uncle had probably decided to continue his walk on his own. They had taken sleeping bags and food with them. I had a feeling they planned to spend the night in the mountains. Students sometimes do that.”
“And the defendant didn’t talk to you?”
“He went straight up to his room. He looked calm.”
“Though his uncle was already dead.”
“I didn’t know that yet.”
“But he did,” the prosecutor shouted. “His behavior didn’t surprise you?”
Michael Redford, the lawyer for the defense, stands up and objects. “Your Honor, the prosecutor is out of bounds! He is soliciting the witness and dictating her remarks …”
The judge rules in his favor. The prosecutor has to take back his question.
“Very well. So, the defendant came back alone. Did he talk about his walk?”
“No. He just asked me for the bill. He added that he had to shorten his stay and return to Manhattan.”
“He didn’t explain why?”
“No. He paid with his credit card, got a taxi, and left.”
“Did you notice anything strange about his behavior?”
“He seemed in a hurry to leave.”
“Was he less courteous? Nervous? Anxious? Troubled?”
“Just as polite as before. But eager to leave.”
“That’s what you thought at the time. But now, knowing the charges brought against the defendant, does anything come to your mind? A detail? An unusual move on his part? A sign? A comment that could suddenly have another meaning?”
Aware of the importance of the question, the receptionist reflected for a long time before saying, “I thought he looked sad.”
“Sad? What do you mean, sad?”
“Sad and disoriented. Like a lost child far away from home.”
“It’s normal for a man who has just committed a despicable crime to feel sad—is that what you’re trying to imply?”
“No. What I mean is when I found out about all this, all the charges against him, I remembered that he looked like a child filled with great sadness. Crushed by an obscure sadness, you could say.”
“Well, I maintain that’s exactly what a well-educatedyoung man, from a good family, feels when he’s discovered he’s a murderer.”
Satisfied with his conclusion, the prosecutor turns to the jury and says, “I have no more questions for this witness.”
He walks back to his seat and whispers a few words to his assistant, sitting to his left. She nods her head and smiles while the judge turns to the defense.
“And what about you, sir? Do you wish to cross-examine the prosecution’s witness?”
“Yes, I would, Your Honor. With the court’s permission I’d like to …”
“Not now,” the judge interrupts him. “After lunch.”
During this entire scene, Yedidyah kept watching the defendant, who never betrayed any emotion. Did the young German appreciate the way he had been portrayed by the receptionist from the Mountain Hotel? Was he annoyed by the prosecutor’s accusations, as though the magistrate were speaking not about him, Werner, but about someone who had usurped his identity and taken over his entire person? But how could such role substitution be imagined? It is conceivable only in an actor. How would I have done it? Yedidyah wondered. Napoleon, when incarnated onstage, uses the actor just as the actor uses the emperor. Could Descartes be wrong? The “I” who thinks is not necessarily the “I” who is. And then who is Werner Sonderberg? Whereis he right now, now that his life hangs in the balance? To what distant place, or dark region, do his thoughts lead him?
After all, though this courtroom has become the center of the world for everyone assembled in it, Werner Sonderberg, the defendant, would have a perfect right to turn his back on us, as an expression of his disdain or despair, while outside, far away, life follows its unchanging course. Storms in Chicago. Fires in Arizona. Car accidents and holdups. Deadly conflicts in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, as though they had been programmed since the world’s
“And the defendant didn’t talk to you?”
“He went straight up to his room. He looked calm.”
“Though his uncle was already dead.”
“I didn’t know that yet.”
“But he did,” the prosecutor shouted. “His behavior didn’t surprise you?”
Michael Redford, the lawyer for the defense, stands up and objects. “Your Honor, the prosecutor is out of bounds! He is soliciting the witness and dictating her remarks …”
The judge rules in his favor. The prosecutor has to take back his question.
“Very well. So, the defendant came back alone. Did he talk about his walk?”
“No. He just asked me for the bill. He added that he had to shorten his stay and return to Manhattan.”
“He didn’t explain why?”
“No. He paid with his credit card, got a taxi, and left.”
“Did you notice anything strange about his behavior?”
“He seemed in a hurry to leave.”
“Was he less courteous? Nervous? Anxious? Troubled?”
“Just as polite as before. But eager to leave.”
“That’s what you thought at the time. But now, knowing the charges brought against the defendant, does anything come to your mind? A detail? An unusual move on his part? A sign? A comment that could suddenly have another meaning?”
Aware of the importance of the question, the receptionist reflected for a long time before saying, “I thought he looked sad.”
“Sad? What do you mean, sad?”
“Sad and disoriented. Like a lost child far away from home.”
“It’s normal for a man who has just committed a despicable crime to feel sad—is that what you’re trying to imply?”
“No. What I mean is when I found out about all this, all the charges against him, I remembered that he looked like a child filled with great sadness. Crushed by an obscure sadness, you could say.”
“Well, I maintain that’s exactly what a well-educatedyoung man, from a good family, feels when he’s discovered he’s a murderer.”
Satisfied with his conclusion, the prosecutor turns to the jury and says, “I have no more questions for this witness.”
He walks back to his seat and whispers a few words to his assistant, sitting to his left. She nods her head and smiles while the judge turns to the defense.
“And what about you, sir? Do you wish to cross-examine the prosecution’s witness?”
“Yes, I would, Your Honor. With the court’s permission I’d like to …”
“Not now,” the judge interrupts him. “After lunch.”
During this entire scene, Yedidyah kept watching the defendant, who never betrayed any emotion. Did the young German appreciate the way he had been portrayed by the receptionist from the Mountain Hotel? Was he annoyed by the prosecutor’s accusations, as though the magistrate were speaking not about him, Werner, but about someone who had usurped his identity and taken over his entire person? But how could such role substitution be imagined? It is conceivable only in an actor. How would I have done it? Yedidyah wondered. Napoleon, when incarnated onstage, uses the actor just as the actor uses the emperor. Could Descartes be wrong? The “I” who thinks is not necessarily the “I” who is. And then who is Werner Sonderberg? Whereis he right now, now that his life hangs in the balance? To what distant place, or dark region, do his thoughts lead him?
After all, though this courtroom has become the center of the world for everyone assembled in it, Werner Sonderberg, the defendant, would have a perfect right to turn his back on us, as an expression of his disdain or despair, while outside, far away, life follows its unchanging course. Storms in Chicago. Fires in Arizona. Car accidents and holdups. Deadly conflicts in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East, as though they had been programmed since the world’s