Free Victor del Arbol - The Sadness of the Samurai: A Novel by Víctor del Árbol

predictions: Had the regime really changed enough that an important police officer could be sent to prison? Would there be a soft sentence imposed against all the evidence presented in the trial, declaring the policeman innocent?
    Toward the end of 1977 the case was ready for sentencing. That was the moment of glory that María had been wanting for years. The packed courtroom listening to her impassioned final speech, the camera flashes, the journalists taking notes, the radio transmitting live. There was even an RTVE television camera filming her speech. Not even María was sure of a sentence in her favor. But she didn’t care too much. The case had already catapulted her to the front pages of the newspapers, and several prestigious law firms had shown interest in hiring her.
    In those months her life changed forever. The arguments with Lorenzo grew more and more heated, until finally she decided to leave home. The fact that she had finally succumbed to Greta’s charms was a big help in her decision.
    As for her father, Gabriel, he hadn’t budged about leaving San Lorenzo, but it didn’t matter much anymore. With what María was earning giving lectures, she could pay for a nurse to take care of him twenty-four hours a day. Besides, her client volume had grown spectacularly, as had her billing. So much so that she was able to buy out Lorenzo’s half of the house and move there with Greta, which made her husband want to crawl under a rock, and he asked to be transferred to Madrid.
    Of course it wasn’t all successes. As the months passed, the pressure on her became unbearable. One morning some strangers attacked the firm, hurting some lawyers who were working on the case against Inspector Alcalá, destroying furniture and files and covering the walls with threats. Luckily, María wasn’t there that day.
    Nor was Greta, but when they began receiving death threats by phone at their house, she started to be upset. She asked María to be discreet, but her partner refused to step out of the limelight. She was euphoric and blind, unable to understand that she was putting them both in danger, until one day Greta was attacked in the street by a group of ultra-right-wingers who humiliated her, throwing eggs at her and putting a sign on her that read FUCKING COMMIE DYKE .
    *   *   *
     
    And finally, before the Christmas of 1977, the verdict was served: against all odds, the judge accepted María’s incriminating arguments and ruled for a life sentence. That was much more than María and her colleagues could have hoped for. It even seemed to be too harsh of a sentence. As if someone had decided to teach the inspector a lesson. There hadn’t even been time for any appeals. Alcalá was immediately sent to Barcelona’s Modelo prison.
    Ramoneda was still in a coma a year later. His wife was more than satisfied with the compensation, and with the money she received for her exclusive interview with the magazine Interviú.
    *   *   *
     
    “Everything worked out,” said María, on the night she and Greta went out to celebrate their victory. It was the first time they could allow themselves to eat in a restaurant uptown and toast with a Grand Reserve wine.
    As María held up her glass, Greta watched in silence from an armchair and took a long sip. Then she put down the glass and dried her lips with an embroidered napkin. A branch of small red veins invaded her pupil. She no longer had the same joy she once had.
    “What’s going on?” asked María.
    Greta felt a stab somewhere vague, but deep inside.
    “I have the feeling that we have paid a very high price for all this … It’s as if we sold our souls.”
    María frowned, suddenly in a bad mood.
    “Stop being dramatic. You love clichés. Besides, what’s a soul?”
    Greta looked at her, surprised, as if she was suspicious of where the question came from.
    “What we carry inside, or better yet, what carries us from the inside,” she said, discouraged by