Anna Kavan - The Parson

His action in catching her when she fell had been mechanical, purely. But the effort involved had brought him partially out of his daze, to which he now wished to return.

Why was he here in this horrible, dungeonlike place? Suddenly becoming more objectively conscious of Rejane, he remembered that she’d forced him to come, resenting this almost as much as he resented the pressure of her body, forcing him to be aware of the physical, when he wanted to exist only in the abstract. He wanted nothing to do with her, so why was she still in his arms?

Seeing her leaning against him, limp and trembling and almost unconscious, incapable, obviously, of standing alone, in a sort of panic-resentment, he dragged her a few steps nearer the door. But he gave up the attempt at once. He’d never be able to get her outside, to drag her along all those black tunnels he vaguely recalled.

Panic subsiding, he felt a remote surprise at the change in his own feelings. It was such a short time, hours rather than days, since to be holding her in his arms would have seemed like heaven. In this short time she’d become a stranger to him, a woman he neither knew nor wanted to know — least of all in the carnal sense. What could have put that thought into his head? The very notion of sensuality at such a time was repulsive to him.

This was the moment when he felt Rejane’s slight stiffening and heard her voice murmur unsteadily, ‘Let me go…’

An instantaneous flash went through him, like the lurid flashes and sparks from an electric train. ‘No — why should I?’ he said; or rather, his voice said it for him, in the brutal, embittered tone his mother and sister had been the first to hear. All the resentment he had accumulated during his whole life seemed released now, as by a breaking dam, in this violent electric discharge, directed against the unjust world in general, and Rejane in particular, who had destroyed his dream and debased the love that should have been pure and perfect.

It was as though, during his dazed absence from himself, the evil influences of the place had taken possession of him, filling him with a sort of madness The Parson could never have known. A strong, savage excitement was working in him, unmistakably pleasurable, though it was perverse and sadistic — The Parson could never have harboured any such cruel sensation.

Some small remnant of his everyday self was disgusted and shocked; but this was immediately submerged by a new self which, in cynical rebellion against The Parson and all his works, swept his ideals into the dustbin as so much rubbish. To hell with The Parson!

Now he was going to take what he wanted. The sinister flash again, as the knowledge of his intention exploded into his nerves and blood. Now he was going to take his revenge.

The fierce excitement went on raging through him, while, with a sensation of something malign breaking out, full of destructive power, he clasped Rejane tightly to him and crushed his lips down on hers. At this moment he derived a peculiar satisfaction from knowing that he was outraging his most fundamental beliefs by performing an illicit cruel act, abhorrent to everybody. The sadism that had replaced his tender love rejoiced at the prospect of humiliating the lovely body he’d hitherto regarded as unattainable and almost holy. Really she was no better than the army wives, on whom he also seemed to be revenging himself by embracing her so fiercely.

Still holding her firmly gripped by one arm, without lifting his mouth from hers, in a single sweeping movement he tore down and flung on the floor an armful of the tattered hangings, rotten and almost transparent with age, which adhered to the wall just behind him.

*

And Rejane, who normally couldn’t stand any form of coercion or crudity, actually encouraged his ruthless excitement, because it was almost like the blind destructive force of the sea, and she seemed to be substituting this situation for her other awful ordeal, which was thus rendered harmless. Her thoughts were still all confused; but she felt obscurely that she was making the disaster unreal, by repeating it now in this way, because her ravisher was a mere man who, basically, couldn’t harm her.

Oswald’s warmth was an instant relief to her trembling body, which had been frozen almost to ice. His ungentle grasp restored stability to the world and anchored her firmly in it; his hard hands pulled her back to life. The violence with which he held her clenched stopped her shivering. The mortal cold melted out of her, and the blood, which had seemed static in her veins, circulated again. As warmth came back to her and her shuddering ceased, what had happened began to seem less and less possible: till presently, just as she wished, all that had taken place since she arrived in the north assumed the aspect of an incoherent dream, culminating in the nightmare just over — that it should have taken the form of the falling nightmares of her childhood confirmed this.

Since each grotesque, incredible detail was a fresh proof that she must be dreaming, she could accept a sadistic lover who, as if with the intention of inflicting pain, crushed her much-cherished body against the rock, which the pile of rags, damp, mildewed, disintegrating, softened no more than a heap of cobwebs.

Her heart was beating fast with triumphant relief — the sea had no more power over her! It had all been a nightmare, simply. Now she listened to the waves with a kind of gloating, as to the cries of a vanquished enemy she humiliated deliberately by this performance of the sexual act — which was the act of life — so soon after her victory, so near to the scene of the struggle.

Safely back in her life, she felt stronger than ever before; herself again, but with this triumph added, that she’d conquered the power of the sea. She could now positively enjoy her sensations, the very strangeness of which stimulated her somewhat cold eroticism.

Lying in Oswald’s arms she exulted because danger and death had been put far from her and had no more reality — nor had he, incidentally. All the same, she was glad to have taken him as her lover, which, to her sense of theatre, had always seemed the only appropriate climax and end to their relationship. It was quite true that she despised him rather for making no advances to her — a deficiency he’d corrected at the last moment with the rough violence to be expected of the barbaric north. She didn’t hold it against him, complacent and well disposed towards all the world as she could afford to be.

OUTSIDE, the storm hadn’t broken. They emerged into a world still ominously roofed over by leaden clouds. In this sombre light, glancing at her companion, Rejane was struck by his face of stony despair, most unsuited to her own triumphant feelings — for her, this was a moment for jubilation. In the overflow of her victorious good nature she wanted to cheer him up and asked what was the matter. Getting no answer, she supposed he was downcast because everything was so soon over, and cheerfully said, ‘We’d have been frozen if we’d stopped in there any longer. Besides, I thought you were in such a hurry to start back?’

The wind swooped down on her then, she ran to the car, jumped in, slammed the door and pulled the window right up, too anxious to escape the northern elements to notice his continued silence and gloom. Wrapping herself in the rug, she quickly discarded those garments that were uncomfortably damp, snuggled into the luxurious warmth of the fur coat she’d left on the seat, and turned the driving mirror towards her to do her face.

The love she’d always felt for her own beauty was her deepest, most sincere emotion, and for a while she was oblivious of everything but the reflection. She had no thought but the admiring wonder inspired by that lovely face, almost luminous in the dulled light, more radiantly beautiful than she’d ever seen it. Far above the commonplace vulgar world, where no threat could touch her, she floated, entranced by her own magnolia-pale loveliness.