Other people

Forty-nine Koch

Before the arraignment, Thomassy tells me that I should not talk except when the judge asks me a direct question, and then I am to answer in the fewest words. He makes a joke of it: I am an analyst, an experienced listener. Listen, he says, and do not talk. But it is self-defense, I insist, I must make my case. No, Thomassy cautions me, he must make my case. I am not being charged with self-defense, but with manslaughter. Marta, come back from whatever heaven you're in just this once, I trust this lawyer but I do not love him, I need someone at my side whom I love.

In the courtroom I feel alone. Here and there people buzz with each other, ignoring this ritual of justice. I am asked to stand, then to sit, I find myself nibbling at a cuticle. Finally, Thomassy is to speak and I strain to listen.

"Your Honor," he says, "this court is not the proper forum for me to express myself on a constitutional issue. I do not want to mind-read the drafters as to what precisely they had in mind when they gave the people the right to bear arms. A militiaman's rifle or a Saturday-night special? A homemade nuclear device to use against a tyrannical government? I find myself on both sides of that argument. But we are dealing with something far simpler. If an intruder has illegally entered our home to steal something and we catch him at it, and the intruder then threatens us with a loaded weapon, where are we? If we had previously been threatened and applied for a gun permit and kept a loaded gun in, say, our desk in the event of a recurrence, that would be thought of as perfectly normal. But if this was a first occurrence, we cannot reach for the gun we do not have. Our fists can't reach a gunman ten or fifteen feet away. Do we throw a rock? An ashtray? Do we throw ourselves at the intruder and become a certain victim? Dr. Koch…"

Thomassy looked over at me. I did not know whether I could stand. I start to rise. He motions me down.

"Dr. Koch," he continues, "has a dartboard in his office that he uses to unwind with. He keeps three darts in a holder on his desk. In the circumstances I have described, he reaches not for an ashtray, or a nonexistent rock, nor does he hopelessly lunge against the intruder. He throws a dart. Had he missed, he would have been shot dead. We know the intruder's gun was loaded. He fired it. He fired it at Dr. Koch. It was heaven-sent luck that Dr. Koch's dart hit the intruder in a vital area, the eye, and as a result Dr. Koch is alive and with us in this courtroom today. But what a miscarriage of justice it would be if the District Attorney's charge against Dr. Koch is carried any further. He has been a law-abiding citizen all his life, not even a traffic ticket to his name, and he has bravely continued his practice of helping people in a neighborhood where anarchy encroaches on lawful citizens day by day. If Dr. Koch is to be tried — and I have no doubt that he would be exonerated on grounds of self-defense — the trial would itself be a cruel and unusual punishment."

The young man who was, I suppose, my antagonist, interrupted with vehemence and anger in his voice. "This man, Your Honor," he said, pointing at me, "hit another human being in the eye with a dart."

"Your Honor," said Thomassy, "would the people rather that the doctor defended himself with a good clean pistol shot in the heart? Are we discussing the odd, perhaps even grotesque nature of the only available means of defense, or whether the doctor committed a crime in defending himself while threatened with a deadly weapon? Are the people claiming this was not self-defense?"

"The issue should be tried," said the young man. "A jury should determine whether the doctor used excessive force for the circumstances."

On what precise scale do we measure force? Should I have aimed for the chest? The dart would not have penetrated bone. The truth is I didn't think, I threw it at the center of the threat, his scornful face.

The judge, a huge-headed man with bristling eyebrows, motioned Thomassy toward him a bit. I heard him say, "Is your client all right?"

Thomassy came over to me. "Anything the matter?"

"I am drinking a glass of water," I said.

"Your face is covered with sweat."

I felt my face. I took my handkerchief and wiped my forehead, my cheeks, my neck.

"All right," said the judge. He motioned both attorneys forward for something he called a conference at the bench. He didn't want me to hear what was being said. Was I not allowed to hear at my own trial?

I watched Thomassy reply to whatever it was the judge said. I watched the young man's rebuttal. It was as if at this trial of my life I had lost my hearing. What was going on?

Then suddenly Thomassy came striding over to me and whispered, "The judge wants to be sure that you would make yourself available as a witness for the government when the man you hit recovers enough to be tried."

"Do I have to?" I asked. "Can't they just work from the police records?"

"No."

"Can I give them an affidavit?"

"They want you to testify. Please. I am trying to strike a bargain."

"The law is a bargain?"

Thomassy laughed. "Dr. Koch," he said, "you are a marvelous innocent."

Thomassy returned to the conference at the bench. After a few minutes of mumbling, he and the young man returned to their respective places looking as if they were colleagues and not enemies. Then the judge said, "The case is dismissed."

Thomassy nodded his approval, then turned to shake my hand.

"You should be happy," he said.

"I cannot be happy."

"We won," said Thomassy.

"We have not yet won. The case is not dismissed. That man is recovering, you said. He will be tried."

"He'll go to jail," Thomassy said.

"For how long?"

"I don't know. Some years."

"And be paroled sooner?"

"Probably."

"And I must lie in wait for his revenge."

I should not have betrayed my alarm. In a world where truth is a frequent danger, I should not have spoiled the gratitude he expected. I should not have told him that all he had won was a delay of my sentence. We cannot cure the world, we can only be prepared to defend ourselves again and again and again.

"Mr. Thomassy," I said, "it would give me a great deal of pleasure if you would allow me to buy you a drink. I don't usually drink, but today I will join you, if you will join me."

"Sure."

In the bar, we clinked glasses.

"Once more, thank you," I said.

He nodded.

"How much do I owe you?"

"I'll send a bill. It won't be much. Just the time."

"I am not a very good client for you, Mr. Thomassy," I said. "It took me sixty years to go before the law once. Another sixty years I do not have."

"Just keep out of trouble."

"I do, I do, I just have to keep the trouble from seeking me out. But I tell you, Francine Widmer, she will make up for me."

His face changed.

"You see," I said, "I know her probably better than anyone alive from our long hours together, and I tell you this. She is determined to confront the hypocrisy of the world not only when it intrudes on her life. She will seek it out like a ferret. That, I think, is her vocation, a female grand inquisitor. And so you see, she will be in frequent trouble, and will need a Maccabee at her side."

"Dr. Koch," he said, "you have the instincts of a matchmaker."

I had to laugh.

"Having a client like her," he said, "is too preoccupying."

"Forgive me," I said, risking all, "I am old enough to be a Dutch uncle to you, yes? It is one of the great joys of life to have a preoccupation as beautiful and intelligent as Marta."

He looked at me.

"You said Marta."

"I meant Francine," I said laughing to the point of tears, "I meant Francine."