Testimony

by Anita Shreve

  “You’re aware that you were going to go to Brown,” Arthur says, hands on his hips.

  There is no mention of the assaulted girl. You wonder if your husband understands the nature of the crime.

  “So what do you have to say for yourself?” your husband asks, and even he must know he will not get a satisfactory answer, if, indeed, he gets any answer at all.

  Your son doesn’t respond.

  Your husband whips around and glares at you, as if you are responsible. And, of course, you are. You are responsible.

  “I can’t even be in the same room with him,” your husband says to you, as if he, of the two of you, is the more offended. Is he?

  You are not surprised by either your husband’s strength or the flimsiness of the door, which seems to quiver in its frame even after Arthur is gone. You recognize an impulse in yourself to run after him, to call to him, to ask to talk. But right now you can’t do that.

  Silas

  I’m up the path now, farther than even you and I have ever gone. Once, when I was a kid, my father and I hiked to the top, it took all day, but when we got there and stood on a rock, we could see the mountains all around, and I remember being amazed that there was a mountain right behind the one we were on, one you couldn’t see from the ground, and it seemed like there was a taller mountain behind that one, too, so that every time you got to the top, you would see that you had another mountain to climb, but then I figured there must be a top somewhere that was the highest of all, and I wondered if I would ever get to do that one day, go to the top.

  It is getting a little colder here now. I walked home and no one was there and I got my down parka and started up this path, and I have some food in my backpack. I think I can probably stay here long enough to get the courage to go back down again, and I will find out that I have been expelled and that my father wants to hit me and I won’t be able to live in the house with them and I will have to find a friend to live with so I can finish out my senior year in the public school, although I don’t know why I would ever want to do that because I can’t go to college now, that’s for sure, and so maybe I will just move away from Avery and get a job somewhere and try to find a place to live, and that will be that, and no one will know about me or anything that happened, and I can pretend I am forgetting, too, except that I can’t because I will always be thinking of you and wondering where you are and knowing that you were the one and that I hurt you practically more than any person can hurt another, I can’t think of anything worse I could have done to you, I just can’t.

  So I guess if I just think about the good times, I will warm up a bit. I forgot to look at how cold it was out, I think it must be below freezing, maybe below twenty, and I am probably going to get some frostbite, but it won’t be the first time. Once when I went to your dorm, you came downstairs and you had on a short skirt with a belt around your hips, and your legs were brown from the sun, and I wondered how you had got such a good tan, and you had on a navy striped polo shirt, and your breasts were beautiful, and you had your earrings on, and I knew that you had put them on for me, and I stood up and kissed you right away, and you backed away from me and laughed that laugh you have, but you were happy I had done that even though there were people in the hallway that might have seen us.

  You told me you would love me forever. I think that is not true now. And so a person can never promise to love someone forever, because you never know what might come up, what terrible thing the person you love might do. And what does that feel like, not to love someone anymore? One day you love him, and the next day you don’t because you have seen him on a tape? Where does all that love go? Does it all go away at once, or does it go away in terrible bits every time you picture the tape until there is nothing left? So you cannot love me, but I know that I will always love you, even though I should never have promised you I would love you forever, because I did something that, if I had been loving you right that minute, I wouldn’t have done, though I can’t ever remember not loving you, and when you are not even thinking about a person, you can still be loving them, right?

  My fingers are getting stiff trying to write in this notebook that I didn’t take very good notes in for math. When I flip through the notes at the beginning, I can see that I wasn’t paying attention the way I should, and I wonder what I was thinking about on this day or that day when I should have been paying attention. I don’t even know what the notes mean. If I had to take a test on them, I would get everything wrong.

  If I had to take a test on you, though, I would get everything right. I would know exactly how you smell and how you like to be kissed on the side of your neck even though it makes you laugh, and I would get everything right about how you like to make love even though I always thought there would be lots more to learn and that we would learn together. Even if you talked to me or even if you looked me in the eye one day, you would never, ever, ever, let me make love to you, and that would kill me, so it’s better if I never see you again, although I think that might kill me, too.

  Sometimes I think about the girl and what she is feeling now. I didn’t like her before, and I don’t like her now. She was twisted and she was hungry and she knew how to make us hungry, and I am amazed that we didn’t have any shame. I don’t know where the shame went. I guess the alcohol takes it away. I guess that’s the point of drinking, to take all the feelings and thoughts and morals away until you are just a body doing what a body will do. But sometimes I think about her, she was so young, and I wonder if she feels any shame, she must, unless she cannot remember, and I hope for her sake that she cannot remember.

  Gary

  On Wednesday, January 25, my deputy, Bernard Herrmann, and I responded to a telephone call we received from the father of a female student at Avery Academy.

  The father stated that his daughter had told him she had been raped by three students in a dormitory room at Avery Academy the previous Saturday night.

  The victim was fourteen years old at the time and a freshman at Avery Academy.

  Later, the girl named three of the students who had been involved in the sexual assault.

  Deputy Herrmann and I immediately drove out to Avery Academy to speak to the headmaster, Michael Bordwin, to see if he could corroborate the information we had and tell us where we could find the alleged victim and the three boys who had allegedly committed this sexual assault.

  The boys were Robert Leicht, eighteen; Silas Quinney, eighteen; and James Robles, nineteen.

  Mr. Bordwin at that time appeared to be somewhat flustered by the accusation. He insisted on accompanying us to interview the young woman who had made the allegations to her father.

  We three arrived at Upworth Dormitory at approximately twelve noon and found the alleged victim in a state of mild hysteria. Though the incident had occurred four days previously, she was sobbing uncontrollably.

  She was in the presence of her roommate, Laura Stanton, age fourteen.

  Despite being initially hysterical, the alleged victim stopped crying and asked to give a statement.

  Mr. Bordwin advised her not to speak to us and to consult a lawyer before she went any farther with this accusation, but the girl would not listen to him.

  The girl said that on the previous Saturday, January 21, at about ten o’clock in the evening, she had been taken to a dormitory room in Everett Hall by a number of male upperclassmen. There, she was given a great deal of alcohol so that she was soon in a state of mental and physical incapacitation. It was then that she was forced to perform oral sex on one of the boys and was vaginally raped by a second. One other boy, who was in the room at the time, participated in various ways in the event.

  The alleged victim then stated that without her knowledge the incident had been taped by a fourth person in the room, whose name she said she did not know.

  It was our understanding that both parents were en route to Avery to be with their daughter.

  During these allegations, Mr. Bordwin left the room.

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sp; We then advised the alleged victim that she would need to be seen by a doctor, who would have to examine her.

  The alleged victim protested, stating that the event had happened four days before and therefore there would be no evidence of the alleged rape. We informed her that this was police procedure.

  Deputy Herrmann called for an ambulance to transfer the young woman to Western Vermont Regional Hospital to be examined.

  She then began crying again and said she had to wait for her parents. We informed her that it was in her best interest to comply and that we would inform her parents of her whereabouts.

  Deputy Herrmann and I waited in the dormitory room with the alleged victim and her roommate for the ambulance to arrive.

  Deputy Herrmann and I then returned to the administration building to speak with Michael Bordwin. He invited us into his office. On his desk were two sheets of lined paper.

  Mr. Bordwin informed us that he had extracted earlier that day written confessions from two of the students involved in the alleged rape. He added that he had been reluctant to hand them over to the police until he had had a chance to speak to the victim again. I examined the written confessions and took possession of them. They were from Robert Leicht and James Robles. When I asked about Silas Quinney, he said the boy could not be located.

  We proceeded to Everett Hall, where James Robles was in residence. He asked what the charges were against him.

  Mr. Robles’s demeanor was calm and a bit aloof. I read the suspect his rights, and Deputy Herrmann cuffed Mr. Robles. The suspect was led away to the cruiser we had parked in front of the administration building. Mr. Robles went without resistance.

  Deputy Herrmann and I then traveled to the Mountain View Motel. We were told by the manager in what room we would find Robert Leicht. We knocked on the door, and it was answered by his mother, revealing Robert Leicht sitting on a bed. Mrs. Leicht tried to bar the door. Mr. Leicht got up without any protest and gently moved his mother out of the doorway. We informed him that he was under arrest for the alleged sexual assault of the young woman in question. We read Robert Leicht his rights, removed him from the property in handcuffs, and put him in the cruiser with James Robles. Neither boy looked at the other.

  With two boys in custody, we then returned in the cruiser to the station, where there is a lockup. It was then occupied by Johnny Bix, who had been brought in early that morning for “drunk and disorderly.”

  Mr. Bix was released, as there is only one room in the lockup.

  It was then decided that Deputy Herrmann would remain in the station with the two suspects and that I would drive out to the Quinney farm to arrest Silas Quinney.

  Silas Quinney is my nephew.

  Deputy Herrmann has previously stated for the record that during the time I was away, the alleged suspects, Mr. Leicht and Mr. Robles, did not speak to each other.

  When I arrived at the Quinney farm, Anna Quinney was in residence, having just returned from grocery shopping. When I told her of the nature of my visit, Mrs. Quinney seemed shocked. She stated that she had not seen her son since breakfast, at approximately seven o’clock that morning.

  Mrs. Quinney went directly to her cell phone and tried to call her son. Silas Quinney did not answer the call.

  I was then able to extract a promise from Mrs. Quinney that she would bring Silas into the station herself when he returned to the house.

  Mrs. Quinney stated that she was certain there was some mistake, that her son was incapable of the charges. Since I knew Mrs. Quinney to be a person of her word, I then left the house and drove back to the police station.

  Irene

  I was the resident on duty in the ER at Western Vermont Regional Hospital on the afternoon of January 25, 2006. I examined the girl from Avery Academy for signs of rape and assault. The girl was extremely upset — crying and gesturing — and at first refused to be examined. The nurse on duty explained to her that in order to press charges, should she or her parents decide to do that, an examination by a physician would be necessary. After a time, the girl acquiesced, explaining that the rape had taken place four days earlier. She indicated that there probably wouldn’t be any evidence remaining.

  In the presence of the ER nurse on duty, I examined the girl, who said she was fourteen years old. Though there was scant evidence of bruising about the vaginal cavity, there was no obvious evidence of any seminal fluid in the vaginal canal. The nurse on duty nevertheless administered the rape kit.

  Immediately after the examination and after the girl had dressed, I tried to speak to her about the event. I was attempting at that time to assess her emotional state to determine if medication might be needed. Although upset and at times shaking, the girl seemed lucid enough and was able to understand and answer my questions. At one point, I deliberately made a slight joke, which produced a brief smile. I did not offer any medication. The girl said repeatedly that the events of the evening in question were “horrible, horrible” and that she didn’t want to talk about them. As she herself was neither under arrest nor needed for questioning, she was allowed to use her cell phone to call a friend to come get her. It was our understanding that her parents were on their way to the school to be with her.

  It was only later, shortly before the trial was scheduled to begin, that I learned that the results of a routine blood test that had been administered that afternoon showed the girl’s blood alcohol level at that time to be .028. I had not smelled alcohol on the victim when examining her, but I had noted in the records the incongruity of her emotional state and the length of time since the alleged rape. In other words, though the event had happened four days earlier and though she might well have been deeply upset by it, she was reacting physically as if it had just taken place. I have not had enough experience with rape victims to know if this is a common pattern, but it is possible that the amount of alcohol in her system might have accounted for what appeared to be excessive distress.

  Noelle

  Silas is supposed to meet me in the dining hall. We have Saturday school tomorrow, so there will be regular study hall tonight from eight o’clock until ten. Silas and I have only until eight to be together. Two or three nights a week, we have these two hours, and they are not enough. They are never enough.

  I wait in the foyer before the double doors of the dining hall. Usually Silas and I go in together and pick up our trays and slide them side by side on the metal railings. I am hungry, having had an early lunch. I even have a little headache from the hunger. I have to use the bathroom, which is off the foyer, but I don’t because I don’t want to miss the sight of Silas coming through the doors.

  I wait until 6:45, and I know if I don’t go inside right that minute, the dining hall will close, and I won’t get any dinner. My headache is worse, and I am a little worried. Silas is never late. Maybe once or twice, after a long practice, he is five minutes late, bursting through the door, looking for me, short of breath from running all the way from the gym. Tonight, there is no Silas, short of breath or not.

  I fill my tray with salad and soup and take it to a table. Almost everyone else has finished eating. I see the boys from the basketball team picking up their trays, which overflow with dishes and glasses and banana peels and chicken wings, and walking them to the recycling area. I want to ask them if they know where Silas is, if they know why he is late, but I am too embarrassed. I am embarrassed to be eating alone.

  I call Silas’s house at five minutes to eight. His father answers and says Silas didn’t come home for dinner. Silas told his mother he was eating with a friend, and though I think I am that friend, I don’t say anything.

  From eight o’clock until ten, students cannot make or receive phone calls.

  At one minute past ten, I call Silas’s cell phone. He doesn’t answer. I text him, but he doesn’t respond to that, either. Finally, I call his house again. His father answers. Silas is in bed asleep. He had a rough practice. Do I want him to wake Silas?

  No, I say. No, I don’t.r />
  The next morning I do not see Silas in the halls or on the pathways between buildings. We do not take the same classes. I am a slightly better student than he is, which I try never to talk about. I go down to the gym early to see if I can catch him before the game and ask him what happened to him the night before. I have decided that he probably wasn’t feeling well and went straight home to bed. He felt so unwell, I am guessing, that he forgot to call me.

  When I arrive at the gym, Silas is already on the court with the other players. He is practicing layups and three-pointers. He is running harder than the rest of the boys, as if he wants to keep going right through the tiled walls. I stand at the edge of the court, waiting for him to notice me.

  He is nervous, I decide. This is a big game.

  I sit in the front row, aware of other kids coming in and filling up the seats behind me. I look for Mr. Quinney at the place where he usually sits, but I can’t find him. Silas comes to the players’ bench right in front of me, and again he doesn’t seem to see me. I know that it is bad form to distract a player while the coach is talking to the team, so I sit back. Surely, after the game, Silas will wait for me.

  Silas is an animal on the court. I can’t decide what kind, because nothing moves like Silas, and animals hardly ever seem angry. Stealthy, yes. Cunning, yes. But angry, no. Silas is angry. I can feel it coming off him in waves. I can see it in his eyes. I know that something is very wrong, and I try to guess what it is. Is he mad at Coach Blount? Is he angry with his father, which explains why Mr. Quinney isn’t at the game? Or is Silas, in some strange way, angry at me?