Sean Thomas - The Cheek Perforation Dance

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