Fixer, The - Bernard Malamud [71]
Yakov wrung his hands. “If so what am I to do, your honor? Will I be abandoned to die in this prison?”
“Who has abandoned you?” the Investigating Magistrate asked, looking at him gently.
“Not you, of course, and I thank what little luck I have for that. But if Mr. Grubeshov has no use for your evidence I might rot here for years. After all, how long are our lives? Couldn’t you put out an indictment of some small sort against me so that I could at least see a lawyer?”
“No, that wouldn’t work at all. Murder is what I would be compelled to charge you with. I’m afraid to start off that way. Your lawyer will appear in due course. But at present no lawyer can do as much for you as I, Yakov Shepsovitch. And when the time comes that he can, I’ll see to it that you have a good one. I already have in mind someone who is a vigorous and courageous man of the most excellent reputation. I will sound him out in the near future, and I am sure he will agree to represent you.”
The fixer thanked him.
Bibikov, after looking at his watch, suddenly rose. “Yakov Shepsovitch, what more can I tell you? Take heart in the truth and endure your trials. Sustain yourself in your innocence.”
“It’s not so easy, your honor. I’m not suited for this kind of life. I find it hard to imitate a dog. That’s not exactly what I mean but turned around a bit it is. What I mean is that I’m sick of prison, also I’m not a brave man. To tell the truth I have terrible fears that never leave me, day or night.”
“No one says it’s easy. Still, you are not alone.”
“In my cell I’m alone. In my thoughts I’m alone. I don’t want to sound bitter to you because I’m thankful for your help—”
“My dear friend,” said Bibikov gravely, “your bitterness doesn’t offend me. My worry is not to fail you.”
“Why should you fail me?” the fixer said, anxiously rising.
“Who can say?” Bibikov put on his limp hat. “Partly it is our situation in this unfortunate country that causes me doubt. Russia is such a complex, long-suffering, ignorant, torn and helpless nation. In one sense we are all prisoners here.” He paused, combed his beard with his fingers, then said, “There is so much to be done that demands the full capacities of our hearts and souls, but, truly, where shall we begin? Perhaps I will begin with you? Keep in mind, Yakov Shepsovitch, that if your life is without value, so is mine. If the law does not protect you, it will not, in the end, protect me. Therefore I dare not fail you, and that is what causes me anxiety—that I must not fail you. Now permit me to say good night.