She took a seat at the end of a bench in the third row of the room. It was so crowded that only half of her bottom fit on the bench. Using her left leg, Rachel supported herself and waited for the trial to begin.
At ten o’clock, she heard a deep voice cry out, “Court is in session.” A side door opened and twelve elderly senators walked in, boasting medals on their chests that reflected their many years of service to the Tsar. They took their seats in armchairs and a second side door opened.
Rachel gasped when she saw Mikhail’s uncle and cousin enter, escorted by police officers. Both were well dressed and clean-shaven, which made them appear less threatening than on that fateful day when she had seen them with Mikhail. As her eyes grazed the rest of the spectators, she saw Mikhail’s grandparents sitting directly behind the barrier. Though she’d never met them, the similarity between Mikhail and his grandfather was unmistakable. She studied their lined faces and thought sadly that Mikhail would never be a father or grandfather, nor reach old age.
The prosecutor read the indictment accusing Vasily and Philip Rybachenko of murder. Father and son remained stoic as the charge was read aloud. For the next hour, the prosecutor described in detail Mikhail’s relationship to the accused, and how cards and drink led up to the murder. He spoke poignantly about how Mikhail’s murder had altered his grandparents’ lives, and stated that justice must be done to fully honor Mikhail’s memory. He finished his speech recommending that the uncle be punished with the full force of the law and that Philip be given a lesser punishment because of his age.
Rachel’s eyes moved to Mikhail’s grandparents, who sat stone-faced. The administrator of the Kishinev Circuit Court, Goremykin, was a large man with dark whiskers. He announced that there would be an hour’s recess before the defense spoke. Most people filed out for the break, but Rachel was content to remain in the hall to ensure she missed nothing. She felt a faint hunger pang but put it out of her mind by imagining herself on a ship to America, surrounded by clear water and a brilliant blue sky.
The courtroom filled up quickly after the break, and Rachel had been able to secure a better spot on the bench, closer to the middle. The tall, angular defense lawyer wasted no time, standing and making a case for his clients. He began by describing Vasily’s childhood, how his father had clearly favored Mikhail’s father. This feeling of inadequacy and rejection had followed him all his life, the lawyer emphasized, causing him to overindulge in spirits and cards. Not being asked to help run the family tobacco processing business was devastating, he continued, but he found solace in his position as a police officer and had only just been relieved of his duties two days before the murder. He was not desperate, and he had no animosity toward his young nephew, Mikhail. Furthermore, there were no witnesses to corroborate the prosecution’s story, only hearsay, which was why he asked that the charges against his clients be dismissed.
The court broke into an agitated roar of disapproval. Rachel cowered in her seat as she listened to people shout out, “They’re innocent,” and “Why is there a trial without witnesses?” She looked over at the senators to see their reaction, but their faces remained passive, even bored.
She peered at Goremykin, pleading silently with him to put an end to the commotion, but he sat perfectly still for a number of minutes before he called for order. Then he asked the prosecutor if, in fact, he had a witness.
The prosecutor slowly got to his feet and shook his head. Voices rose instantly, calling for this farce to be over with, while others pleaded that the court consider the evidence. Rachel’s heart clenched as she gazed around the courtroom. If she didn’t come forward, Mikhail’s killers would be freed. There would be no justice for Mikhail. She recalled her father’s words, about knowing the right time to reveal her secret. She rose to her feet. Without hesitation, she walked to the front of the room, not entirely sure of what she was doing or what she would say. Her feet seemed to move separately from her body, thrusting her forward. As she drew nearer to Goremykin, the room became eerily silent. Her eyes did not waver from his face as she stood in front of him.
“I saw it,” she began in a faint voice. “I saw Mikhail’s uncle and cousin stab him on the river.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I saw everything.”
The courtroom erupted into a frenzy of shouting with accusations flying past Rachel from every direction. But she did not take her eyes off Goremykin, who shifted uncomfortably under her gaze.
“Enough!” he cried, looking beyond Rachel at the spectators. The room quietened down. “Who are you?” he asked.
“Rachel Paskar,” she answered. “I was a friend of Mikhail’s. I skated with him on the day…right before…he died.”
He nodded for her to continue.
“I left, but forgot my shawl by the river and was going back to get it when I saw Mikhail talking with two men. Then I heard Mikhail call for help, and I hid behind a tree. He called the man ‘uncle’ and the boy ‘Philip.’ I did not hear much of their conversation, only Mikhail’s cries for help. I saw his uncle pull a knife out of his pocket and stab Mikhail.” Her voice broke but she was determined to finish. “Then Philip kicked him while his uncle kept stabbing him.”
She lowered her eyes for a second, then raised them again.
“Why did you not come forward earlier?” he asked without criticism.
She paused. “Because I am Jewish, and I saw the policeman’s cap on Mr. Rybachenko’s head. Who would believe a Jewish girl over a policeman? But I did tell my sister, and Sergei…Sergei Khanzhenkov. His father was the chief of police.” She hung her head. “Sergei told his father, but he didn’t believe him at first.”
She lifted her eyes to Goremykin, who began twirling his whiskers. He gazed at the courtroom for some time before he spoke, then he thanked her for coming forward. He told the lawyers that her testimony would be entered as evidence, and asked each lawyer if they had anything or anyone else to present. Neither did. Goremykin fixed his eyes on the senators and instructed them to retire and settle on a verdict.
Rachel trembled as she watched the senators file out. She could see in Goremykin’s eyes that he believed her, but she was not sure of the senators at all. As she walked back to her seat, her eyes rested on Mikhail’s grandfather. His lips curled up slightly and his eyes softened, as if he was saying thanks to her for standing up and speaking the truth. She saw Mikhail in his weathered face, and she knew that this man, a stranger to her, was a good person like his grandson. Her spirits rose through his silent approval, and for the first time in months she felt genuine hope that things really might get better.
The senators returned in an hour. Goremykin read the verdict, which found both Mikhail’s uncle and cousin guilty, and sentenced them to hard labor—Vasily to ten years and Philip to five. The courtroom was silent as the words sunk in, then it burst into a cacophony of voices that trailed Rachel as she rushed out of court. She was shocked by her own boldness, yet proud of what she had done. She could not bring Mikhail back, but at least she’d made sure the people responsible were punished. Truth had finally conquered evil.
Four
Rachel pulled her shawl tighter around her neck and turned left, toward her old house on Asia Street. She needed to see it one last time before she left Kishinev forever. The roads were still littered with broken doors and windows pushed off to the side, as if they were paying homage to people like her father and Mr. Berlatsky who’d lost their lives in the massacre.