Arsenic was
found in the old man’s body and in the drink he’d taken just before he
died. A young woman had overhead, allegedly, John saying ‘I’m going
to kill my granddad’. A milkmaid said she knew no bad thing about him. His
adopted dad was the first to report him to the police, no doubt expecting his son to end up on the gallows. Half-asleep, I couldn't make much of it, except that it was a confused tale about confused people. I had no idea why BBC Radio 4 was
broadcasting it. It was neither a great story nor great literature: ordinary people misunderstanding each other, lying to
each other and killing each other. Banal content told in banal language.
Then, the
jury interrupted the judge’s summary: he didn’t need to go on, it
wouldn’t change anything now – they had a verdict. Suddenly I was fully awake,
my eyes wide open, my breath faster. The late morning nap was ruined, I
quickly turned up the volume in the headphones and, identifying for some reason with the young man in the dock, I didn’t care anymore whether
I was innocent or guilty, whether I had killed or not. I just gasped ‘Oh God, oh
God, oh God – I want to live.’
P.S. The young John was acquitted,
just as Jesus - in an equally confused finale - should have been.
