why he never picked up the telephone and called.
Nor had he made any reference to the date of his return, It will only be a week, or possibly a little longer. That week had now passed. I left the Court and walked in the rain to the nearest stop and took the bus to the Detention Center, where I relinquished my bag to the security guard and was taken to a conference room. I followed the attendant up a flight of stairs and down a corridor, she stopped at a metal door, nodding to the guard who sat posted outside. He rose to his feet and knocked. Come in, a voice said almost immediately, and then the guard opened the door and motioned for me to enter.