The Cheek Perforation Dance

by Sean Thomas

  In the witness box, Rebecca shrugs, almost contemptuously. Stefan does a grateful nod and says:

  — You say that when the accused had taken your jeans off, he then prised your legs apart, and penetrated you with his penis. Correct?

  — … Yes

  — Just like that?

  — … Sorry?

  — He just slipped it in, just like that?

  — … Yess

  — Are you sure, Miss Jessel? You sound a little unsure

  — I’m sure … I’m sure – Rebecca has made an I’m-sure-I’m-sure face: her shiny, intelligent eyes flash hard at Stefan, then around the room; Patrick looks away and as he does he catches the young Asian juror looking directly back at him; the girl glances hurriedly away and pretends to look at Stefan. Glancing back Patrick sees that Stefan is making a different face as he says:

  — So, were you wet?

  Clock, crest, unicorn, Rebecca. Standing in her box, Rebecca opens her mouth. Before she has had a chance to say anything the prosecution lawyer raises a loud voice in protest, a protest that matches the murmur of the court. Patrick looks at the judge, as the judge leans nearer to the court and says:

  — Mister Stefan?

  — M’Lord

  — Mister Stefan … – Thinking, pausing – I know we discussed this line earlier … I just want to warn you that if you are intent on some kind of fishing expedition, then I shall be minded to intervene

  — M’Lord … I remember …

  The judge smiles:

  — Well. Very well – Thinking; frowning; continuing – Proceed

  Patrick glances back at Rebecca. Rebecca is swivelling in the witness box, looking at Stefan and the judge by turns. She looks like some oversized Victorian toy, Patrick thinks. After being conspicuously unhelped by the judge, Rebecca turns again, and says to Stefan:

  — I’m not sure what you mean … Wet?

  — You don’t know what I’m driving at? – Stefan’s arrogance verges on pomposity. Patrick finds himself thinking: don’t overdo it. Stefan is shaking his head and saying – What I mean, Miss Jessel, what I mean is: were you receptive, was your vagina … lubricated? – He pauses, waits; waits, speaks – When the accused put his penis inside you?

  Muffled noise from somewhere. Distant car noise. Rebecca:

  — I don’t know …

  — But you must have been wet, for the accused to penetrate you so easily?

  — I … I … wwwould …

  — Why were you so wet? Miss Jessel?

  — I don’t know that I was. If I was. He was just being very aggressive and I was scared and it

  — Miss Jessel, what had happened just before he entered you? Just before that moment?

  A wisp of blonde hair escapes Rebecca’s schoolgirlish chignon; she takes a second to file it behind her ear with a middle finger, and then she seems to take control as she says:

  — He pulled my jeans off

  — He didn’t do anything else then?

  — No. He just opened my legs and penetrated

  — Entered you with his penis?

  — Yes. I was very scared, he was very hard

  — You don’t remember his performing oral sex on you then? At any point?

  Huge pause. Big pause. The wisp, again; this time Rebecca ignores it, her pale face is growing paler behind the dangling strands of pale gold. Glancing at no-one Rebecca swallows, swallows again, and then reaches down to a shelf inside the box wherefrom she picks up her glass of water; her pink lips are redder and wet when she puts the glass back down; when she says:

  — I don’t exactly recall. He might have

  — He might have? He might have performed oral sex?

  — I don’t think … he did but … It was all very quick and I was … in a daze after he’d punched me so much

  Stefan looks momentarily at the jury; Patrick looks at Stefan’s junior, Juson; the junior looks directly at Patrick and, quite unexpectedly the junior surreptitiously winks at Patrick. As soon as he has clocked the wink Patrick can’t help breaking into a smile, sensing that this is a lawyerly signal that the cross-examination is going OK, is going well; but then Patrick remembers he was told not to smile so he suppresses the smile and he tunes in again to hear Stefan say:

  — That is why you were so receptive, so wet, Miss Jessel? Isn’t that right? Because he had been performing oral sex on you? – Smile, sardonic smile – Cunnilingus, I mean

  — He might … I …

  — You’re still not sure?

  — No … but …

  — It is part of your normal sexual repertoire with the accused, isn’t it?

  Patrick turns. Towards the judge. On his bench the judge is gazing at Stefan, hard; the judge looks as if he is about to say something. Five yards away and two yards lower Stefan appears to sense this. He suddenly goes conspicuously quiet and stands further back from the witness box, giving his witness the time and psychological space to reply

  — We used to … you know … I suppose … go … down … on each other, like … anyone else would – Rebecca stops, she takes and sips more water, her tongue flicks to lick her lips; then she looks at a part of the floor somewhere between the prosecution counsel and the defence solicitor, as she goes on – He would normally … – Rebecca inhales, exhales – Lick me … and I would suck him, and I would fellate him. I imagine we did that most times … when we made love – Patrick is leaning nearer; in his box he is leaning nearer to his ex-girlfriend to hear her as she says – But I can’t remember if we did it that night. Perhaps we did, I don’t know – Her stooped blondeness is shiny in the court light; Stefan goes to say something but then Rebecca lifts her face and says – All I remember is that I was very frightened. He had penetrated me very roughly and I was terrified. I thought he was going to kill me …

  Mouth firm, Stefan nods. Patrick gazes. Stefan nods and manages another insincere smile; so insincere Patrick wonders if his brief is doing it deliberately, smiling hypocritically like this: to unnerve the witness. Still smiling his monitor-lizard smile, Stefan says:

  — Miss Jessel, would you say it was normal for a rapist to … ‘go down’ on his victims?

  The court is silent, shocked into silence. Patrick looks at the startled-looking jury. The silence is broken by the sound of Alan Gregory QC rising with a chair scrape to his feet; the prosecution is gabbling something that Patrick does not catch; instead Patrick sees the judge lift a practised hand. The judge is waving at the prosecution, indicating, with an air of mild weariness, that the lawyer should sit down. As the prosecution resumes his seat in an I’m-still-very-annoyed-you-better-do-something-about-this way, the judge directs his attention at the defence:

  — Mister Stefan?

  — My Lord, I was merely hoping to establish that th

  — I think I know what you were hoping to establish – The judge picks up his Biro. He clicks it on and off in a gruff, ominous way; then says – And I nonetheless would advise you to rephrase the question. Or pursue another course …

  Stefan nods:

  — Yes, My Lord

  — And – Glancing at the courtroom clock, and at his own watch – I’d rather like to get this evidence concluded by the end of the day

  — Of course, M’Lord, of course

  — Alright then

  The judge sits back; puts down his pen. With an abashed gesture, an apologetic expression, Stefan turns and looks at the papers on his desk, then he takes another moment, then he turns to Rebecca and says:

  — Miss Jessel, did you orgasm at any point that evening?

  Patrick flashes a look at the jury. The jury members are staring at Rebecca. Rebecca is calmly nodding, calmly replying:

  — Yes

  This direct and immediate answer seems to unsettle Stefan. As Patrick watches his brief, his brief says nothing. Rebecca says:

  — Yes. I did. I came

  Stefan nods. And again says nothing. Another silence overtakes them all; silence apart from m
uffled traffic noise. Patrick notices the stenographer has stopped stenographing. Her fingertips are paused over her machine, waiting for Stefan to resume. Patrick starts to hear his own heart beat louder and faster as Stefan nods once, and nods again, and then finally finally says:

  — At what point did you reach climax? Was it during the oral sex?

  — No

  — Then when?

  — I came when he was raping me

  — When … he was … penetrating you downstairs, in the flat, or upstairs?

  — Upstairs. When he was raping me

  — Did you come just the once?

  — Yes

  — Were you surprised?

  — … What?

  — When you reached orgasm, were you surprised? – Stefan is regaining the confident timbre to his voice; his posture is once again a stationary strut.

  Rebecca shakes her head:

  — Not really …

  — No? Not really? Do you think it’s a common reaction?

  — Sorry?

  — Do you think it’s a common experience for people to have orgasms when they’re being raped?

  — M’Lord!!

  Before the judge can respond to the prosecution Rebecca calmly says, with avowed dispassion:

  — I don’t know, I’ve no idea … – Blouse, neck, eyes, gaze – You see I’ve never been raped before

  Patrick glares at his lawyer. The jury stares at Patrick. Patrick clenches his fist and feels his heart race as he looks at Stefan. Stefan looks like he has been slightly thrown off kilter again. His silence gives Rebecca time to continue:

  — It was just a reflex. That’s all. You do certain things in certain ways and I imagine you will get a reflex. I wasn’t actually getting off on him punching and hitting me

  The judge is gazing intently at Rebecca; Stefan is saying:

  — I see, I see, I

  But Rebecca is going on, drowning him, a hint of anger in her voice:

  — It doesn’t mean I enjoyed it. I wasn’t actually enjoying the fact that he was punching me, and raping me, and biting me, and calling me a Jewish cunt

  — Of course, Miss Je

  — Or biting my breasts, or forcing me to suck him, or slamming my face into the wall, or smearing his semen on

  — Miss Jessel, Miss Jessel

  Stefan is jabbering. Patrick finds himself urging his brief on: say something; do something; anything. Then at last Stefan says:

  — When he was holding you down, as you say, how do you think he managed to unzip

  And so he goes on: to pursue an entirely unrelated point about the whereabouts of Patrick’s arms when Patrick was allegedly pinning her down: a lawyerly poignard that Rebecca easily parries.

  Stuck in his dock Patrick sits back. Shocked and dumbed Patrick looks at the royal crest, the unicorn’s horn, the petulant lion, the stylised garter belt. Patrick feels an angry, impotent despair. He feels like vaulting out of the dock and leaping across and slapping his counsel; he feels like shouting: don’t let her get away with that. She came. She orgasmed. How can you let her get away with that? Who orgasms during a rape? Who?

  But Patrick knows he just has to sit here, to take this, to deal with his brief’s incompetence.

  And so he sits there. Slowly buttoning and unbuttoning the top button of the new white shirt his mum bought him especially for his rape trial. Until the judge looks at the clock and the clerk of the court stands up and says:

  — All rise

  — What’s going on?!

  — Calm down

  — Why???

  — Because – Jenkins says, then he says – He hasn’t finished with her yet. Calm down. Give him a chance

  — Yeah sure great – Patrick takes a savage angry bite of his ham sandwich, stares around the Old Bailey canteen, stares at the face of his solicitor, says – He had her on the ropes

  — Perhaps he did, perhaps he didn’t

  — She was all over the shop, the oral sex, all of it, she was losing it, then he goes and lets her off the hook …

  — Give him a chance. It’s difficult – Concentrating on his sandwich – These cases are …

  Patrick stares, says:

  — What?

  Jenkins is having trouble unwrapping his Cellophaned sandwich; Patrick says again:

  — What? These cases are what?

  The solicitor puts down the sandwich, and pours the rest of his Orangina from its bottle into his scratchy opaque Old Bailey canteen glass; then Jenkins says:

  — Well. Rape trials. They’re different. They’re … somewhat skewed

  — Sorry?

  — They’re not like normal trials

  — Stop speaking Welsh, Gareth – Patrick is trying to stay calm – Skewed how?

  Jenkins shrugs, sort of nods:

  — Um well … Because – Still evidently thinking about his sandwich Jenkins mumbles – Because … in the last twenty years they’ve changed the whole way rape trials are conducted. As a result of … feminism. Ah!

  The sandwich wrapper is open. Patrick waits. Jenkins goes on:

  — I imagine you want to know how?

  — YES

  — Well. For a start … they’ve taken away the corroboration role

  — Wassat?

  Through his next mouthful of sandwich, Jenkins explains:

  — Courts used to be warned. You see. They were warned that they needed to ensure there was corroboration – Pause – Of the plaintiff’s allegation

  — And … – Patrick widens his eyes – That’s … gone?

  — Fraid so. And defendants used to be anonymous, like plaintiffs – He shrugs – That’s gone too

  — Tastic. Fantastic – Patrick is beginning to wish he hadn’t started the debate

  — And that’s not all. Actually – Jenkins chews – This anonymity rule is really a bit rum, if you think about it – Chewing and swallowing – I mean … your girlfriend won’t see her name in the papers, once. And your name will be everywhere, even if she’s shown to be a lying little tart and you’re proved to be as pure as the driven – Jenkins half smiles.

  Across the table, Patrick necks the rest of his Diet Coke. He swipes the back of an angry hand across his lips, and says:

  — Anything else?

  — Oh yes, oh yes … – Jenkins is now desultorily sifting through some papers taken from his briefcase, while he munches – What else haven’t they done? Rape defendants can no longer cross-examine the plaintiff in person. And rape plaintiffs are much more likely to be allowed video links. And rape shield laws prevent your lawyer from trawling Rebecca’s sexual history, establishing whether she was into this … rough stuff … with other men

  — So I’m fucked?

  Jenkins sits back. Sighs:

  — No. As it happens – Levelling a stare – I’m actually trying to encourage you

  — Come again?!

  — What I’m trying to say is, amazingly, you should be heartened by all this – Still staring – The reason it’s been brought in is because rape juries instinctively do not trust women. And despite all the efforts of feminists, they are still very unwilling to convict – Smiling – Particularly woman jurors, strangely enough …

  Patrick goes to reply, but can’t think of what to say. Quietness has descended. For a minute the two of them sit there, alone, listening to the noise of other prisoners talking to other solicitors. After a while Jenkins coughs and pulls back his cuff to reveal his watch and says not long now.

  Patrick grunts, picks up his solicitor’s Orangina bottle. Carefully Patrick tears the label off his solicitor’s Orangina bottle, screws the bits of label up, and lines the bits of label on the table. Then Patrick spends three minutes slowly flicking the little bits of scrunched-up Orangina label at his solicitor.

  Brushing the little bits of label off his suit, and off his trousered lap, Jenkins shakes his head and tuts, and then smiles quietly, and says:

  — Did you know Leopold von Sacher Masoch was J
ewish?

  12

  — Tits are a good move, in Darwinian terms

  Rebecca laughs:

  — Yesss …

  — I mean it’s better for girls to have tits on their chests, instead of …

  — Espadrilles

  — Stoats

  — Tapirs … – Rebecca muses, moues, looks out the window – And … badgers would be a real nuisance …

  Patrick chuckles. Rebecca looks over at Murphy, who is painting her toenails the colour of Rebecca’s toenails; Murphy doesn’t seem to notice Rebecca’s attention, she just makes a concentrating noise. Turned back, Rebecca says:

  — What about if you had to wear a hat all the time? What would you have?

  — Oh, sombrero, definitely – Patrick is smiling, saying – What if your head was fifteen foot wide, how would you get into rooms, would you go sideways or try and poke it through the window or what?

  Rebecca:

  — Sideways – Then she says – Actually if you had stoats for feet that would be pretty cool. You could move about the place discreetly as long as you were wearing flares and

  — Oh shut up please

  Murphy has spoken. Either side of Murphy, Rebecca and Patrick fall almost silent, like a couple of admonished but still giggling schoolkids. Dope smoke drifts between them, rich, blue, thick, heavy. Then Rebecca says:

  — If I were a Korean civil servant who could only say ‘wong’ all the time would you still love me?

  — No. Shut up! FUCK! – Murphy is raising her face to the ceiling, as if imploring God to deliver her. Murphy’s toes flex in despair. From inside her own dopey dreaminess Rebecca watches as Murphy curses, says please no again, then shakes her head at both of her friends and looks down at her toenails.

  They are all sitting on the floor of Rebecca’s expensively carpeted bedroom; Rebecca and Murphy are in shorts. A soft, ambient-trendy, Patrick-chosen song is leaking from the speakers, the smell of nail varnish mixes with the smell of hash. The expensive carpet is littered with bits of cotton wool. And from the window, open to the cold and rain so as to expel all the dope smoke, comes the soft melancholy sound of the winter streets, cars softly slicing through the leaves and rain puddles.