That same week, I told Bettina that I would not be able to accept her offer to remain at the Court. She did not seem that surprised, perhaps she had been expecting it given the delay in my response, perhaps it didn’t matter given the disorder engulfing the Court, or perhaps she had begun to suspect what I already knew, that I was not suited to the work. Still, she asked me in a mild voice if there was any particular reason why I was declining the position. I told her the truth: that I did not think I was right for the job. Her face grew sympathetic, and I tried to elaborate, I told her that in the end I did not think I was truly qualified for the position.
Your qualifications are excellent, she said, her forehead creasing in confusion. And your work has been consistently very strong. We would not have made the offer if there had been any question about your qualifications. She paused. There is also the issue of temperament. Some people do not have the right temperament for the job and perhaps you are one of them. If that is the case, it is better to know sooner than later, for your own sake but also for ours.
I nodded. I saw that she had already started to dismiss me in her mind. I had the feeling that I had wasted her time. She was right to say that it was a question of temperament, and that I did not have the correct kind. But I no longer believed that equanimity was either tenable or desirable. It corroded everything inside. I had never met a person with greater equanimity than the former president. But this applied to all of them—to the prosecution and the defense, to the judges and even the other interpreters. They were able to work. They had the right temperament for the job. But at what internal cost?
That night, I ventured out to get something to eat, walking to the closest Chinese restaurant. When I entered, the young woman at the register addressed me in Mandarin, her manner hopeful. Her face clouded over when I shook my head and from that point she treated me with greater disdain than seemed normal. I thought—I want to go home. I want to be in a place that feels like home. Where that was, I did not know.
* * *
—
I met Adriaan at a café in his neighborhood. We had been in the habit of going there together and I had been several times while I was still staying in his apartment. But it now felt alien, as if I had returned after a long period of exile. The expectation of his arrival had altered the place. I sat down at a table in the corner of the café, my body so leaden I did not think I would be able to stand again. It had been a week since Adriaan had returned to The Hague, but we had not yet seen each other, we had only spoken on the telephone once, several days earlier.
There had been a brief silence when I answered the phone, and then he said, I’m glad you answered. You left the apartment. His voice was mild, but at the same time it expressed something sharper, and heavier, and I realized then that it had not been without meaning for him, the silence between us. You were gone for longer than I expected, I said. I tried to keep the words from saying too much, but I could not speak of expectation, of what I had once thought to hope, without feeling something yawn open inside. He was very quiet, and then said that it had been complicated in Lisbon, but that he was back, and that it would be best if we could speak in person.
And so we arranged to meet in the café. He arrived not long after I did and I rose to my feet as soon as he came in the door. He crossed the room toward me. I was startled by the physical tumult I experienced in his presence, a feeling that I had almost forgotten. It had been two months since we had last seen each other. We kissed on the cheeks, like mere acquaintances, and then we sat down at the table. He appeared different in some way that I could not immediately identify, as if another version of himself were poking through the familiar exterior.
I saw the news about the trial, he said.
I nodded.
People must be very upset.
I don’t think it’s the existential threat to the Court that some people are saying it is. But it’s not good, no one is happy about it.
Did you ever interpret for him?
I realized again how long he had been gone.
Yes.
What was he like?
He is petty and vain but he understands the depths of human behavior. The places where ordinary people do not go. That gives him a great deal of power, even when he is confined to a cell.
I saw some of the coverage from Lisbon, on the television.
I nodded and looked away. I saw him, in this city I did not know, in an apartment with Gaby and the children, perhaps watching the very journalists I had seen narrate the story of what had taken place. That other life bloomed before my eyes, and the sight of it was more painful than I could have imagined.