John Banville - The Book of Evidence

P I C A D O R

A L S O B Y J O H N B A N V I L L E

Long Lankin

N i g h t s p a w n

Birchwood

Doctor Copernicus

Kepler

The Newton Letter

Mefisto

Ghosts

Athena

The Untouchable

TheB O O KofE V I D E N C E

P I C A D O R

First published 1989 b\ Mai tin Seeker Warburg Limited This edition published 1998 b\ Picador

an imprint ofMacmtllan Publishers Ltd

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Basingstoke and Oxfoid

Associated companies throughout the world

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rsisN o $ jo 37187 8

C op) right to John Ban\ llle 1989

The right of John Banville to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights leserved No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored 111 or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, 111 my form, 01 b\ nnv means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher An) person who does any unauthorized ict in relation to this publication niav be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims foi damages

S 7 9 8 f t 4

A CfiP catalogue recoid foi this book is available hom the British Libraiv

Printed and bound in Gieat Britain b\

Mackays of Chatham pic, Chatham, Kent

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M Y LORD, w h e n y o u as k m e t o tell th e c o u r t in m y o w n w o r d s , this Is w h a t 1 shall say. 1 am k e p t l o c k e d up here like s o m e e x o t i c animal, last s u r v i v o r of a species they had t h o u g h t extinct. T h e y should let in p e o p l e to v i e w m e } the girl-eater, svelte a n d d a n g e r o u s , p a d d i n g to and f r o in my cage, my terrible green glance flickering past the bars* g i v e t h e m s o m e t h i n g to d r e a m a b o u t ? tucked up cosy in their beds of a night- A f t e r my capture they c l a w e d at each other to get a l o o k at me T h e y w o u l d h a v e paid m o n e y for the privilege, I believe. T h e y shouted abuse* and s h o o k their fists at m e , s h o w i n g their teeth. It w a s unreal, s o m e h o w frightening yet c o m i c , the sight of t h e m there 3

milling on the p a v e m e n t like film extras* y o u n g m e n in cheap raincoats, a n d w o m e n w i t h s h o p p i n g bags* a n d o n e or t w o silent* grizzled characters w h o j u s t stood* f i x e d on me hungrily, h a g g a r d w i t h e n v y . T h e n a g u a r d threw a blanket o v e r my head a n d b u n d l e d me into a s q u a d car. I l a u g h e d . T h e r e w a s s o m e t h i n g irresistibly f u n n y in the w a y reality* banal a s ever, w a s fulfilling m y w o r s t fantasies.

By the w a y , that blanket. D i d they b r i n g it specially* or d o they a l w a y s k e e p o n e h a n d y i n the b o o t ? S u c h questions trouble m e n o w , I b r o o d o n t h e m . W h a t a n 3

interesting rigore 1 must have cut, glimpsed there, sitting up in the back like a sort of m u m m y , as the car sped through the wet, sunlit streets, bleating importantly.

Then this place. It was the noise that impressed me first of all. A terrible racket, yells and whistles, hoots of

;er, arguments, sobs. But there are moments of

too, as if a great fear, or a great sadness, has fallen striking us all speechless. The air stands

motionless in the corridors, like stagnant water. It is laced with a faint stink of carbolic, which bespeaks the charnel-house. In the beginning I fancied it was me, I mean I thought this smell was mine, my contribution. Perhaps it is? The daylight too is strange, even outside, in the yard, as if something has happened to it, as if something has been done to it, before it is allowed to reach us. It has an acid, lemony cast, and comes in two intensities: either it is not enough to see by or it sears the sight. Of the various kinds of darkness I shall not speak.

My cell. My cell is. Why go on with this.

R e m a n d prisoners are assigned the best cells. This is as it should be. After all, I might be found innocent. Oh, I mustn't laugh, it hurts too much, I get a terrible twinge, as if something were pressing on my heart the burden of my guilt, I suppose, f have a table and what they call an easy chair. There is even a television set, though I rarely watch it, now that my case is sub judice and there is nothing about me on the news. The sanitation facilities leave something to be desired. Slopping out: how apt, these terms. I must see if I can get a catamite, or do I mean a neophyte? Some young fellow, nimble and willing, and not too fastidious. That shouldn't be difficult. I must see if I can get a dictionary, too.

Above all I object to the smell of semen everywhere.

I confess I had hopelessly r o m a n t i c expectations of h o w things w o u l d be in here. S o m e h o w I pictured m y s e l f a sort of celebrity, kept apart f r o m the other prisoners in a special w i n g , w h e r e I w o u l d receive parties of grave, i m p o r t a n t people and hold forth to t h e m a b o u t the great issues of the day, impressing the m e n and c h a r m i n g the ladies. W h a t insight! they w o u l d cry. W h a t breadth! W e w e r e told y o u were a beast, c o l d - b l o o d e d , cruel, but n o w that we have seen y o u , h a v e heard you* w h y ! A n d there am I, striking an elegant pose, my ascetic profile lifted to the light in the barred w i n d o w , fingering a scented handkerchief and faintly smirking, Jean-Jacques the cultured killer.

N o t like that, not like that at all. B u t not like other cliches either. W'here are the mess-hall riots* the mass break-outs* that kind of thing, so familiar f r o m the silver screen? Wrhat of the scene in the exercise yard in w h i c h the stoolie is d o n e to death with a shiv while a pair of blue-j a w e d h e a v y w e i g h t s stage a diversionary fight? WTien are the g a n g - b a n g s g o i n g to start? T h e fact is* in here is like out there* only m o r e so. We are obsessed with physical c o m f o r t . T h e place is always overheated, we m i g h t be