Part 2 (1/2)

”I am the king of these mountains!”

When he saw me, he shouted:

”Yo, comrade! I'll keep a place for you at my right hand.”

The two policemen and the Owl G.o.d exchanged smiles with one another while I could feel goose b.u.mps up and down my spine.

III

Schlussel shepherded me into a very dark, high-ceilinged courtroom, furnished with benches in a semi-circle. The appearance of this deserted courtroom, its two high windows protected by grilles, its crucifix of old oakwood stained brown on which the arms of Christ lay stretched out with the head sorrowfully resting on a shoulder, awoke in me I know not what religious fear in keeping with my present situation and my lips moved as they framed a prayer.

I had not prayed for a long time, but misfortune always takes us back to thoughts of submissiveness... Man is such a small thing!

Facing me, on a raised dais, two people were sitting with their backs to the light, which kept their faces shaded from me. I could see it was Van Spreckdal, however, by his aquiline nose picked out by a slanting reflection of the pane. The man with him was fat - he had plump, full cheeks and wore a judge's robe, as did Van Spreckdal.

Sitting below them was the clerk of the court, Conrad. He was sitting at a low table, tickling the lobe of his ear with the feather of his quill pen. He stopped when I arrived to look at me with curiosity.

I was made to sit down and Van Spreckdal, raising his voice, spoke to me:

”Christian Venius, where did you get this drawing from?”

He showed me the nocturnal sketch then still in his possession. It was pa.s.sed to me... After I had examined it, I answered:

”I drew it myself.”

This utterance on my part was followed by a fairly long silence; the clerk of the court, Conrad, was writing down my answer. I heard his pen hurrying over the paper and thought: ”What does the question I have just been asked mean? It has no connection with the kick that I aimed at Rap's back.”

”You drew it yourself,” Van Spreckdal resumed. ”What is the subject of it?”

”It's a subject out of my own head.”

”You didn't copy these details from somewhere?”

”No, sir. I imagined all of them.”

”The accused would do well to reflect on the truth of what he is saying,” said the judge severely. ”Do not lie to the court.”

I went red in the face and cried out exaltedly:

”I have told it the truth.”

”Write that down, clerk of the court,” Van Spreckdal ordered.

The quill pen raced afresh.

”And this woman,” the judge went on, ”this woman being murdered on the edge of a well... Did you imagine her as well?”

”I must have done.”

”You've never seen her before?”

”Never.”