After he had finished reading the document the fixer, in exhaustion, thought, there’s no getting rid of the… — Bernard Malamud
After he had finished reading the document the fixer, in exhaustion, thought, there’s no getting rid of the blood any more. It’s stained every word of the indictment and can’t be washed out. When they try me it will be for the crucifixion.
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But after the visit to the cave he had stopped thinking of relevancy, truth, or even proof. There was no ‘reason,’ there was only their plot against a Jew, any Jew; he was the accidental choice for the sacrifice. He would be tried because the accusation had been made, there didn’t have to be another reason. Being born a Jew meant being vulnerable to history, including its worst errors.
If only his innocence were written on a sheet of paper, he could pull it out and say, ‘Read, it’s all here,’ but since it was hidden in himself they would know it only if they sought it, and they were not seeking.
Yakov wrung his hands. ‘If so what am I to do, your honour? Will I be abandoned to die in this prison?’
‘Who has abandoned you?’ the Investigating Magistrate asked, looking at him gently.
