Fixer, The - Bernard Malamud [92]
“Still,” said the fixer, sighing brokenly, “the question is of the worth of the evidence.”
“I have no doubts of its worth. Do you have any better evidence?”
“What if certain anti-Semitic groups committed the murder to cast suspicion on the Jews?”
Grubeshov banged his fist on the desk. “What a monstrous canard! It takes a Jew to shift the blame of his crime onto his accusers. You are apparently unaware of your own admissions, yes, confessions of guilt.” He had begun to sweat and his breath whistled in his nose.
“Mine?” said Yakov, on the verge of panic. “What admissions? I have made none.”
“You may think not but there is already a record of more than one confession you have made in your sleep. The guard Kogin has compiled it in his notebooks, and the Deputy Warden also heard you when he listened at the cell door at night. It’s obvious that your conscience is heavily burdened, Yakov Bok, and for good and sufficient reason. There is much crying out against the abhorrent nature of your crime, sighs, ejaculations, grunts, even sobs of remorse. It is because you obviously feel some sorrow for what you have done that I am willing to talk to you in this kindly way.”
Yakov’s eyes again crept to the papers on the desk.
“Could I see the indictment, your honor?”
“My advice to you,” Grubeshov said, wiping his neck with a handkerchief, “is to sign a confession saying you committed the murder unwillingly, under the influence of your religious cohorts. Once that’s done, as I informed you the last time I talked to you, something to your advantage may be arranged.”
“I have nothing to confess. What can I confess to you? I can only confess my miseries. I can’t confess the murder of Zhenia Golov.”
“Listen, Bok, I speak to you for your own good. Your position otherwise is hopeless. A confession by you will have more than one beneficial effect. For your fellow Jews it may prevent reprisals. Do you know that at the time of your arrest Kiev was on the verge of a massive pogrom? It was only the fortuitous appearance of the Tsar to dedicate a statue to one of his ancestors that prevented it. That won’t happen a second time, I assure you. Think it over, there are strong advantages for you. I am willing to see to it that you are secreted out of prison and taken to Podovoloshchisk on the Austrian border. You will have a Russian passport in your pocket and the means of transportation to some country outside of Europe. This includes Palestine, America, or even Australia, if you choose to go there. I advise you to consider this most carefully. The alternative is to spend your lifetime in prison under circumstances much less favorable than those you are presently enjoying.”
“Excuse me, but how will you then explain to the Tsar that you let a confessed murderer of a Christian child go?”
“That part doesn’t concern you,” said Grubeshov.
The fixer didn’t believe him. A confession, he knew, would doom him forever. He was already doomed.
“The warden said you would give me the indictment.”
Grubeshov uneasily studied the top sheet of the paper, then put it down. “The indictment requires the signature of the Investigating Magistrate. He is away on official business and has not yet returned to his office. In the meantime I want to know what your response is to my more than reasonable proposal?”
“I have enough to confess but not that crime.”
“Ach, you are a stupid Jew.”
Yakov readily agreed.
“If you have hopes of the sympathy and perhaps assistance of Magistrate Bibikov, you had better give them up. He has been replaced by another.”
The fixer clamped his teeth tight to keep from going into shudders again.
“Where is Mr. Bibikov?”
Grubeshov spoke restlessly. “He was arrested for peculating from official funds. While awaiting trial, overwhelmed by his disgrace, he committed suicide.”
The fixer