Chapter 7

“I would like to call the first witness,” the Prosecutor said, “Mrs. Margaret Smith, the defendant’s wife.”

The moment the prosecutor spoke, John heard steps on the stairs; someone was walking up. He was sitting on the chair in the middle of his wooden cage, looking in the direction the sound was coming from. There she was. Margaret. She walked up, the Prosecutor pointed at her seat, half-way between the judges and John, and she sat down; her husband’s cage behind her. John got up and leaned on the cage’s bars to hear better. He licked his lips. He was thirsty.

“Would you please introduce yourself?” the Prosecutor asked.

“My name is Margaret Smith; I’ve been John’s wife for seventeen years.”

“Can you tell us about the beginnings of your relationship?”

“I met John when I wanted to buy a second-hand car. He was a salesperson at the dealership I chose.”

“How old were you then?”

“I was twenty-five, and he was twenty-six.”

John took a sip of water and put the mug down on the ground. The sound of the object touching the floor echoed and bounced off the walls.

“How did you become romantically involved?”

“John sold me the car. I remember it was a red Chevrolet, and about three weeks later, he called me and asked me out. I mean, at first he asked me how the car was doing; I thought he was simply concerned as a salesman, but it was just a pretext, he wanted to ask me out.”

“Did you agree without any hesitation?”

“Yes.”

“Even though he lied to you as a salesman?”

Margaret licked her lips and answered quietly, “Yes.”

“Your honor, I would like to show you a car workshop bill Margaret Allen paid only two weeks after she had bought the car,” the Prosecutor took out a piece of paper from a black leather file he got from under his robes. “It’s been copied three times for all judges,” he added. The three of them started examining the document thoroughly. “It states that the car’s gas pedal sank in, that there was not enough fluid in the cooling system, and that the odometer was falsified. Did you try to get a refund from the dealer once you paid your bill?”

“I did, but I got nothing. The manager told me the car was sold as a special offer, and such offers were treated as a“take it or leave it” thing. It was cheaper, but I had no warranty.”

The woman judge looked at John sitting in his cage behind Margaret.

“Why did you lie about the car’s condition, Mr. Smith?”

John swallowed loudly, sighed, and licked his lips. He thought he would have given anything for a cigarette. He looked at her.

“Because—”

“Get up when you talk to us,” the man sitting on the main judge’s right side said, “show respect to the institution.”

John obediently got up. “Because I wanted to make the sale.”

“But it wasn’t honest,” the Prosecutor said, looking at him.

“The company demanded a certain effectiveness from us, and, we were working mostly on a commission. But I wasn’t the only one who acted like this.”

“We’re talking about you, Mr. Smith,” the woman judge said, “you are the only person we have any interest in at the moment.”

“I just want you to see the bigger picture.”

“And I just want you to sit back in your chair, Mr. Smith,” the judge on the left said. John sat down.

“Why did you decide to meet Mr. Smith even though, at that time, you already knew he wasn’t an honest person?” the Prosecutor asked Margaret.

“I was twenty-five, and single, with a 3-year-old son. He was handsome, interested, and had a steady job. Any other woman in my place would have done the same.”

“Did Mr. Smith know you had a son?”

“Yes. When I came to buy the car, I came with Mickey. I had nobody to leave him with.”

“How did your relationship evolve?”

“We had been dating for six months when I got pregnant. John wasn’t happy about it, but we decided to get married. I’ll be honest, I was pushing him towards the decision, because I knew how difficult single mother’s life is, I didn’t want to be left alone having two kids to handle on my own.”

“Did you suspect Mr. Smith was going to leave you should the circumstances were different?”

“I knew he would. I had a feeling he had problems with commitment.”

“And yet you pushed him to marry you?”

“Yes. Like I said I was afraid of being alone. I’m pretty sure many women have made and are making similar mistakes all around the world.”

“What happened next?”

“We got married when I was four months pregnant, about a year after we’d started dating.”

“But Mickey is your only child.”

“Yes. The baby I carried in my womb died when I was six months pregnant. The doctors weren’t able to explain why it happened. It – it just did.” Margaret sniffed and dried her eyes with her palm. “I was told I had to give birth to the dead baby. I was taken to the hospital and given oxytocin. No woman should ever go through anything like that,” she cried quietly, “especially alone.”

“Where were you then, Mr. Smith?” The Prosecutor turned around and asked John.

John got up, looked at him, and at the judges, licked his lips, and said, “At a party.”

The crowd listening to Margaret’s testimony groaned. A few apples and eggs fell on the wooden platform where the trial was taking place.

“Silence!” The woman judge used the gavel. “Silence, or I shall have you all leave this place!” Within a few seconds no sound was heard above them.

“What party?” the Prosecutor continued the questioning.

“A friend at the dealership was retiring,” John said quietly, “it was something that was planned for weeks, a surprise party.”

“Are you saying you chose a pre-planned party over the unexpected, yet scheduled birth of your dead child?” the woman judge asked.

John looked at her, looked at the prosecutor, and then finally looked at Margaret. Even though he was able to see only her back, he knew what the look on her face was. It was that mixture of failure, disappointment, detest, sadness. Her specialty. The look he hated, the look that made him find her repulsive.

“We’re waiting,” the prosecutor said.

“Yes,” John sighed. “I realize what it sort of looks like, but the friend who was retiring, he was the person who had helped me get the job, he was my teacher, and somebody who taught me everything about sales. I mean, I thought I was only going to be there for a drink and then go to the hospital, but I lost track of time,” he said, leaning on the bars and closed his eyes.

“Did you understand what your wife was going through while you were partying?” the prosecutor asked.

“Y-yes.”

The swoosh of voices was once again heard above them; some of the spectators were booing, others were commenting on what they had just heard, forcing the woman judge to silence them again.

“Mr. Smith, how was it possible that you chose a party with your friends from work over being with your wife and supporting her while sharing the most horrifying experience parents can face?” she asked looking at him.

“I-I guess I was afraid of going through it all. I think it was my way of dealing with the situation.”

John saw one of the judges shaking his head in disbelief and felt his pulse skyrocket; he knew, deep down in his guts, his situation wasn’t good, and that it was, actually, becoming worse. He rubbed his head and tried his best to stay focused.

“Mrs. Smith, what happened next? Marriage-wise,” the prosecutor continued.

“John picked me up from hospital, and he hugged me once and we never talked about it again. I decided I didn’t want to have any more kids; he agreed, and that was it.”

“Would you describe your marriage as happy?”

“The first five minutes of it perhaps, yes,” Margaret scoffed and discreetly cleared her nose.

“When did the situation change?”

“Things have never been perfect, but about five years after we got married, he got the job as this travel organizer and he met new people, became a very social person. I mean he has always been social, but once the travelling thing started, he was practically never home. There were parties, meetings, seminars, courses, trainings, travels, friends, clients, colleagues, contractors, subcontractors, you name it. I was practically alone all the time.”

“How many times have I asked you to come with me, Margaret? How many times have I asked you to join me, travel with me, go to a party with me? You always preferred staying at home. What, was I supposed to give up my normal, socially healthy life over sitting at home with you, always miserable, usually drinking, full of complaints, unsure of yourself? Was I supposed to let you suck the life out of me, too?” John asked loudly. “You’re the one who decided to let me go, Margaret, not the other way around! You let me go, because you stopped trying!”

“Is that true?” the woman judge asked.

“No, not at first. You see, I have always had a steady, normal job. I worked as a shop assistant in a boutique in a department store. It was an everyday job, twice a month I also spent weekends there. It was dull, but stable. And apart from me, there was also Mickey, who needed stability. He was about nine years old when John got the job which, apart from everything else, has always been the source of fun. At first I thought it was wonderful, a great solution to our different lifestyles. But the truth is, he lost it. He lost control. I was simply too tired to go out with him that much, the baby sitter cost a lot, too, so after a while I just decided to stay home and give Mick the stability of having a parent around. I mean, I was the one to prepare dinner, make sure my boy did his homework, clean the house, and I had to combine it all with my work. John,” she sobbed and quickly dried her eyes with her hand, “he kept on repeating he was working, trying his best to support us, but he was mostly having fun. Not once did he resign from a party at work, not once did he come back home earlier to spend more time with us. He wasn’t expected to travel with his clients, but he never declined. I taught Mickey how to ride a bicycle, I was the one to watch his school plays and his basketball games. Christ,” she sniffed loudly, “I was a married single mother. I have always been.”

Margaret hid her face in her palms and bent her head. She was silent, but her shoulders were moving, indicating she was sobbing quietly.

“How about asking her about the drinking problem?” John asked suddenly and got up from his wooden chair. Margaret turned around and looked at him. Her mascara had melted a bit, her eyes were red and a little swollen. John knew immediately he surprised her, that she wasn’t expecting any complications during this sick, spectacle of a trial they were all holding against him. The feeling made him smile. What’s the matter, honey, suddenly you’re somehow short of arguments against me?

The prosecutor looked at John first, then at Margaret, then finally at the judges. The woman nodded allowing him to ask the question.

“Can you elaborate on that, Mrs. Smith? What is the defendant talking about?”

John scoffed once again when he heard he was being referred to as the defendant. What a surreal, absolutely crazy situation. All right, here was the deal. He was going to listen to Margaret talk about the drinking, he wasn’t going to miss the pleasure of seeing her writhe in pain of the not-so-perfect-anymore testimony, and then he was going to wake up. Snap out of it. Just like that.

“Mrs. Smith?” the prosecutor asked again.

Margaret looked at him, blinked quickly a few times and sniffed. She cleared her throat and said, “Yes. I had some drinking issues.”

John smiled and took a deep breath. That’s right, keep on talking, Margaret. Let everyone know you’re not so innocent after all. He crossed his arms on his chest and was waiting for her to talk.

“Can you be more specific?” the judge on the right side of the table asked.

“There was a time in my life I had alcohol issues, I admit; however, I’ve been sober, completely sober since John left me,” she sighed.

“Has this problem ever effected your family life? Your marriage?” the prosecutor asked.

“Oh, come on, how would it be possible for it not to effect it?” John said loudly, and took a step closer to the bars and put his hands on them. “That’s the reason why I kept on leaving home, Margaret, and you know it. Tell them how many times I had asked you to get help, get treatment. Go on, tell them!”

The prosecutor looked at John’s wife who was now visibly embarrassed. She was nervously bending her fingers; the knuckles were popping one after another.

“Well?” John asked.

“It’s, um, it’s true. He did ask me several times to stop, to get help,” Margaret admitted, looking down on her feet.

“And, I understand, you have?” the main judge asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“She has, all right, but apparently only once I’d left her! I don’t think it counts under those circumstances!” John shouted through his teeth.

“Mr. Smith, I advise you to change the tone of your voice!” the prosecutor said sternly.

“No, I am not going to change the tone of my voice! I’ve been hearing what a bad husband and father I am, and she’s not perfect either! Her drinking problem, her lack of will to do anything about it, it all pushed me to leave home, pushed me to stay away from my goddamn family, because, guess what it wasn’t so nice, honey, coming back home only to see you sleeping on the sofa, in front of the TV, drunk as fuck, with stinky breath, and dirty clothes on, while Mickey was in his room doing his homework or playing computer games! Not exactly a dream home to come back to! In fact - Oh, Jesus!”

John felt a powerful and very painful poke under his rib, right above the liver. His face reddened, distorted by pain, and he puffed his cheeks and fell on all fours. He started coughing, and the crowd observing the situation started cheering, clapping, some of the spectators were booing and throwing apples and eggs onto the wooden platform.

“God damn it,” John expectorated and felt single tears falling from his eyes. He got on his knees and looked to his right while keeping his palm on the spot that kept on burning. There was one of the troll-like creatures standing outside the cage, looking coldly at him, holding a long metal-like pole with some sort of sharp, wicked looking crystal at the end and John thought very oddly to himself through his pain, “Christ! It’s like being tasered and slugged in one shot!”

“Silence!” The woman judge hit her gavel onto a wooden tray a few times. “Silence, or I will send everybody out!”

The crowd got quiet in an instant once more. John was still breathing heavily, but he managed to stand up and was now observing everything being slightly bent and gripping his one hand over the bar and the other one on his liver.

“Would you like to add something, Mr. Smith, one more time without permission to speak?” the judge sitting on the left asked. “You are the defendant here, you are allowed to speak only when asked, do you understand?”

“Y-yes,” John replied and coughed.

“When did your problem appear, Mrs. Smith?” the prosecutor, who was observing John, turned around now and walked towards the defendant’s wife.

“Both my grandfather and my father were alcoholics. I guess I just tried as much as I could to deny the fact that I had a problem as well,” she said silently and sniffed. Her eyes became wet again; she closed them, allowed three tears to fall down her cheeks and looked at the prosecutor. “I never touched alcohol until I was a grown-up. I saw how it destroyed my parents’ marriage, so I promised myself to do whatever it took not to allow it to be part of my own life. Unfortunately, once I started drinking, I quickly realized I was losing control over it. Must be the genes or something.”

“Was your problem in any way connected with Mr. Smith?” he asked and pointed at the bars.

“Oh, come on!” John exclaimed, but shut his mouth, and took a step to the left side of the cage once he saw the troll with the bat coming closer again.

“Of course it was. I was sober for many years before I met John. The dead baby thing…the fact that I was alone during this horribly difficult time, then his constant disappearing… it all pushed me to drink again.”

“No! No, no, you cannot blame me for that! It was only your deci—”, John hissed and fell on his knees when the pole hit his belly again. It also poked his arm, and hit his head. John was lying on the floor, covering his head with his forearm. “Stop it! Stop it, please!”

The creature hit his back and stepped back when the prosecutor raised his hand. The hooded man came closer to the cage and looked at John, still crawling on the floor and trying to get up.

“How many times are we supposed to tell you, John? Do not speak unless you’re asked,” the prosecutor said coldly. John looked up at him and saw the man’s eyes displayed a complete lack of any compassion.

“Can’t I defend myself?” Smith finally said through his teeth.

“Haven’t you had your whole lifetime to change?” the prosecutor asked.

John started crying. He couldn’t help it. He was sobbing at first, but after a few seconds, the tears were one by one coming out of his eyes, as he was weeping loudly, and breathing spasmodically. John sat on his wooden chair, bent his torso and hid his face in his palms.

The prosecutor walked to Margaret and asked her, “When did you start drinking again?”

“After John had gotten the new job.”

“Was that the only reason?”

“I think the main reason was because I was devastated and I was alone. My husband kept avoiding me during that time, and I had nobody to talk to, to be with. The alcohol allowed me to forget how painful my life had become. I don’t think I had ever neglected my son, but I know I was drowning out of loneliness and despair.”

“Did your husband ask you to seek help?”

“Yes. He did. Many times.”

“Why didn’t you do it?” the prosecutor kept on asking. In the distance everyone heard John sobbing loudly, even though his face was muffled by his hands.

“I-I don’t know. Guess I didn’t want him to take the credit,” Margaret said quietly and cleared her throat.

“Why have you stopped drinking now?”

“Because John’s out of my life.”

“I have no further questions.”

“Can I add something?” Margaret asked the Prosecutor, who looked at the judges. Seeing their agreement, he allowed her to speak. ““I-I mean, he’s out of my life, and I need to take care of me and my boy, that’s what I… That’s what I meant. And, I also think that my marriage was a mistake, a huge one, and I guess I am partly to blame for the fact it happened in the first place. I think my husband, John, hated me most of the time, because I had certain expectations of him. Expectations any woman would have had of her husband. To commit, to be there for her and for the family, to help,” Margaret added.

“Are we stating facts here, or what my wife thinks?” John asked through his teeth, but as the creature picked the pole again, he only raised his hand in an apologetic gesture and said nothing more. The spectators started commenting everything loudly while the prosecutor walked away from her and said, “Next witness—”