Читать книгу The Cheek Perforation Dance - Sean Thomas - Страница 13

— So he pinned you to the wall and said what?

Out-staring the prosecutor Rebecca says nothing; then she looks frankly and somehow bravely above his head and says:

— Kiss me properly you …

— Yes?

— Kiss me properly … you …

Rebecca stops. The judge’s eyebrows go up. In the witness box Rebecca shrugs: a shrug that says she doesn’t want to say any more. With an inscrutable glance at the defence lawyer the judge leans towards Rebecca; and says:

— Miss Jessel, I am aware this might be rather painful – The judge does an avuncular smile – But we have to have the exact wording as far as it is possible. It might well be very important, it might not, but that’s rather for the jury to decide – Again the smile – So if you could tell us just as much as you can?

The smile turns into a nod at the prosecutor. Alan Gregory nods back at the judge, and then expectantly turns to Rebecca. Shifting her weight slightly in the witness box, Rebecca responds:

— Well, he … he … came across and he pushed me back and … then he said ‘kiss me properly you …’

Another silence. This time, before the judge can intervene, Rebecca says:

— Jewish bitch

A pause. Half the court is looking at Patrick; the other half is looking at the prosecutor. The prosecutor:

— He called you a … ‘Jewish bitch’?

— Yes

— And by this time how long had he been in the flat?

— About ten minutes

— Just ten?

— Yes. It can’t have been much longer than that because the kettle hadn’t boiled

— Yes, I see – Alan Gregory QC caresses his own chin – OK. Yes. Now – Gregory glances momentarily at the back of the court, at Patrick – Now as the defendant kissed you, did you try to push him off?

— Yes – Rebecca looks slightly offended by the question; Patrick feels he doesn’t want to look at her; Rebecca regains herself and says – Yes. I pushed him away as much as I could but he … just laughed. He was acting weird …

— In what way?

— I’m not sure – Her face goes slightly blank – I remember wondering if he was drunk, I could smell beer, smell the pub

— Were you scared by this time?

Patrick can hear the big clock on the side wall ticking. Rebecca:

— Yes

— So what did you decide to do?

— Well … I … uh?

The lawyer turns to his notes. Says:

— I’ll rephrase that. In fact, if I may – A half nod towards the judge – I’d like to go over the facts as they stand again … – Patrick notices the judge give a subliminal answering nod. Gregory says – Let’s take stock. This is a young man you used to live with but with whom you no longer have a relationship. Is that correct?

— Yyes

— And he’s only in your flat on the pretext of picking up some clothes, correct?

— Uh-huh

— Sorry?

— I mean yes. Yes that’s right

The prosecutor lifts the papers closer to his face, as if to scrutinise a surprising fact more closely; then:

— OK. So. He’s come round to the flat to pick up his stuff. He’s been in the flat for ten minutes – A direct glance at Rebecca; Rebecca nods; the prosecutor says – So he’s tried to kiss you, he’s … abused and insulted you, he’s acting to say the least somewhat … strangely. And what do you do?

— I … I’m – Again Rebecca looks like she is aggrieved by the tone; across the court Gregory comes back with a softer, more explanatory voice:

— Miss Jessel I’m only trying to get the facts straight – A jaunty smile – Look at it this way, perhaps. Some people might say that you should have asked him to leave straight away. At this early point. You see?

Realisation seems to cross Rebecca’s face. She nods vigorously like she has remembered her lines; then she says:

— Yes I see what you’re getting at but you must understand. Yes he was a bit drunk but … he was still my ex. I still felt … you know … – She pulls her cardigan sleeve distractedly – That’s why I invited him around

— And this is why you let him linger?

The cardigan sleeve is released:

— Yes. I still felt for him. I had been very much in love with him – Her face goes odd – I never thought he’d go and do … that …

— Naturally

The prosecutor flicks a tiny hardly detectable glance at the back of the court; in Patrick’s direction. In the dock Patrick tries to stay calm. His chin resting on a fist, the elbow on a knee, aware he looks like Rodin’s Thinker, Patrick stays calm and stares straight back at the prosecutor. Patrick is determined not to be fazed or angered. Patrick wants a calm detachment to enter his mind. He wants to think about something else. And so, as Rebecca goes on to describe, in tediously minuscule detail, their subsequent movements about the flat that fateful evening, that evening, the evening in question, Patrick sits back in the dock and decides to think about sex. Religion. Sex. Religion …

Patrick wishes he’d masturbated this morning. He wonders why he always thinks about sex at the worst times. Trying to think about something else, about anything else … about religion, Patrick recalls a conversation he had with Joe about religion. This morning. Just this morning Joe had made the point that there were really only three arguments for the existence of God, the Argument from Design, the Argument from Ultimate Purpose, and, finally, the best of all the theological proofs, the Argument from Japanese Schoolgirls.

Patrick sniggers. Thinking of Joe’s comment, Patrick starts chuckling. Quite loudly: wheezily laughing. By Patrick’s side the policeman looks quizzically at Patrick. Across the court the policewoman standing behind Rebecca glances over at Patrick, and frowns. Faced by these stares Patrick swiftly sobers: his chuckles become a smile which becomes a tense, engaged expression when Patrick hears exactly what Rebecca is saying. Rebecca is saying:

— So he said he wouldn’t leave until – Rebecca takes a big breath – Until I let him … fuck me

— And you were sitting across the table at this point?

— Yes

— Why do you think he should say something like that?

— I don’t know … I …

Rebecca stalls, looking excruciated, embarrassed, and at the judge. The judge flashes a significant glance at the prosecutor. As the prosecutor pauses, Patrick starts to feel sorry for Rebecca. This in turn makes Patrick feel slightly proud. Patrick feels good and proud that he himself should be so forgiving and noble as to pity the woman who tortures him; but then Patrick realises that inside him somewhere he also feels good and secretly happy that he and Rebecca are as one again, here, now: united in their shame; as one against a world which seeks to publicly bundle them in their own dirty bedlinen.

Rebecca:

— I suppose he rather thought it might … turn me on. I guess he thought that talking like that would be … arousing – Rebecca grips the stand and looks at the prosecutor, she looks him in the face – It wasn’t

The prosecutor:

— And this was the point at which you asked him to leave?

— Yes

— And what did he do?

— He said he wouldn’t

—Anything else?

— He said … he wanted to fuck me up the arse

Silence. Clock-ticking silence. Patrick looks at a middle-aged grey-haired woman in the jury who is sucking a boiled sweet with a wholly rapt expression: like she is enjoying a guiltily pleasurable afternoon at the movies.

His head in his hands Patrick sighs. Then he regains himself, looks up at the prosecutor: who is now fiddling with his papers. Alan Gregory QC has turned to his left where a seated assistant is holding up a piece of paper. The assistant is pointing to a certain passage of writing. Taking the paper the prosecutor nods intelligently, and revolves on Rebecca:

— And was it at this time that the phone rang?

— Yes

— And who was it on the other end? Who’d rung you up?

— A friend …

— Which friend?

— I … can’t remember …

— You told the police in your statement

— Yes, I know …

Taking her time, Rebecca glances around the courtroom, as if to remind herself of something; for a second her upward gaze comes to a rest on the visitors’ gallery, overlooking the courtroom. Patrick suspects she has probably recognised someone, one of their friends or a member of his family. Thoughts collected Rebecca turns back to the prosecutor and says:

— Freddie

— Frederick Legge?

Rebecca shrugs her lambswooled shoulders:

— Yes

— And what did he want?

— Nothing important

The prosecutor refers to his piece of paper again:

— You told him to … ‘fuck off’, is that right?

Shrugging, again; again clearly embarrassed Rebecca nods, says:

— Yes

— You chatted for a few seconds and then you made it clear you didn’t want to speak to him and you put the phone down, correct?

— … Yes

— But – The prosecutor looks at the defence barrister and pauses and then says – I’m sure the defence counsel would raise this but for my own purposes could you tell me … why? Surely when Mister Legge rang this was an ideal opportunity to let someone know you were being harassed?

Another shrug from Rebecca. For the first time Patrick leans forward with keen, optimistic interest. Clearing her throat, Rebecca:

— At the time … I thought I could handle it all myself. I’d seen Patrick drunk like this before and I thought it was just another … time like that – In her dress, and her cardigan, she shifts girlishly from foot to foot; then – I had absolutely no idea that straight after that he would do what he did

— I see. Thank you … – With a flurry of black gown the prosecutor makes a moving-on expression. He says – As soon as you’d put the phone down the defendant came around the table and began trying to kiss you, correct?

— Yes

— Did you struggle?

— Yes – Rebecca looks at the wall as her face pales – But he was too strong. Too big …

— Was he touching you?

— Yes

— How?

— He had one hand on my throat and … one hand down my top. On my breast

— Yes?

— He’d undone the zip of my top and he was groping my breast

— Yes, of course. Was it this top? – With his left hand, the prosecutor has magicked a zip-up top from somewhere, some bag on his desk. Intent, concerned, Patrick watches as Rebecca watches the top being flagged at her. She looks surprised and shocked to see it. Finally Rebecca says:

— Yes

The judge:

— Miss Jessel?

Rebecca’s voice is trembly:

— Sorry. Yes. Yes it was that top. That’s what I was wearing – Rebecca allows herself a big long breath. While the lawyer re-bags the top Patrick finds his sympathy going unwontedly out once more as Rebecca breathes and breathes deep, fighting back obvious emotion. Rebecca Jessel gazes into the middle distance as she begins to describe: how Patrick put his hand down her jeans. How Patrick groped her breast. How she tried to stop him but he was too strong for her. How he nuzzled her breasts as she yelled. How he picked her off the chair and dragged her like a puppet over the floor and pushed her down on her back and

— And you were screaming during this?

— Yes

— And this was the point where he unzipped himself?

— Yes

— Were you … totally naked by this time?

— Yes

— What had happened to your jeans?

— I

— Had he taken them off, too?

— YYess … I think so

— How?

— I don’t quite know, I …

— You’re not sure how he stripped you?

— No … he’d somehow managed – Rebecca shivers visibly, she grips the side of the witness stand; Patrick can see her knuckles going white; for some reason he wonders if she still bites her nails as then Rebecca blurts – It was all a blur but he’d managed to get my jeans off and I …

In the stand Rebecca seems to shudder, she rocks back on her feet and looks imploringly at the judge.

The judge:

— Take your time, Miss Jessel

With a nod Rebecca gulps and asks for a glass of water. The court gathers itself close, takes a collective breath, as Rebecca turns and accepts a glass from the policewoman behind her. The moments pass as Rebecca delicately sips, then puts the glass down. Now Rebecca licks her newly-red lips as she looks across the silent courtroom and says:

— He forced me onto my back and held my arms above my head and then he got his penis out

— Did he have an erection?

— Yes. He was hard

— What happened then?

— He used his other hand to part my thighs

— And then?

— He held his penis in his hand … I think … and he

Patrick looks at the middle-aged juror; she has stopped sucking her sweet and her jaw is hanging open as Rebecca says:

— He put his penis inside me and began …

— Began … Miss Jessel?

Clock-tick. Patrick’s heart. Rebecca’s voice:

— He began to rape me …

— What then?

— Then he started saying things

— What did he say?

— That I was …

— Yes

— That I was a bitch … a slut … his little slut …

— Anything else?

— He said … he said he loved my dirty little … – The court waits – cunt

— Anything else?

Rebecca inhales, then she says, slowly, deliberately:

— He said he was going to fuck me in my dirty … cunt and that he was going to fuck me in my little arsehole even if I didn’t like it and – She closes her eyes and visibly trembles as she recounts – He said he was going to … come in my face … and that I was … until I was … that I was nothing … He said I was a slut, a bitch, a sadistic bitch

She stalls. Rebecca stands back from the side of the witness box and she pauses and then she drinks some more water from the glass. The prosecutor looks at the jury, at the judge, and then at Rebecca and says:

— How long did this go on for?

Glass down, chin up, lips wet:

— Don’t know … maybe five minutes … maybe ten

— And you were frightened?

Rebecca looks at the prosecutor like he has said the most stupid thing in the world. Rebecca Jessel:

— I was totally petrified

— And all the time you’d been asking … begging him to stop?

— Yes. I was screaming. I was shouting no … all the time …

— And did this have any effect?

— NO!

Rebecca has almost shouted. The court seems taken aback at this bitter yelp; Patrick watches as Rebecca calms herself, as she shakes her blonde head and repeats:

— It had no effect

Now Rebecca goes quiet. Looks down. The prosecutor hmms and nods, and looks at something on his desk, at a piece of paper he is pinning down with lazy fingers. A moment passes. Tanned face up, Gregory says:

— What happened next, Miss Jessel?

— He pushed me upstairs

— No. I mean … before then?

Rebecca looks blankly at the prosecutor, then her expression relaxes as she seems to realise what he’s saying; Rebecca replies:

— He withdrew from me … suddenly … and then he

— Miss Je

Not listening, Rebecca goes on:

— He withdrew and he … grabbed my hair with one hand and he said … he said I was to suck his … to suck his … cock, to lick the … filthy cunt off his cock

In the dock Patrick grimaces; he can’t help it; in the dock Patrick grimaces and lowers his forehead into one hand: feeling shame and pain and embarrassment and guilt; feeling guilt for everything, guilt for being male, guilt for having a sex drive, guilt for being a horrible rapist. Then Patrick grips himself and tries to rid his mind and face of guilt. He looks up, defiant.

Rebecca is saying:

— He was holding my head by the hair … it hurt … he had my hair in his hand and he was forcing me onto his … penis … forcing me to fellate him … to suck him, I was choking and screaming and I remember my mouth hurt and I was screaming because he was hurting my mouth as he

Patrick stares at Rebecca; despite the hell, despite the worst, despite it all he feels a tiny slight stiffening in his groin as he looks at her: her dear darling face. He is thinking of the time when he

— Forced me to suck him, and he put his hand, he put his finger in my … backside … my back passage … my anus and

and Patrick tries not to; he tries not to be agitated by this but it is difficult. He is forced, forced to listen, forced to listen to Rebecca describing to all these people he’s never met, and all his friends in the gallery, and the unicorn above the judge’s head, how he made her suck him; how he threatened to beat her senseless; how he slapped her hard; how he bit her shoulder and upper arm; how he put his cock in her

— anus. And then he said …

— What?

— He said that the carpet was hurting him, burning his knees …

Rebecca sips more water; her lips are glistening. Rebecca bites her glistening red lips and opens her lips and tells them all how he pushed her away; how he pushed her upstairs, how he pushed her into the bedroom and pushed her onto the bed and started raping her

— again and

— again?

— and again

and Rebecca tries not to cry as she tells them how he bit her, slapped her, told her to shut the fuck up; how she screamed out and scratched him; how he rammed his

— penis

inside her

— dirty little cunt

how he raped her and bit her and slapped her until she was dizzy, how he licked her face how he bit her ear how he told her she was his

— stupid Jewish tart

who wanted and needed his

— cock

in her

— cunt in

her

— arsehole

and so when he turned her

— over

and

— over

and

— took

her hard from behind and

— raped

her and

— raped

her

— and made

her cry and she just begged him and cried out and begged him and begged him and begged him and begged him and begged him and begged him not to

— come inside

Patrick can’t work out which is louder: the clock, or his heart, or the sound of Rebecca’s silent sobbing in the witness box. The silence otherwise is unendurable. Patrick covers his ears with his hands and stares down at the floor of the dock. He looks at a cigarette butt ground into the darkness. The court stays silent; Rebecca is still weeping; the prosecutor mumbles something but the judge intervenes and says, very quietly, as he revolves upon Rebecca, who is still covering her eyes as she stifles a gulp of tears:

— Miss Jessel, I think we are going to … adjourn for the day … so if you’d like …?

Under her hands, behind her hands and tears, Rebecca nods. She nods, and then she turns and steps down and walks slowly out of the box and down the steps. But then she pauses, very near the shocked, white-faced jury. The jury members try not to look at her, but they fail. Patrick senses the jury looking at Rebecca with pity, embarrassment and fascination as Rebecca seems to pause to gather her wits. Next to Patrick’s ear Patrick hears the hoarse whisper:

— The first day is always the worst

Patrick looks at his lawyer, at Stefan, who has surreptitiously moved over so as to stand near the dock, near him, to whisper this. Patrick sees that Stefan is looking a little vexed. Patrick gulps the bitterness in his own mouth and gazes silently leftwards. Rebecca is now coming towards him. With angered excitement Patrick realises that Rebecca’s route to the exit door is going to take her right past him in the dock. Not knowing whether to open his eyes or close them or what, Patrick sits as still as he can as Rebecca walks right in front of him. He doesn’t want to look at her gingham dress and her soft cardigan, at her walk so demure and her face so pale. But as she passes just close by, he can’t help it. She is so close he can actually smell her, smell her scent, smell the scent that reminds him of her, of him; of them. Of happiness.