“By Lenin’s whiskers! Who said anything about an embassy? They’ve only just opened it; the diplomats won’t move a finger because they won’t want to upset Stalin. Call the journalists. Those people are made of sterner stuff. Get the American journalists posted to Moscow interested in the case. Only if they report it in the United States will the embassy even consider stepping in.”
Jack was left openmouthed. He couldn’t understand how a man with so much common sense could be living like a beggar. He guessed the vodka had been responsible for his decline, and the fact that he’d run out, the reason for his temporary lucidity. He remembered his father’s last days, and what alcohol had done to him.
He didn’t know how to put into practice the old man’s advice. He was trying to explain the difficulties, when he suddenly remembered the little man with the bow tie. “Hang on! Maybe there is one possibility. I met a Louis Thomson on the ship that took us to Helsinki, and again later, in Russia. I know he works for the New York Times in Moscow, but I wouldn’t know how to locate him. Perhaps you could help me.”
“Sorry, kid. If the OGPU found out I was back to my old ways”—he pointed at the scars on his face—“what they did to me then would be child’s play compared to what they’d do now.”
Jack took out another five hundred rubles and showed them to the man. The lawyer licked his lips when he saw them. When he finally agreed to help, Jack knew they would be the best five hundred rubles he’d spent since he arrived at the Avtozavod.
Back home, while they ate dinner, Jack agreed to a new strategy with Elizabeth. When she went to bed, he remained awake, thinking of Natasha, longing for her touch, cursing himself for falling in love with the daughter of his enemy.
36
The second session began with the same protocol as the day before. Jack waited impassively for the parade of officials, the salutes, and the applause for the Supreme Leader, followed by the ominous silence that spread through the room when Stalin ordered the resumption of the trial. Beside him, Elizabeth’s chair remained empty. When Sergei asked for her whereabouts, Jack took the opportunity to ask for an adjournment.
“Honorable representatives of the Soviet people, I regret to have to inform you that Miss Elizabeth Hewitt has suddenly fallen ill, seized by an attack of hysteria caused by the unexpected arrest of her uncle and the ordeal of the trial. She is prostrated in bed today and unable to speak, so she has requested the adjournment of these proceedings until she has fully recovered.”
Sergei seemed unmoved. He smoothed his graying, perfectly trimmed beard, and looked at Stalin, who shook his head.
“Mr. Beilis, I understand your reasons for making such a request, but the events are of such gravity that any delay to their resolution would not be tolerated by the Soviet people.”
“Mr. Loban, I’ll remind you that your country’s Penal Code lays down the principle of the right to a fair trial.”
“And I will remind you that the principle of a defendant’s right to a fair trial is subject to, and subordinate to, the principle of national security.”
“You mean then that the session should continue even though Wilbur Hewitt has no defense?” Jack hoped his presumption would make Sergei reflect. However, it was Joseph Stalin who stood up from his chair, his face red with rage.
“Mr. Beilis!” he bellowed. “Perhaps you are accustomed to the American legal system, in which individuals’ rights are respected above all else, but now you are in the great nation of the Soviet Union. Here, the collective prevails over the individual, social interests over private ones, national law over the abominable ambitions of the counterrevolutionaries. Yesterday, Miss Hewitt stated that she had agreed to defend her uncle alongside you, and that you would be the one to make her arguments without needing to consult her directly. I find no reason why this should not continue to be the case now. Moreover, I warn you that I will interpret any time-wasting tactics as an affront to the interests of the state, and if you persist with them, I will have you arrested.”
Jack looked at Wilbur Hewitt sitting in his chair, oblivious to the threats that Stalin had just made. Everything was becoming increasingly complicated. He supposed that his only chance was to discredit Sergei. He organized his papers and turned to the Russian. “Mr. Loban, Wilbur Hewitt is an American citizen. The principle of extraterritoriality guarantees that certain citizens are tried in their own country, even if the crime they are accused of has been committed on Soviet soil. Wilbur Hewitt—”
“Mr. Beilis! Wilbur Hewitt is no diplomat, so the principle you mention is inapplicable. Article Four of our Penal Code is crystal clear about the scope of our jurisdiction.”
“It’s true, he’s not a diplomat, but since the commercial relationship between the Ford Motor Company and the Soviet Union predates any diplomatic relations between our countries, and given his position and the type of professional and commercial relationship that he has been engaged in, Wilbur Hewitt’s status is comparable, under the principle of analogy, to that of a bona fide diplomat, with all the considerations due to it.”
Sergei smiled. “Forgive me if I laugh at your ignorance. The principle of analogy is not applicable here because it refers to the crime and not the jurisdiction. Perhaps you should stop making incoherent requests and start defending your client, or we will be obliged to end your involvement.”
Jack sighed. He took out a cigarette and lit it. He looked at his notes, filled with stupid ideas. He didn’t even know what he was doing, trying to defend the same man who had lied to him when he’d hired him. He remembered the advice of the drunken lawyer, and addressed the jury. “Very well. I call Stanislav Prior to the witness stand.”
Hearing the name, Wilbur Hewitt could not prevent a look of astonishment. Stanislav Prior was the mutilated witness who had begun the round of testimony the day before. Jack gestured to him to relax.
Once he was in the witness box, Jack made Stanislav Prior recount in minute detail every event that led up to his accident. It took fifteen minutes. When the testimony was over, Sergei stepped in.
“Don’t make us waste time with statements we’ve already heard. If you want to review them, request the court records,” he warned him.
“Mr. Loban, I need the jury to keep fresh in their minds all of the details of your relationship with the accused.” Without giving him a second to respond, he turned to Prior again. “You say that the press that mutilated you, an American model acquired by the Avtozavod from the Ford Motor Company, unexpectedly discharged a stroke, cutting off your right arm. Is that right?”
“I just said it,” the man answered.