I entered the courtroom about ten minutes later, forcing myself to breathe through my nose and not my mouth, feeling my shirt stuck to my back with sweat, and trying to look dignified.
They were all there, ready in their places. Counsel for the civil party, public prosecutor, clerk of the court, journalists and, despite the late hour, even some members of the public. I noticed that there were a number of Africans, never seen at the other hearings.
As soon as he saw me, the clerk of the court went through to inform the court that I had arrived at last.
I threw on my robe and glanced at my watch. Nine fifty-five.
The clerk returned to his seat and then, in rapid succession, the bell rang and the court entered.
The judge hurried to his place, with the air of a man who wants to get some disagreeable duty quickly over and done with. He looked first right, then left. He assured himself that the members of the court were all in position. He put on his glasses to read the verdict.
Eyes lowered, half closed, I listened to my thudding heart.
“In the name of the Italian people, the Court of Assizes at Bari, in accordance with Article 530, Paragraph One, of the code of criminal procedure…”
I felt a charge throughout my body and my legs turned to jelly.
Acquitted.
Article 530 of the code of criminal procedure is entitled “Verdict of acquittal”.
“… finds Abdou Thiam not guilty on the grounds that the accused has not committed the offences with which he is charged. In accordance with Article 300 of the code of criminal procedure it decrees the cessation of the precautionary measure of detention in prison at present in force against the defendant and orders the immediate discharge of the aforesaid unless detained on other counts. The court is dismissed.”
It is hard to explain what one feels at such a moment. Because it’s really hard to understand it.
I stayed where I was, gazing towards the empty bench where the court had sat. All around were excited voices, while people patted me on the back and others grasped my hand and wrung it. I wondered what so many people were doing in a courtroom of the Bari Assizes on 3 July at ten o’clock at night.
I don’t know how long it was until I moved.
Until among the babble of voices I distinguished that of Abdou. I took off my robe and went to the cage. In theory, he should have been released at once. In practice, though, they had to take him back to the prison to go through the formalities. In any case, he was still inside there.
We found ourselves face to face, very close, the bars between us. His eyes were moist, his jaw set, the corners of his mouth trembling.
My own face was not very different, I think.
It was a long handshake, through the bars. Not in the usual way, like businessmen or when you are introduced, but gripping thumbs with elbows crooked.
He said only a few words, in his own language. I didn’t need an interpreter to tell me what they meant.
38
I left Margherita a message on her mobile the very evening of the verdict, but we didn’t manage to meet until the next afternoon.
She called by my office, and we went and sat in a bar. We talked very little about the trial. I had no wish to, and she realized that and soon stopped asking questions. We were both of us in a strange state of mild embarrassment.
When we got back to the street door of my office I made an effort to say what I had in mind.
“I really rather wanted to ask you out to dinner. Please don’t say no, even if it’s not much of an invitation. I’m out of practice.”
She looked at me as if she wanted to laugh, but she didn’t say a thing.
“What about it?” I asked after a moment.
“As a matter of fact it was a pretty rottenly put invitation, but I’d like to reward your good intentions.”
“You mean you accept?”
“I mean I accept. This evening?”
“Not this evening. Tomorrow if you don’t mind.”
She narrowed her eyes and gave me a rather puzzled look, so I felt bound to say more.
“There’s something I have to do this evening. Something important. I can’t put it off. I can’t go out with you unless I’ve done it first.”
Still the same puzzled look for a moment. Then she nodded and said that was fine.
Till tomorrow then.
Till tomorrow.
I got home from the office, had a shower, put on some shorts and made a smoothie. I wandered for a while from room to room. Every so often I stopped to look at the telephone. I scrutinized it from a distance.
After a little of this I sat down in an armchair. The telephone was in front of me and I had only to reach out and pick up the receiver. Instead I simply sat staring at the instrument.
No need to rush, I thought.
In any case, before you phone you have to run through the number in your head. The number is 080… 5219… that is 080… 52198… No, it’s 52196… No it isn’t.
I couldn’t remember it! Ridiculous. It wasn’t even two years and I couldn’t remember the number. Yet a few months before I’d known it by heart. So really it was only a few months, and I’d forgotten it.
All right, no use fretting. Such things happen.
I looked up Sara’s name in the phone book but it wasn’t there.
For a moment I didn’t know what to do. Then inspiration struck and I looked up my name. There it was. At the old address, I mean. Where I lived now the phone was in the landlord’s name.
I went on staring at the phone for a bit longer, but I knew that time was running out.
I hope she’ll be the one to answer. If it’s the same man as last time, what shall I say? Good evening, I’m the ex-husband or, rather, still the husband though separated. Yes, you’ve understood rightly, that little shit. I would like to speak to Sara, please. My dear sir, don’t be so crude. You’ll bust my face in if I ring again? Be careful how you talk, I am a boxer. Ah, you are a master of full-contact karate? Well, I only said it for a lark.
I punched the number hard, quickly, without thinking. Only way to do it.
After three rings she answered.
She didn’t seem surprised to hear my voice. In fact, she seemed pleased. Yes, she was well. I was well too. Yes, I was sure, I was as fit as a fiddle. No, it was just that I seemed to her a trifle strange. Meet this evening? That is, in a couple of hours, after a couple of years? She complimented me for still being able to surprise her, which she said wasn’t easy. I was glad about this – no, really glad – so, apart from that, could we meet? For dinner, or for a drink afterwards. Very well. Would she like me to come and fetch her or might that create some embarrassment? Laughter. OK, I’d come for her at ten. Should I call her on the intercom or would she meet me downstairs? No, better on the intercom… Another laugh. All right, I’ll buzz from downstairs. See you then. Ciao. Ciao.
I dressed quickly and quickly left the house. The shops shut at eight.
I made good time, and was back home by half-past. It remained to fill up the time until ten. I read a little. Zen in the Art of Archery. But it wasn’t the right book for the occasion. So I thought I’d listen to a little music. I was about to put on Rimmel, but then thought that even though quite alone I ought to avoid pathos. Better to go out at once.
I changed, just to while away a few more minutes, then went downstairs, little shopping bag in hand.
I wandered about the streets until dead on ten, when I pressed the bell at Sara’s place. She answered, in the way I knew so well.
I’ll be right down.
Down she came and gave me a kiss on the cheek and I gave her a kiss on hers. If she saw my little shopping bag she gave no sign of it. We walked as far as the car and I drove to a restaurant by the sea, near Polignano.
We didn’t exchange many words while we were in the car, nor did we exchange many during dinner.