… on a cart before the horse.
The voices from the public proclaim malice and infamy.
One can hear them in the night, while the others lie in restless dreams and snore.
Robert would let the others play their parts and do nothing but being on his own.
It made no sense to neglect his records, he didn’t play cards, there was no reason to hide.
If the system turns out hostile, one has to expect the ultimate MCA.
Neither was it worthwile to be optimistic nor to look only at the black side.
In fact he was facing death.
Another inflammation out of a festering glow, caused by a weakend immune systeme, had reached the jaw bone.
This was, from a medical point of view, a bad sign.
“You’re gonna die”, said the best doctor of all.
“It won’t come easy.”
The way homeland attempted to finally stake him was not important.
A mob who rumored in furious enthusiasm demanded the lynch of the scapegoat.
Perhaps he had been selected as candied pigling for the final mixed set of election campaign.
Criminalizing a citizen was the ultimate “no other way” to kick him out of retirement.
Had anybody seriousely expected he would voluntarily waive?
That was the turning point, from a critical view.
Robert had little doubt the first round of trial would turn out negative for him, a mean low punch.
The designated judge, irony of fate, by the name of Angelo Seguara, could match the claim of the prosecution.
Robert did not pretend being able to foresee future, but he knew the native methods well.
The lout who had incursed the line complained to the noting police officer about Roberts smiling face.
“That one laughs always so.”
What he in fact did, was trying to appear friendly to the neighborhood gathering in the council yard, silent salute of peace.
As usual, the issue was about the typical try to invert facts, peaking by the allegation that he had run into the fellow.
In fact was Roberts intention to brace the dude, who had been provoking him for weeks.
The guy attacked him, supported by his helper, Neubauer, well-practised.
A few excursions with his cats on the harness, quite far away, down the river promenade, had been the reason to badmouth him.
“Child molester” was the rumour of result.
It was interesting that relevant members of the police, in particular those of the prosecution, regarded Suppan as one of them.
Robert had not complained about the attack, but the evil spirit who had found its way into the council flat social habitat, examplary for the whole society.
He did not not call for the police, especially he had not been knocked out by a few kicks and punches.
It wouldn’t extremely hurt, not bleed.
Suppan attempted to hit his eyes and kicked low in attempt to get him down on the ground.
There had to be a reason why it was so extremely important for the other side to deny this.
A handful of people stood around, a woman tried to reason the guy, reminding him of his pitiful children.
Robert did not know if it was her who needed now to witness for Suppan.
A brave unknown, darkskinned man attempted to support Robert by trying to keep Suppan away.
Roberts complaint followed the “***ish bitch” insult by Neubauer, something that happened a couple of weeks later.
No one was by.
He could not exclude he heard wrongly.
Perhaps the cub popped up from behind the hedge, hissing “stewish fitch” or “newish witch”.
He covered three letters to avoid the suspect of attempting to ride the footboard at the wagon of someone else.
It was a coincidence by accident, when briefly later a jewish fellow citizen was insulted, something that had quickly been considered to be not antisemitic, domestic juridic sophistry.
Moreover, he tried to avoid to expose himself to the suspect he might try to let out any dormant personal antisemitism.
Once in a life man meets the inevitable.
Noone’s gonna be there to help or redeem.
No parent, no priest, no bishop, no doctor, no therapist, no social advisor.
No costly advocate, no needless attourney by law.
Roberts decision was to simply be there.
Whatever would come out and follow.