If you need a break, then of course, the former president said. The lawyer wearily rose to his feet. Would you like anything? he asked me, and I shook my head. He left the room, although the junior associate remained. The former president turned to me. I apologize for my colleague, he said loftily. It has been a long trial, very tiring for all of us. He spoke as if he himself were part of the defense team, I supposed in some respects that was true. The president seemed to notice my unease. An expression of dissatisfaction settled onto his face. Is anything wrong? he asked. I shook my head. But yes, he said, there is something wrong. I turned reluctantly. He was watching me, his expression kindly, even concerned. He studied my face for a long moment, then gave a wry smile.
Ah, he said. I see. You think I am a bad person. Despite the fact that the case against me will—it now seems almost certainly—be thrown out. You know, my lawyers tell me I may be released in a matter of weeks. I will soon be a free man. He paused. And yet these false accusations and false testimonies have poisoned your mind against me. He held up a hand. Don’t apologize, he said. Although I wasn’t going to. This little theater here at the Court can warp even the clearest minds. I stared straight ahead, body immobile.
You know, he continued after a pause, the first time I saw you I thought: I like this woman, because she is not truly from the West. But in the end, you are part of the institution that you serve. Across the room, the junior associate was very still, his head bent over his papers. The former president exhaled slowly. Even so, you must see that the justice of this Court is far from impartial, you come from a country that has committed terrible crimes and atrocities. Under different circumstances your State Department would be on trial here, not me. Everyone knows this to be the case. As for your race—he paused, his eyes shifting toward me. Well, the less said about that terrible history the better.
I could not stop the sharp intake of breath, the heat that gathered in my skin. There was very little air in the room. In the corner, the light on the security camera blinked. The former president continued to watch me. He smiled, as if we were simply making conversation. But then his face stiffened, the congeniality and charm withdrew. He leaned back into his chair. You sit there, so smug. As if you are beyond reproach, he said. He turned to look at me, his face mere inches from mine. But you are no better than me. You think my morals are somehow different to those of you and your kind. And yet there is nothing that separates you from me.
He sat up again and made a curt gesture of dismissal. You may go, he said as he adjusted his tie and leaned forward to examine the papers before him. Slowly, I stood up and gathered my things. My legs seemed to drift beneath me and I almost stumbled as I pulled open the door. I was not able to look at the former president as I left the room, I did not say goodbye. As I made my way down the corridor the junior associate came hurrying after me. He called out and I stopped, leaning against the wall. He stood before me, his face bewildered.
Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let him speak that way to you?
Because he didn’t say anything that was untrue.
We stood for a long moment. We understood each other and yet we did not agree. The junior associate was a man who believed himself to be objective. He could not imagine his own complicity, it was not in his nature. But I was different. I wasn’t one of them, I didn’t have it in me. He shook his head and turned to go.
He doesn’t even mean it, he said over his shoulder. It’s a manipulation. It’s what he does.
I know, I said.
I turned to go. I walked away so quickly that I was almost running and then I was running. I collected my bag and I pushed through the doors and emerged out of that darkness and into the cold outside. The cars rushed by me, I heard a horn blare and I jumped back. My hair whipping across my face. I couldn’t return to the Court. I walked instead toward the sea, onto the dunes, I walked until I could see the water and the sound of the tide blocked out the road and the city and the Detention Center and the man inside. I stood there for a long time and then I sat in the sand. The sun was dipping down slowly toward the water.
I took out my phone and called my mother in Singapore. It would be late there, but I thought she might still answer. She did after the first ring, we were not in the habit of regularly speaking and I immediately heard the concern in her voice. Is everything okay? In that moment I did not know how to answer and then I told her that I needed to decide whether or not I would stay in The Hague. The wind had picked up and she said, I can’t hear you, the line is so bad. Where are you? I’m on the beach, I said, it’s the wind.