The End of Always: A Novel (27 page)

“In those five months you never left your place of work to seek him out in his private rooms?”

“No.” I clenched my hands. Walter Meyer glanced quickly at my lap. Jared Thompson had told me, above all, to remain calm. To answer the questions with as few words as possible, and not to give my emotions away. I forced myself to let my fingers go limp, as if I could take back the clenching and therefore take back my rage.

Walter Meyer walked toward me. “No?” he said. “You didn’t go upstairs and stay there for many hours on end?”

“I went where he told me to go,” I said. I looked at the floor, at the way two boards in the floor held themselves together with black nails, at the nails themselves.

“He told you to go upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“So you did go with him to his private rooms.”

“To his office,” I said, and hung my head. Shame was a nail that could have staked me to the very floor, and yet Walter Meyer did not seem to mind.

“His private office?”

“I guess,” I said slowly.

“And what did you do there?”

“He talked to me.”

August frowned.

“About what?” said Walter Meyer.

“I do not know.” I wanted to bolt from the chair, bolt from that room, bolt from the stares of the men who no longer read their newspapers or talked quietly to their friends but merely gaped at me as if I were some kind of marionette on a string, a carnival act, a freak in the middle of a dance only she could do.

“Mrs. Bethke. You have to try to remember.”

“But I do not,” I said. I straightened in my chair.

“You don’t.”

“No.”

Walter Meyer sighed deeply. He acted as if he was very much put out by my incompetence. He gave me a hard look and then he turned back to the courtroom and opened his hands before him, as if pleading for understanding.

“Mrs. Bethke,” he said, walking back to me. “What if I told you that I have witnesses who will testify that you went to William’s Oliver’s office and stayed there for very long periods of time and enjoyed a special relationship with him? That would all be true, would it not?”

I shook my head. I glanced at August, who sat back hard in his chair as if surprised. He stared at me.

Mr. Meyer leaned toward me. “What did he say to you, Mrs. Bethke?” he said in a slippery voice. “What was it that you were given to understand?”

Someone in the back of the room coughed and I could have sworn the smell of his breath came to me.

“Mrs. Bethke,” Walter Meyer repeated.

“You will answer the question,” the judge said. He sounded bored.

“He wanted me to have a relationship with him,” I said. I looked at August.

“A relationship.”

“Yes.”

“I see. And did you?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I whispered, and wiped my eyes on my sleeve. Jared Thompson left his seat and came up to me where I sat. He handed me his handkerchief and nodded encouragingly.

“What kind of relationship are we talking about?” Walter Meyer said. “Did he have work he needed you to do?”

“No.”
Please stop
, I thought.

“Was it a romantic relationship?”

“That was what he wanted,” I said, Jared’s handkerchief balled wetly in my hand. I wiped my eyes again.

“He wanted a romantic relationship and you said no and that was the end of it?”

“Yes.”

August coughed and coughed, as if he wanted to get my attention. When I glanced at him, he picked up the glass of water that had stood untouched before him. He raised it in my direction.

Walter Meyer nodded briskly. “Very good,” he said. “Your Honor, I have an affidavit here signed by Mr. William Oliver, who has sworn that he conducted a consensual romantic relationship with the plaintiff, for which he supplied her sums of money. He is sorry to have to say these things in public but that is the way it is. I also have a sworn statement from Mrs. Inge Braun, a coworker in the laundry with Mrs. Bethke, describing Mrs. Bethke’s business in the woods, her constant tardiness at work, and her outright absences on many occasions. I would like to enter both of these documents into evidence.”

I felt the turning of the world, all the stars spinning away, the ground gone beneath me, the great tides pulling me, and the room but a space for the pulsing of blood in my head.

“Your Honor,” said Jared Thompson. “If he has witnesses, let him bring them to court so they can testify. Let these individuals be available for cross-examination.”

The judge leaned back in his chair. He was a tall man with yellowing white hair. Behind him, the flag of the land, run up on its pole, an eagle clutching the golden ball that rested at the top, wings outspread and beak parted and askew, just like the eagle I had seen in the justice of the peace’s chambers the day that August and I got married.

He tipped forward. “Mr. Meyer,” he said. “Are these witnesses available to come to court?”

“Mr. William Oliver is a prominent local businessman. Mrs. Braun is his employee. They prepared sworn affidavits because they prefer not to come to court themselves. They prefer not to be associated with such a sordid set of events as we have before us. They are good and decent people with fine names. They do not wish to be dragged into this.”

“Once you sign an affidavit, you cannot claim that your sensibilities are too fine to get involved,” the judge said. “Do they know that?”

“I believe they do,” said Walter Meyer. “I believe that fact is well known to them.”

“Can you produce them?” the judge said. His chair squeaked as it turned, a sound like a shrieking wheel on a rail, and the judge glanced down and then looked up again. “Can you get them into court today?”

Jared Thompson gave me a tortured look, as if he had known all along that this was what they would do to me and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

I looked at Walter Meyer. He stood before the bench. He had composed his face so it would seem neutral and frank. “I do not believe they will come,” he said.

“The court can compel them,” the judge said. “You know that.”

“I do not believe they will come.”

The men in the court shifted in their seats. A door banged as one of them left the courtroom. For a moment I could hear voices in the hallway.

“Let me get this straight,” the judge said. “I just want to be sure I’m hearing all of this correctly. You want me to enter into evidence affidavits from witnesses you claim are central to your case but who will not come to court and who will not respond to a subpoena? Who would stand in contempt? Is this what you are telling me?”

“Your Honor,” Walter Meyer said. “This is a painful case. Surely you can understand my impulse to protect these fine citizens from someone like Mrs. Bethke. I promised them that they could swear to the facts as they knew them but would not have to come to court. I gave them my word. My word is my bond.”

“Your word is your bond,” said the judge. He eyed the attorney.

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid that’s not the right currency here,” the judge said. He cleared his throat. “I can tell you that I’m inclined to agree with Mr. Thompson. These are grave charges and cannot be entered into the record without thorough examination. So I am going to deny your request unless and until you produce these witnesses for cross-examination. If you have anything else, I’d like to hear it. If not, I’m going to disregard this testimony and move on.”

“Your Honor.”

“That’s my final word on the subject,” said the judge. “What’s next?”

Walter Meyer stared out across the courtroom, as if he wanted to give the impression that he was a reasonable man, a man who must be given a minute or two to think things over, who must be allowed to organize his thoughts, who only wanted to follow the correct course of action. But when he turned back to me, he came at me with a broad smile. “Mrs. Bethke,” he said. “You said that your husband tried to kill you. I’d like you to explain this to the court. What was his reason?”

I clutched my wet handkerchief and looked at Jared Thompson, who stood up and said that I had already given this testimony.

“Agreed,” said the judge. “What’s your point, Mr. Meyer?”

“If we agree that her testimony is already in evidence,” he replied, “then certainly it’s permissible for me to ask her one or two more questions in this vein? For the sake of refinement and clarification?”

“I’m not going to run your case for you,” said the judge.

“I just want to be sure I don’t misstep,” said Walter Meyer. “A man’s reputation hangs in the balance.”

I blanched. It did not seem that Walter Meyer was much concerned with my reputation except as he could further ruin it.

“Ask your questions, Mr. Meyer,” the judge said. “But bear relevance in mind or you will surely hear from our friend over here.” He nodded once at Jared Thompson and then looked away and gazed out the window as if he had lost all interest in the proceedings. The gray morning had cleared and the courthouse square stood under a bright white sky. I felt myself sag just a little.

“Mrs. Bethke,” August’s attorney said. “Is it your testimony that your husband changed overnight from a kind and loving boy into a brutal and heartless man?”

“Yes,” I said.

“And that he would walk into the house after a hard day’s work and just strike you out of the blue?”

“Not out of the blue,” I said in a tight voice. “He usually had a reason.”

“Which was?”

“It was always different.”

“Give us one example.”

I thought. “If he thought I looked at him the wrong way,” I said.

“And that would be it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all? A wrong look?”

“It was when he thought I looked at him the wrong way,” I said tensely. “It was not that I actually looked at him the wrong way.”

“So now he makes things up?”

I felt the baby move, a faint fluttering. I sat up as straight as I could and looked at August’s attorney and said, “Yes. He does.”

“I don’t know as that’s the way I would see it,” Walter Meyer said. Again he delivered his broad smile, as polished as a bare jaw bone on a plate. “I don’t know that at all. But that’s the way you’re asking me to see it. So let’s hear more about it. You say that your husband came home from work and walked into your house and tried to kill you. For no reason other than that he was a heartless man with evil in his soul.”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t say that your husband tried to kill you?”

“The rest of it,” I said fiercely. “I did not say he was evil.”

“So he’s not evil?”

“He was drinking,” I said angrily. I paused and tried to calm down. “He was angry. That’s not the same.”

Jared Thompson got to his feet. “Your Honor. Where is this going?”

Walter Meyer paused and again opened his hands before him, palms up, as if the judge could answer his questions for him. “The question is: How big of a liar is she? We see that she twists the truth to her own purposes. First he’s an evil man. Then he’s a drunk. Now he gets in a killing mood over something as insignificant as a wrong look. I ask you. Which is it?”

The judge held up his hand. “Enough,” he said. “I have been listening carefully. And I have looked at the things that have been legitimately brought before me. If you want to know the truth of it, I don’t like to hear a case like this one. Makes me want to give up on my fellow man. But what it all comes down to is that I don’t see much here beyond a lot of pretense and innuendo.”

“Your Honor,” said Jared Thompson.

“Hold on there, Mr. Thompson,” said the judge. “I didn’t mean that the complaint is a bunch of lies and nonsense. I meant that the defense strikes me that way.”

“Your Honor,” said Walter Meyer. “I haven’t even put my client on the stand.”

“And you are not going to,” said the judge. “These are just shenanigans, from where I sit.”

“Your Honor.”

“Mr. Meyer, I’m not sure where you think you’re practicing law. I know you are new to our city and I know that things are often different out west. Isn’t that where you come from? Out west? The place of endless promise? The land of milk and honey?”

“I was in Texas before this,” said Walter Meyer. He sounded defensive and small.

“Texas. Hot there, isn’t it? No trees?”

“There are trees in Texas,” said Walter Meyer. “Your Honor.”

“But I’m sure you could find parts of Texas where folks haven’t ever seen a tree and aren’t likely ever to see one.”

“In the western parts, down south, perhaps,” Walter Meyer said. He looked confused. “That area is mostly arid and desert.”

“But if you had me on the stand and wanted some judge to believe that it was too hot in Texas for trees to grow, that’s what you’d ask me to say, isn’t it? You’d count on the fact that up here in Wisconsin there are mighty few people who’ve spent a lot of time in Texas. You could weave any story you want, practically, and make it sound as valid as the day is long. Am I right?”

Walter Meyer looked bewildered. “That would depend upon the case,” he said.

“That’s all it would depend on? The case?”

“Naturally I would want to win,” said Walter Meyer. “That would be my goal. So the case, yes, that would be the primary motivator.”

“You don’t have an interest in truth?” said the judge. “In justice? These things are not factors for you?”

“Again, it would depend upon the case,” said Walter Meyer. He stiffened. “A case like this one, justice needs to be served. The truth has to come out.”

“But in some cases, these things are less important to you? Is that what I’m hearing?”

“In every case, I serve my client and the court,” Walter Meyer said in an acid tone. “That is my duty and my obligation and I accept it fully.”

“Thank you, Mr. Meyer. I think I have a good idea of what that means,” said the judge. “Go sit down.”

“Your Honor?”

“The witness is excused. I’m going back to my chambers. We’ll convene after dinner. You’ll hear my ruling then.”

We walked down into the courthouse square. Jared Thompson suggested that we eat in the tearoom that stood across from the courthouse. We sat at a table under the front window. He ordered a plate of sausages and a basket of rolls and a pot of mustard and a plate of dill pickles and a plate of sauerkraut. He told me that I might as well have something to eat, since there was no telling when the judge would return and he didn’t want me to faint halfway through the afternoon. When I made no move, he picked up a roll and split it with his knife and sliced sausage into it and then laid sliced pickles and a spoonful of kraut across the top. He put the sandwich on my plate. “Eat,” he said. Outside, preoccupied men in business suits made their way along the street and the sky turned a brighter white.