Chapter 470: Reading Glasses

At 1:50, two people sat on the benches at the end of the hallway.

The old man sat straight, both hands pressed on his knees, coat buttoned all the way to the top, an old cloth bag by his feet. The younger one sat beside him, holding a plastic bottle, cap twisted off, raised near his wrist.

She and He Xiufen came up from downstairs. Even when they reached the middle of the hallway, the two didn't move.

The old man coughed twice, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, covered his mouth, then folded the cloth back into a square and tucked it away.

His glasses hung against his chest on a black cord, lenses facing inward. He wasn't wearing them.

"Two o'clock," He Xiufen said.

"I know."

They went in first. People in the courtroom filed back in. The three rows of gallery seats filled again. Chairs were moved back into place with a clatter.

Shen Zhi'an sat in the first row toward the inside, hands on his knees, eyes forward. Tang Guo sat one row behind him, bag hanging off her shoulder. Auntie Wang was near the aisle, and Cen Hong tucked the hem of her padded jacket. In Ma Jianjun's row of four, they sat back down, helmets gone, hands empty. In the last row against the wall, he sat with his back straight. Near the door, the man in the gray suit was still in the same spot, hands folded on his lap.

She sat back down at the table beside the defense bench, notebook open, pen resting on the page.

The defendant's seat was in the center, its placard still facing inward.

At exactly 2:00, Judge Liang rapped once.

"The court will resume. Bailiff, call witness Pang Chunlai."

The bailiff went out. The door opened a crack, and light from the corridor slanted in.

He walked in half a step behind and to the side of the bailiff, moving slowly, feet landing flat, one step at a time. Passing beside the defendant's seat, he slowed, looked at the chair, then walked on.

That morning the clerk had noted: the one from the mountain had arrived at 8:40. The witness room was at the far end of the hall, door half-closed. He'd come out and sat with his son on the bench, all the way up until now.

He stood at the small table of the witness stand. On it sat a paper cup, the water poured that morning, untouched.

"The witness is elderly. Allow him to sit," Judge Liang said.

The bailiff moved the chair forward half a foot. He sat down, perched at the edge, spine not touching the backrest.

The clerk brought the pledge form over, spread it open in front of him, and slid the page into position directly below his eyes.

"I'll read it to you. Listen."

She read slowly, pausing between sentences. At "provide testimony truthfully," she glanced up at him. At "intentionally giving false testimony or concealing evidence carries legal liability," she repeated that line once more.

He listened, head nodding slightly.

"Do you understand?"

"I understand." His voice carried a mountain accent, the ends of words dropping low.

"Sir, I'll say this once more." Judge Liang slowed her delivery. "When you come here to testify, you must tell the truth. Do you understand?"

"I understand."

"Sign." The clerk placed the pen at the bottom of the page, finger tapping a line.

He put on his glasses, the black cord hanging against his chest. He bent low, bringing his face close to the page, and signed slowly, stroke by stroke, the last stroke dragging long. When finished, he set the pen back at the edge of the table and withdrew both hands.

The clerk brought the ink pad box over. He pressed his thumbprint, and the bailiff offered a tissue. He clutched the tissue without wiping, first rubbing his hand against his pant leg.

"Tell the court the facts as you know them."

He raised his head toward the judges' bench. His throat made a sound, as if trying to cough up a sentence, then swallowed it back down.

"That year, I was watching the pump in the village."

"The pump house was behind the village committee office. A little room. The pump couldn't stop. When the water rose, it had to be pumped."

"On the night of March 20th, past one in the morning, I went to check the pump."

"Walked around back and saw a vehicle stopped by the back gate."

"No lights. Black."

"Two people carrying buckets into the building. Small buckets. Carrying them in, then carrying them back out."

"Back and forth, three or four trips."

"The buckets were white plastic. At night they looked pale."

"Twenty minutes or so."

"Then I heard tape tearing. One rip. The sound of tape being torn."

"The vehicle backed up and went off toward the road to town."

He finished. Both hands lifted slightly off his knees, then lowered again.

"Witness, speak up," Judge Liang said. "The people in the back need to hear too."

He stretched his neck forward.

"Two people at the back gate carrying buckets. White buckets. From the vehicle into the building, and from the building back to the vehicle."

The few people in the last row leaned forward slightly.

She sat at the table, pen on paper.

Carrying. She wrote the character down. On July 1st, in his home, he'd corrected "move" to "carry" himself. She'd crossed it out and rewritten it, and he'd pressed his thumbprint over the correction. Today he said it again, to everyone in this room.

She'd meant to note "three or four trips" too, but halfway through, the pen stopped. She laid it on the paper and rested both hands on the table's edge.

In the gallery, Auntie Wang leaned forward and whispered, "What'd he say?" Cen Hong leaned close to her ear and repeated it.

"Defense may examine," Judge Liang said.

He Xiufen stood, tin box open, that copied page in hand.

"Witness, why did you go to check the pump that night?"

"The pump couldn't stop. It had rained, and the water in the ditch had to be pumped."

"Where were you standing?"

"My house is in the row right behind. A few steps out the door. I stood at the foot of the wall."

"You didn't go over?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm an old man. There were two of them."

"While the two were carrying buckets inside, could you see clearly?"

"I could see shadows. The buckets showed pale."

"Faces?"

"Didn't see. No lights."

"License plate?"

"Didn't see."

He Xiufen raised the page slightly.

"This page is from his notebook. I'll read it to you."

"Go ahead."

"March 22, morning. Pump house. The pump man. One person. Didn't ask his name."

She read line by line, pausing between each.

"He first asked if I was a reporter. I said no. He said, then a lawyer? I said all the more not."

"Night of the 20th, past one in the morning, he went to check the pump. A vehicle stopped by the village committee back gate, no lights. Two people carrying small buckets into the building, and back out. About twenty minutes. The vehicle went toward the road to town."

She lowered the paper.

"That's what he wrote. Correct?"

"Correct."

"The first line — you asked if he was a reporter?"

"I did. He said no. I said, then a lawyer? He said all the more not."

"So you told him about that night?"

"I told him."

"He asked you to sign your name on a piece of paper?"

"He did. I didn't sign."

"Why not?"

"If I signed, I'd be tied to him."

He Xiufen flipped the page back, pressing a finger against a small line of pencil writing in the margin.

"Here in the margin, one more line: the 24th, 25th — two days — I went back twice. The door was shut."

"I came back."

"Both times?"

"Both times. I kept the door shut."

"Who shut it?"

"I did."

"Why?"

He didn't answer right away. He shifted his hands on his knees; the skin on the back of them hung loose, veins bulging.

"I didn't dare then," he said. "He was dead. I was still alive."

The courtroom went quiet. The clerk's pen kept scratching without pause. Someone in the gallery sniffled once, then silence.

He Xiufen stood there, waiting for him to finish, before moving her finger to the last line of the page.

"This last line reads: He didn't dare speak. No name written."

"Yes."

"Was that your meaning?"

"It was. I told him, don't write the name."

"Today, on this page, you signed your name and pressed your thumbprint."

"I did."

"Why are you willing to sign today?"

He turned his head slightly, glanced at the table beside the defense bench, then turned back to the judges' bench.

"A court hearing. What I have to say, I came myself to say it."

He Xiufen folded the page, pressed it down on the lid of the tin box, and sat. As she sat, her finger pressed once on the lid, and it clicked.

"Prosecution may examine," Judge Liang said.

Prosecutor Ke pushed the stack of papers in front of him half an inch forward.

"After that night, who did you tell?"

"No one."

"Family members?"

"No one."

"Why not?"

"My son works in the factory."

"The key to the back gate — that year, who had it?"

"It hung on the wall in the accountant's office. Anyone could reach it."

"The buckets those two carried — how big?"

"Small buckets. One in each hand."

"Could you tell what was inside?"

"Water buckets. White, with lids."

"Before that night on the 20th, had anything like that happened in the village?"

"Never saw it."

Prosecutor Ke paused.

"After August 10th—"

"My son took me away to live outside for a while. I came back on my own."

Prosecutor Ke pressed his finger on the page and did not ask further.

Judge Liang looked at him, then at the two on the collegial panel.

"The court will not pursue this section further," she said. "Any other questions?"

"No," Prosecutor Ke said.

"Nothing from the defense," He Xiufen said.

Judge Liang glanced at the watch laid flat on the table, then raised her head.

"Witness, is there anything to add?"

He thought for a moment. The glasses still sat on his nose, slipped down slightly; he didn't push them back up.

"The vehicle — I didn't see it clearly. The men — I didn't see them clearly either," he said. "What I saw was the buckets."

"Let it be recorded," Judge Liang said. "Witness is excused. Today's transcript will be read to you later, and you will sign."

"Good."

He braced his hands on the table's edge and stood. The bailiff reached a hand under his arm. Once steady, he nodded toward the judges' bench and turned.

Passing the table beside the defense bench, he stopped.

"Lawyer Shen's daughter," he said. "I've said my piece."

She raised her head to look at him.

"I've written it down," she said.

The clerk's pen lifted, eyes on him. Judge Liang pressed her hand down slightly.

The clerk set the pen back on the paper and did not write.

He walked forward a few more steps. The bailiff opened the door for him.

When the door opened, light from the corridor came in. At the far end, the young man on the bench stood and crossed two steps forward, reached to take the glasses from the old man's face, folded the temples with one motion, and tucked them into his own pocket. His other hand went under the old man's elbow.

The door closed.

The courtroom was quiet for a short while. A chair creaked. The bailiff walked back to his place by the door and stood.

She lowered her head to look at her page. Carrying; the character was written clearly, strokes pressed down hard. Below it, "three or four trips" was only half-written, the third stroke trailing off and left unfinished.