I said, So you smoke two cigarettes at a time now.

She shrugged.

—

Mr. Mochan Mataruga was Dragić’s new tribunal-assigned attorney. Those who could not afford counsel in these international trials were provided with lawyers who, like anywhere, ranged in integrity and ability. Mataruga wore an expensive suit, had practised in Germany, stood legs apart like a boxer. I saw a man who loved his own authority. He had no fear of controlling his client. This time when Dragić rose he pled not guilty.

Denied the rapes. Denied everything.

Now the trial was under way.

—

Day after day behind the glass, the personalities of the people in the courtroom revealed themselves. Joop kept lozenges and tissues and some extra pens and a photograph of his girlfriend in a little wooden cigar box. Karla habitually looked up at the interpreters as if urging them to do better. Mataruga was a pen tapper.

It takes hours to establish fact and detail and context in a trial. The interpretation was simultaneous but there were pauses as people worked between English and Bosnian, Croatian and Serbian, which the court referred to as BCS. Witnesses could be unsettled by accents. All through the region people judged others by how they spoke and their names. I gave nicknames to the judges. Judge Banda was Demeter because her neutral eyes were peering into hell. Judge Smith was Starman because the Elmo projector annoyed him and one day he said with impatience that light from distant Sirius A would illuminate the images better. Silent, precise Judge Romano was Federico, for the famous Italian director who said that the barrier between the conscious and unconscious is not very great. To pass the time, I taught myself to sketch from a little book called How to Draw Faces that I’d found in the antiques market.

Judges train their bodies toward stillness under heavy black robes but the eyes continue to communicate intention, concern, confusion, determination. I watched the judges’ impassive faces for any movement at all. Only Smith, the least patient of the three, did not seem aware of a slight deepening in a light frown line between his eyebrows.

My brother called to ask, How is the trial?

Like watching paint dry, I said.

Trials are slow, he said. I’d like to see an international court someday. Write down some good quotes for me. Is your guy there?

Who?

Biddy’s dad.

No, I said. Listen, go see her for me.

I do, said my brother. Every Sunday.

—

Karla called the first witness, Esma, PW-70. The blind was down in the gallery. I imagined Edina’s mother entering the strange room and sitting at the witness table in the middle of the courtroom. I imagined her placing her feet in her polished leather shoes squarely on the floor. And I imagined her glancing over to see him. Above her. On her left.

I wondered if he remembered her at all.

The old woman swore to tell the truth and confirmed her number, and Karla asked her to describe where she was when the war began.