The First Cut

Finally, the game drew to a close. The man she had been watching walked over to the bar, where she could see him out of the corner of her eye, and put his empty glass down on the counter. “Well, that’s my limit for tonight,” he said to the barman. “See you tomorrow, Bobby.” The accent was right, the voice hoarse.

“Night, Jack,” said the barman.

Martha watched Jack walk toward the exit. He glanced briefly in her direction before he opened the door, but still showed no sign that he recognized her. She looked at her watch. It was a quarter to ten. For some reason, she got the impression that what had just happened was a kind of nightly ritual: Jack finishing his game, putting his glass on the counter and making some remark about the lateness of the hour. If he was a fisherman, then he would probably have to be up early in the morning. But shouldn’t he already be out at sea? It was all so confusing. Still, if it was his habit to do this every night, she could come back tomorrow, when Keith was out of the way, and…Well, the next move would take careful pla

“Want to go?”

With difficulty, like focusing on something from a great distance, Martha turned her attention back to Keith. She nodded and reached for her holdall. Outside, the warm fresh air felt good in her lungs. A bright half-moon hung high over St. Mary’s.

“Want to go for a walk?” Keith asked.

“Okay.”

They walked along East Terrace by the row of tall, white Victorian hotels, toward the Cook statue. As they passed the whale’s jawbone, Keith stopped and said, “That must have been exciting, setting off after whales.”

“I suppose I’d have been one of the waiting women,” Martha said, “hoping to see the jawbone of a whale nailed to the masts.”

“What?”

“It was a sign. It meant everyone was safe. The women used to walk up here along West Cliff and look out for the ships coming home.” Martha looked at the huge arch of bone. From where she stood, it framed the floodlit St. Mary’s across the harbor as perfectly as if the whole setup had been contrived by an artist.

“It’s hard to imagine you doing that,” Keith said, moving on slowly. “Pacing and waiting.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, I can’t really say I know you, of course, but you give me the impression that you’re a modern woman, liberated or whatever. You’d have been more likely to be out there on the ships.”

“They didn’t take women.”

“I don’t suppose they did. But you know what I mean.”

Martha didn’t. It had been his first really personal remark and it took her aback. How could someone just sit and talk about inconsequential things for an hour or two and then come out with a statement like that? She hadn’t even been paying attention to him most of the time. Could he really see into her character? She hoped not. He wouldn’t like what he saw.

By the Cook statue, they sat on a bench and looked out to sea. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and the moon’s reflection seemed to float somewhere far in the distance, yet its eerie white light spread over all the ripples and billows of the water as far as the eye could see.

Martha thought of the passage from Lawrence ’s Women in Love, where Birkin threw pebbles at the moon’s reflection in a pond. It was supposed to symbolize something, or so her English teacher had said, but nobody really knew what. Symbols, to her, had always stood for things you felt but couldn’t explain. And now she felt like throwing pebbles at the rippling white sea.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Keith asked.

“What do you think? You seem to know what kind of person I am. What would you say?”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t. But if I was him I wouldn’t let you go away by yourself like this.”

“Why not?”

“Stands to reason, doesn’t it? A pretty girl like you…”

A pretty girl! Martha almost laughed out loud. From where they sat, at the top of the cliff and back a little bit from its fenced edge, she couldn’t see the waves break on the beach below. She could hear them, though, and the deep grumbling hiss as one withdrew filled the silence before Keith spoke again.

“There’s something disconcerting about you, though,” he said.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Well, for a start, you’re not easy to get to know.”

Martha looked at her watch. “We’ve been together about three hours,” she said. “How much do you expect to get to know about someone in that time?”

“It’s not time that counts. Some people you can get to know real quickly. Not you, though. There’s hidden depths to you.”

“Why, am I disconcerting?” Martha asked. Despite herself, she was becoming interested in his perception of her.

“Oh, I don’t know. You seem so distant. And you don’t get my jokes. It’s like you’ve spent the last few years on another planet. I mean, if I make a little joke, you don’t laugh, you ask a question.”

“Like what?”

Keith laughed. “Like that!”

Martha felt herself blushing. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed. She smiled. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just curiosity.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not. It’s more like a form of defense. You’re very evasive. You’ve got a lot of defenses, Martha. You’re hiding in there somewhere, behind all the walls and barbed wire. Why?”

Martha became aware of Keith’s arm slipping around her shoulder. It made her stiffen. Surely he must sense her resistance, she thought, but he didn’t remove it. “Why what?” she asked.

“Why do you need to protect yourself so much, to hide away? What’s there to be afraid of?”

“There’s a lot to be afraid of,” Martha said slowly. “And what makes you think I’m protecting myself from the world? Maybe I’m protecting the world from me.”

“Now that really is choice. I’m not sure I understand you, not at all. But I do find you intriguing, and very attractive.”

A ship’s light blinked far out to sea. Keith leaned over and kissed her. Martha managed to contain her boiling rage and let him. It was a soft, tentative kiss, not a violent, tongue-probing attack. A small price to pay, she told herself amid her anger, for appearing normal. She knew she wasn’t responding with the enthusiasm he expected, but there was absolutely nothing she could do about that.

“It’s a shame I have to go tomorrow,” he said, breaking away gently. Clearly her response, or lack of it, didn’t mean very much to him. “I’d like to spend more time with you, get to know you a bit better.”

Martha said nothing. She just stared out at the rippling moon on the water and watched the ship’s light move across the horizon like a star through the sky. He kissed her again, this time more passionately, exploring her teeth with his tongue. When she felt his other hand slip up over her side and reach for her breast, she pulled away.

“No,” she said, as calmly but firmly as she could. “What do you think I am? We’ve only just met.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith said, “really I am. I didn’t mean to offend you. I just thought…I mean I hoped. Oh god, you can’t blame a bloke for trying, can you?”

Martha could, but she didn’t say so. Instead, she tried to placate him despite the rage she felt. “It’s not that I don’t like you,” she said. “It’s just too soon. I guess I’m not the kind of person for a holiday quickie.”

Now Keith seemed offended. “That’s not fair. That’s not what I had in mind.”

But it was, Martha knew. Oh, Keith was a nice enough boy, not too pushy, but all it came down to was that he wanted to go to bed with her. He would make out that he didn’t usually do such things, and she was supposed to say the same. Then he would tell her how it was different with her, really special. He was a wolf, all right, but a tame one. Getting the brush-off just made him sulk and become petulant. They weren’t all as easy as him to fight off.

“Come on,” Martha said. “Let’s go back. It’s getting chilly.”