silence. This time, before the judge can intervene, Rebecca says:
— Jewish bitch
A pause. Half the court is looking at Patrick; the other half is looking at the prosecutor. The prosecutor:
— He called you a … ‘Jewish bitch’?
— Yes
— And by this time how long had he been in the flat?
— About ten minutes
— Just ten?
— Yes. It can’t have been much longer than that because the kettle hadn’t boiled
— Yes, I see – Alan Gregory QC caresses his own chin – OK. Yes. Now – Gregory glances momentarily at the back of the court, at Patrick – Now as the defendant kissed you, did you try to push him off?
— Yes – Rebecca looks slightly offended by the question; Patrick feels he doesn’t want to look at her; Rebecca regains herself and says – Yes. I pushed him away as much as I could but he … just laughed. He was acting weird …
— In what way?
— I’m not sure – Her face goes slightly blank – I remember wondering if he was drunk, I could smell beer, smell the pub
— Were you scared by this time?
Patrick can hear the big clock on the side wall ticking. Rebecca:
— Yes
— So what did you decide to do?
— Well … I … uh?
The lawyer turns to his notes. Says:
— I’ll rephrase that. In fact, if I may – A half nod towards the judge – I’d like to go over the facts as they stand again … – Patrick notices the judge give a subliminal answering nod. Gregory says – Let’s take stock. This is a young man you used to live with but with whom you no longer have a relationship. Is that correct?
— Yyes
— And he’s only in your flat on the pretext of picking up some clothes, correct?
— Uh-huh
— Sorry?
— I mean yes. Yes that’s right
The prosecutor lifts the papers closer to his face, as if to scrutinise a surprising fact more closely; then:
— OK. So. He’s come round to the flat to pick up his stuff. He’s been in the flat for ten minutes – A direct glance at Rebecca; Rebecca nods; the prosecutor says – So he’s tried to kiss you, he’s … abused and insulted you, he’s acting to say the least somewhat … strangely. And what do you do?
— I … I’m – Again Rebecca looks like she is aggrieved by the tone; across the court Gregory comes back with a softer, more explanatory voice:
— Miss Jessel I’m only trying to get the facts straight – A jaunty smile – Look at it this way, perhaps. Some people might say that you should have asked him to leave straight away. At this early point. You see?
Realisation seems to cross Rebecca’s face. She nods vigorously like she has remembered her lines; then she says:
— Yes I see what you’re getting at but you must understand. Yes he was a bit drunk but … he was still my ex. I still felt … you know … – She pulls her cardigan sleeve distractedly – That’s why I invited him around
— And this is why you let him linger?
The cardigan sleeve is released:
— Yes. I still felt for him. I had been very much in love with him – Her face goes odd – I never thought he’d go and do … that …
— Naturally
The prosecutor flicks a tiny hardly detectable glance at the back of the court; in Patrick’s direction. In the dock Patrick tries to stay calm. His chin resting on a fist, the elbow on a knee, aware he looks like Rodin’s Thinker, Patrick stays calm and stares straight back at the prosecutor. Patrick is determined not to be fazed or angered. Patrick wants a calm detachment to enter his mind. He wants to think about something else. And so, as Rebecca goes on to describe, in tediously minuscule detail, their subsequent movements about the flat that fateful evening, that evening, the evening in question, Patrick sits back in the dock and decides to think about sex. Religion. Sex. Religion …
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 …
—