Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

No, Gerard.

He pulled at her waist, causing her to overbalance; as her body rested against him, he repeated:

Please.

She swung her feet up beside him, tugging at the bottom of the dressing-gown. Immediately, he pulled her closer and bent to kiss her. Her face turned away, and his lips met her neck. The flesh was cold. He made no attempt to force her, glad to feel her pressed against him, the coldness warming against his face. He kissed her ear and the side of her face, stroking the long hair with his free hand. She shivered against him, then seemed to die. Her eyes were closed. He reached out for the car rug that hung over the back of the settee, and pulled it over them, then lay beside her, closing his eyes, the satisfaction running through him in a faint tremor. In the darkness behind his closed lids he forgot she lay beside him, feeling a total evacuation of thoughts and impulses that left nothing but his body's comfort. She had made no movement; only her breathing indicated she was alive. He was already half asleep when she stirred. She sat up, saying:

We'd better drink this.

He forced himself into a sitting position and took the cup from her. He drank it propped on one elbow, his shoulder against the cushion. It was lukewarm, and he drank it quickly. Neither spoke. As she took his cup, he lay down again; a moment later, she joined him. This time, she made no attempt to avoid his mouth as he kissed her. The thin lips excited him; he pressed them open slightly, breathing deeply. She was completely passive. His rising excitement brought a reaction of caution; he relaxed deliberately, and lay beside her again, pulling her against him. His left palm was flat against her back, enjoying the sensuous feel of the jaeger fabric that enclosed her body. The pleasure was a tension in him that resisted time; it was enough to feel her there. For a moment, his consciousness expanded and became complete, aware of his past, present and future as a unity, beyond self-doubt. When he looked at her face he knew she was not thinking, was deliberately refusing to think. He lay there watching the fire sink lower, and the hand of the electric clock moving from half past twelve to one o'clock. Although she made no movement, he knew she was not asleep. He began to feel the desire to sleep in himself. He said softly:

Let's go to bed.

For a moment she lay still, then stirred and pulled her legs clear of the blanket. He let her go out of the room first, then stood up and stretched. The empty cups were on the rug; he picked them up and placed them on the table. Then he went out of the living-room, turning off the light. As he passed Caroline's room, he went in and turned off the electric fire.

Her door was closed. It opened when he pushed it; the room was in darkness. From the bed, her voice said:

Please go away, Gerard.

He said gently:

Don't be silly.

He undressed in the darkness, and climbed into bed beside her. She was wearing a thin nightgown, like the one he had seen in Caroline's room; its contact with his naked flesh was a shock that destroyed his calm. His hand felt the curve of her thigh, over the buttock; he began to kiss her. When she pulled away, he said:

Wouldn't you have been disappointed if I'd slept in Caroline's room?

Her voice was a whisper, as if afraid of being overheard:

I didn't want this to happen. I didn't think when I invited you…

I know you didn't. But just now, when I came up? Did you still want me to sleep in Caroline's bed?

I… don't know.

He recognised the voice of a woman refusing to think. He started to take the nightdress off.

No, please. You mustn't.

Let me take it off. I want you naked.

You… can't. It's never happened before.

All right, I won't. But let me take it off.

She moved her body to allow him to free it, and he dropped it on to the floor. As he felt her body against him he knew nothing could stop it. In spite of her fear and his promise it would happen, and their bodies knew it. He felt her yielding, becoming passive against him, as he moved.

The dawn was showing through the curtains. He looked at her through the grey light and saw her eyes were open.

How do you feel, sweet?

Still alive.

Why, did you think it would kill you?

For a while, yes.

He kissed her, and experienced a pressure of tenderness that took him by surprise. He looked down at her face, the hair spread loosely against the pillow. He said:

It's a funny thing…

What?

I think… I'm a little in love with you.

She said: Good.

Her arms closed around him, pressing him against her; he kissed her cheek, and the hair above her ear. He said:

It's so silly, sweet. What are we going to do?

What do you want to do?

Stay like this for six months. Just like this.

You can't. You'd get cramp.

I know. And you'd get tired. And I'd lose my hair. What do you want to do?

She kissed his ear, caressing the stubble on his jaw with her left hand.

Whatever you want to do.

Don't you feel… guilty about… what's happened?

No.

What do you think Brother Robbins'd say?

I don't care.

He let her warmth draw him down, feeling the tenderness that was a kind of annihilation. It was like kissing her for the first time. The night had made her into a different person. He said into her ear:

It's a funny thing… it's never been like this before.

Hasn't it? How is it different?

It… feels as though I'm in love with you.

Good.

You keep saying 'good'. Is it all that good?

She nodded, her face against his hair, her body moving gently. He said:

You know, Thomas Mann said the words of the marriage service are nonsense: These two shall be one flesh. Because sex depends on strangeness, on curiosity. But it's not true. Two people can become one flesh…

You ought to stop philosophising, Gerard.

He said, laughing:

I expect you're right.

He lay beside her, his arm around her shoulders, looking at the ceiling.

Tell me something, sweet.

What?

Why didn't it ever happen before? To you, I mean.

I don't know. It just didn't.

Didn't you ever want it to?

It wasn't that. It was… Oh, let's not talk about it now.

All right.

It's not that I don't want you to know. But not now.

All right.

I'll tell you some time. It's not that I want to hide anything.

No. You wouldn't have anything to hide, anyway. You're not the type.

Neither are you.

He said:

Hmm. I don't know about that. There are one or two embarrassing episodes…

They wouldn't worry me.

I'm not so sure. One of them would.

Why?

Oh, never mind…

Does it concern me? If it doesn't, I don't want to know.

Well, it does, in a way.

She lay perfectly still. She asked:

It's not Austin, is it?

Austin? Why should…? You don't think… No! Is that what you mean?

I'm sorry. I know it's silly.

He kissed her face, laughing.

Poor sweet! You think you've got a sexual gymnast?

No. I didn't think that. But how can it concern me if it isn't Austin?

She pulled away to look at his face. She said suddenly:

It isn't Caroline, is it?

He found it difficult to answer immediately. She repeated: Is it?

I'm afraid it is.

Oh Gerard! But… you only met her a week ago.

I know.

But… what happened? Surely… it can't have developed far in a week?

We have, haven't we?

Do you mean…? Have you?

I'm afraid I have.

But when? And how? How did it happen?

He pulled away from her, propping himself on his elbow, where he could see her face. He said tiredly:

My sweet, it's no good asking me how it happens. She's a pretty girl. On the first evening I took her out, she told me she'd like me to become her lover… I didn't object. I suppose it's very wicked, but I didn't feel like being virtuous…