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Charles Pépin
be ok, I try to tell him with
my eyes “Don’t worry”, but I
see that it isn’t working.
One of the jury members
whispers something to his
neighbors, I see that these
words slide from mouth to
mouth up to the judge to
get permission for the jurors
to ask their questions. It’s a
woman with short hair and
small, red glasses. I have
made eye contact with her
often. These jury members
are there but I never speak
to them, it’s bizarre. It’s as if
this drama plays so that we
could meet each other, but
without ever really being
able to speak. In the span
of a second, it seems to me
that this woman understands
me, that she really sees the
scene that I am describing
and that she is on my side. I
add that obviously, a funeral
under a drizzle with three
bald guys tucking their heads
to their shoulders, it is not
the same thing and I have the
impression that she agrees
but I may be tricking myself,
I start to get tired and that is
reflected in the windowpane.
The judge starts again:
- You say that you were happy
that everything was going
well, that you were happy
the sun was out, I am using
your words, that you were
satisfied to see the speeches
did not betray the memory of
your mother, am I mistaken?
My lawyer objects to the
question at hand but as the
judgedoesnotreact,hespeaks
and says in a forced voice:
“We are distancing ourselves
from the point.” The judge
rejects his objection with an
authoritative gesture and my
lawyer sits down again, he’d
barely had the time to stand
up.
The judge continues in the