helpful when it came to giving directionsâuntil I found him, our Mr. Mani, sitting in the courtroom of the justice of the peace, which was such a tiny room that I had to laugh at first, because I never knew that courtrooms were so small. It wasnât any bigger than this room, Mother, with three or four benches facing a big black platform, and there he was on it, sitting in his black robe with his back to a big arched window sunk into the stone wall and judging away. He was so flabbergasted when he saw me come in, slipping into the room with my head down and moving some wet coats to clear a place for myself on the last bench, behind the defendant and his lawyer, that he blushed, took off his little reading glasses, and looked around to see if anyone else had noticed me. Right away, though, he recovered, and for the rest of the morning he ignored me completely and went on presiding with this kind of stern humor that I hadnât realized he had. Mostly, he teased and scolded the lawyers. When the defendants took the stand he was much more patient, shutting his eyes and playing with that little mournerâs beard of his, which he still didnât seem to be quite used to...
âYes. I sat there for a couple of hours, until noontime.
âIt can be very interesting, Mother. Itâs very dramatic when the defendant stands up to be identified, and the prosecutor reads the charge against him, and he has to plead guilty or not guilty, but thereâs also a lot of haggling with the lawyers about all kinds of petty little details that didnât mean a thing to me, and all this coming and going to the judgeâs bench with documents until heâd lose his temper and call a halt to the proceedings and go off with the lawyers to his office, which was right off the courtroom, leaving me, Mother, all alone with this Arab defendant accused of stealing a Jewish ID card, who suddenly turned around and began talking to me...
âI donât know what kept me there ... But this time too, Mother, I had this sinking, frozen feeling that wouldnât let me move. And of course, the weather outside was awful, you could see the rain getting worse all the time through the window and the sky getting grayer and lower. And nobody seemed to mind me, because nobody knew I was there to keep an eye on the judge, who seemed very lively and energetic and so far from suicide that I began to think what youâre thinking right now, that everything that happened the night before was just a fantasy of mine...
âWait ... just wait...
âNo, he never acknowledged my existence, not even with a glance. You might have thought he didnât know me. I went on sitting there until noon, feeling like a stone. Finally, he disappeared with the lawyers into his office for such a long time that the last remaining defendant got tired of waiting and walked out too, leaving me all by myself in that little room, looking out at the rain, which had turned into these icy pellets of hail bouncing off the window, and I thought, damn it, Hagar, what on earth are you doing here when you could be back at the university, on a campus full of life? But just then, Mother, the bells began ringing in the Russian church, pealing away in the courtroom ... it was so solemn and primitive ... and once again, Mother, I had the same strange sensation I had had the night before, on the stairs to his apartment, like I told you...
âYes. Exactly. That someone was standing off to the side and writing or filming me...
âRight. It was the weirdest feeling.
âWhatâs so funny?
âWhat kind of delusions of grandeur? As a matter of fact, it wasnât that at all. This wasnât my own
personal
story. It was other peopleâs too. I wasnât being asked to go off to some corner with my own little self but on the contrary, to have patience for everyoneâfor Efi, and for the baby, and for everyoneâso that they could all make some
âYes. I sat there for a couple of hours, until noontime.
âIt can be very interesting, Mother. Itâs very dramatic when the defendant stands up to be identified, and the prosecutor reads the charge against him, and he has to plead guilty or not guilty, but thereâs also a lot of haggling with the lawyers about all kinds of petty little details that didnât mean a thing to me, and all this coming and going to the judgeâs bench with documents until heâd lose his temper and call a halt to the proceedings and go off with the lawyers to his office, which was right off the courtroom, leaving me, Mother, all alone with this Arab defendant accused of stealing a Jewish ID card, who suddenly turned around and began talking to me...
âI donât know what kept me there ... But this time too, Mother, I had this sinking, frozen feeling that wouldnât let me move. And of course, the weather outside was awful, you could see the rain getting worse all the time through the window and the sky getting grayer and lower. And nobody seemed to mind me, because nobody knew I was there to keep an eye on the judge, who seemed very lively and energetic and so far from suicide that I began to think what youâre thinking right now, that everything that happened the night before was just a fantasy of mine...
âWait ... just wait...
âNo, he never acknowledged my existence, not even with a glance. You might have thought he didnât know me. I went on sitting there until noon, feeling like a stone. Finally, he disappeared with the lawyers into his office for such a long time that the last remaining defendant got tired of waiting and walked out too, leaving me all by myself in that little room, looking out at the rain, which had turned into these icy pellets of hail bouncing off the window, and I thought, damn it, Hagar, what on earth are you doing here when you could be back at the university, on a campus full of life? But just then, Mother, the bells began ringing in the Russian church, pealing away in the courtroom ... it was so solemn and primitive ... and once again, Mother, I had the same strange sensation I had had the night before, on the stairs to his apartment, like I told you...
âYes. Exactly. That someone was standing off to the side and writing or filming me...
âRight. It was the weirdest feeling.
âWhatâs so funny?
âWhat kind of delusions of grandeur? As a matter of fact, it wasnât that at all. This wasnât my own
personal
story. It was other peopleâs too. I wasnât being asked to go off to some corner with my own little self but on the contrary, to have patience for everyoneâfor Efi, and for the baby, and for everyoneâso that they could all make some
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