who arrived surprisingly soon. He said the governor wanted to talk to me and we could go to him at once. I asked how my client was and he said he was fairly well, physically. He personally would accompany me to the infirmary immediately after our meeting with the governor.
We plunged into the yellowed, ill-lit corridors, in which hung the unmistakable odour of food typical of prisons, barracks and hospitals. Every so often we passed a prisoner wielding a broom or pushing a trolley. We finally entered a freshly painted corridor with potted plants in it, and at the end of this was the door of the governor’s office.
Inspector Surano knocked, looked in, said something I didn’t hear and then opened the door wide, ushering me in and following.
The governor was a man of about fifty-five, with an anonymous air, papery, lustreless skin and an evasive look.
He was sorry, he said, about what had happened, but thanks to the presence of mind of one of his men tragedy had been averted.
Yes, another tragedy, I thought, remembering the suicide of one of my clients – a twenty-year-old drug addict – and the rumours, never confirmed, of violence committed on the prisoners to impose discipline.
The governor wished to assure me that he had already given strict instructions for the prisoner – what’s his name now? – ah yes, the prisoner Abdou Thiam to be under constant surveillance with a view to preventing further attempts at suicide or any kind of self-inflicted harm.
He felt sure that this unpleasant incident would have no consequences, let alone publicity, for the peace and quiet of the penal institute and of the prisoner himself. For his own part, he was at my disposal in case I needed anything.
In plain language, if you don’t give me any trouble, it’ll be better for all concerned. Including your client, who’s in here and here to stay.
I would have liked to tell him to go fuck himself, but I was in a hurry to see Abdou and in addition I suddenly felt exhausted. So I thanked him for his readiness to help and asked him to have me accompanied to the infirmary.
We did not shake hands and Inspector Surano led me back the way we had come, and then along other even more dreary corridors, through barred doors and that stench of food that seemed to penetrate into every cranny.
The infirmary was a large room with about a dozen beds, nearly all occupied. I failed to spot Abdou and looked questioningly at Surano. He jerked his head to indicate the far end of the room and went ahead of me.
Abdou was in a bed with his arms strapped down and his eyes half closed. He was breathing through his mouth.
Close by him was sitting a fat, moustachioed warder. He was smoking, on his face an expression of boredom.
Surano chose to assume an air of authority.
“What the hell are you doing smoking in the infirmary, Abbaticchio? Put it out, put it out, and give your chair to the Avvocato.”
Such courtesy was new to me. Plainly the governor had given orders for me to be treated with kid gloves.
This Abbaticchio gave the inspector a sullen look. He seemed on the point of saying something, then thought better of it. He put out his cigarette and moved off, ignoring me completely. Surano told me I could take my time. When I had finished, he would himself escort me to the exit. Then he too retired as far as the infirmary door.
Now I was alone at Abdou’s bedside, but he didn’t seem to have noticed my presence.
I bent over him a little and tried calling his name but there was no reaction. Just as I was about to touch him on the arm he spoke, almost without moving his lips.
“What do you want, Avvocato?”
I withdrew my arm with a slight start.
“What happened, Abdou?”
“You know what happened. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
His eyes were wide open now, staring at the ceiling. I sat down, and realized only then that I had absolutely no idea what to say.
Once down level with him, I noticed the marks on his neck.
“Did Abajaje come this morning?”
He made no answer, nor did he look at me. He closed his mouth and set his jaw. After two attempts he managed to swallow. Then, like a scene in slow motion, in the inner corner of his left eye I saw a tear – one only – forming, growing, detaching itself and coursing slowly all the way down his cheek, until it vanished at the edge of his jaw. I too had trouble swallowing.
For a time incalculable neither of us spoke. Then it came to me that there was only one thing I could say that made sense.
“You’ve been abandoned and you think that now it’s really all up with you. I know. And you’re probably even right.”
Abdou’s eyes, which had stayed riveted on the ceiling, now turned slowly towards me. Even his head moved, though very little. I had his attention. I started to speak again and my voice was surprisingly calm.
“In fact, as I see it, you have only one chance, and even that is a slim one. The decision is up to you alone.”
He was looking at me now, and I knew I was in control of the situation.
“If you want to fight for that chance, tell me so.”
“What chance?”
“We won’t opt for the shortened procedure. We’ll have a trial before the Court of Assizes and try to win it. That is, to get you acquitted. The chances are slight and I confirm what I said last time. My advice is still to choose the shortened procedure. But the decision is up to you. If you don’t want to go for the shortened procedure, I will defend you in the Court of Assizes.”
“I don’t have the money.”
“To hell with the money. If I manage to get you off, which is unlikely, you’ll find a way of paying me. If they convict you, you’ll have more serious problems than a debt to me.”
He turned away his eyes, kept fixed on mine while I was talking. He returned to gazing at the ceiling, but in a different way. I even had the impression of the shadow of a smile, a wistful one, on his lips. At last he spoke, still without looking at me but in a firm voice.
“You are intelligent, Avvocato. I have always thought of myself as more intelligent than other people. This is not a lucky thing, but it’s hard to understand that. If you think yourself more intelligent than others, you fail to understand a lot of things, until they are suddenly brought home to you. And then it’s too late.”
He made a motion to raise his right arm, but it was checked by the strap. I had an impulse to ask him if he wanted to be freed, but I said nothing. He started to speak again.
“Today it seems to me that you are more intelligent than I am. I thought I was a dead man and now, after listening to you, I think I was wrong. You have done something I don’t understand.”
He paused and took a deep breath, through his nose, as if summoning up all his strength.
“I want us to go to trial. To be acquitted.”
I felt a shiver that started at the top of my head and ran all the way down my spine. I wanted to say something, but knew that whatever I said would be wrong.
“OK” was all I could manage. “We’ll meet again soon.”
He set his jaw again and nodded, without taking his eyes off the ceiling.
When I got back to the car, the windscreen bore the white ticket of a parking fine.
20
Two weeks later came the preliminary hearing.
Judge Carenza arrived late, as she always did.
